Page 5 of Carry Me Home
Janie narrowed her eyes. “That’s right.” She studied him for a moment, then shook her head. “No. You still shouldn’t be here.”
Steven glanced around warily, like he might be expecting trouble. “Any of the Hale brothers here tonight?”
Since the Hales had been my second family practically from birth, and now that my best friend was my brother-in-law they were family on paper too, I made their conversation my business.
“You got a problem with the Hale brothers?” I asked.
Steven grunted. “No. The Hale brothers have a problem with me.”
“Why is that?” I asked. I turned on my barstool to look him squarely in the face. That curiosity again. I liked to know who I was about to flatten.
Steven looked at me, quickly understood the way of things, and turned his gaze forward. “A misunderstanding,” he muttered. Janie guffawed loudly. “On my part,” he clarified.
“The Hale brothers are pretty good at judging character,” I noted. They were more than capable of fighting their own battles, but hell. I had nothing better to do except go home, and truthfully, I didn’t want to.
Like she sensed a sudden change in the wind, Janie’s head whipped toward me. “Just drink your beer, Jack. I’ll handle this.”
My eyebrows shot to my hairline. Most people didn’t surprise me, but Janie had managed to pull it off.
She rolled her eyes at my stunned expression. “I knew who you were the moment you sat down. Essie has a photo of you on her fireplace mantle.”
Shit.
“Did you tell her I’m here?” I asked. Because if she knew, I had maybe ninety seconds before she stormed in here looking for me.
Janie’s brow furrowed. “She doesn’t know?”
“I wanted to surprise her,” I lied.
“Then it’s a good thing I didn’t tell her, I guess.” Janie turned back to Steven. “I haven’t decided what to do about you yet, so don’t get too comfortable on that barstool.” She sank a hand on her hip. “Maybe I should follow Chloe’s lead and tell you to get the hell out. That’s what she always did.”
“And now she lives with me, so…” Steven spread his arms wide, smirking. “Seems like a risk on your part. You might actually end up liking me.”
“Doubtful.” Janie pursed her lips. “Still not sure she wasn’t under duress.”
Steven huffed and rubbed his palms over a crack in the wood. “Chloe could tell me to get the hell out of my own home, and I’d go,” he grumbled. “I’m not forcing her to share space with me.”
Damn. Steven had it bad for this Chloe chick, whoever she was. I couldn’t help but feel a little sorry for him. Clearly her friends didn’t like him, and that would be tough to overcome.
Janie took pity on him. “One beer,” she said. “That’s it.” She didn’t ask him what he wanted, just grabbed a bottle of IPA from the fridge, popped the top, and handed it to him.
“Thanks,” he said.
I sipped my own beer and pretended not to notice as he kept sending curious glances my way. He’d talk when he was ready, and I wasn’t much in the mood for a conversation. Not with him, anyway. I looked at Janie, who was rubbing water spots from the clean glasses she had taken out of the dishwasher. The Painted Cat’s clientele wasn’t the sort to notice or care about water spots at a dive bar, but she did it anyway.
That shouldn’t surprise me. Brax would notice, and he was an owner of the bar, so of course he would hire someone who also paid attention to the details. Now that I thought about it, I could see that he’d made improvements. It was still a dive, but one where you were a lot less likely to pick up a staph infection. Some of the wood beams dated back to when the Painted Cat was a brothel under ownership of Brax’s great-great-great-great grandfather, and those remained sacred. He’d sooner chop his hand off than tear them down. But the lighting had been updated and the booths had been recovered in gleaming burgundy leather.
“You got a favorite flower, Jack?” Steven asked, pulling my thoughts.
I paused, the brown beer bottle dangling from my hand. “Why do you want to know?”
“The flowers they embroidered on Chloe’s shoes. Apparently that’s the kind of thing friends know about each other.” He jerked his head in Janie’s direction. “I don’t think that’s normal. Hell, I’m not sure I even have a favorite flower.”
I eyed him. “We’re not friends,” I said.
“No, we’re fucking not,” he agreed and for a moment I wondered if he had a death wish because he seemed to be squaring up for a fight. Janie shot him a warning look as she swiped by with a towel. He shrugged and swigged his beer. “What are those colorful flowers that look like balls?” he asked her.
Janie scrunched her face like she was thinking. “Dahlias?” She tugged her phone out of her back pocket and tapped the screen a couple times, then turned it to face him so he could see the picture. “Is this what you mean?”
