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“Rick, Snake.” Pete’s voice cuts through the din—a subtle show of force without raising volume. “Keep it civil.”
“Of course, Pete. Just having a chat with lovely Jane here,” Ricky says, though his tone falls flat against Pete’s unwavering stare.
“Sure thing, boss,” Snake adds, straightening up with a snakelike slither to his movements. They know better than to cross Pete, even on his worst day.
I feel Pete’s concern wash over me. He’s been away, but some things never change—like the way he looks out for us, his makeshift family, bound not by blood but by the tragedies and joys we’ve weathered together.
“Jane, why don’t you take the rest of the night off?” Pete suggests, but the firm set of his jaw tells me it’s not really a suggestion at all.
“You’ve been gone a long time.”
“I still remember how to pull a beer and listen to barflies share their secrets. Besides, I’ve missed the Tin Cup. You might own it now, but I was the one who started it.”
Pete is as honest as the day is long but he’s also older hasn’t worked here for a long time.
“I’d think you’d want to see your family and catch up?”
Pete looks around. “They all know I’m in town and they’ll all know where I’ll be.”
I cast a glance at Ricky and Snake, Pete could always make them see reason, maybe he could get them to leave me alone?
“Thanks, Pete. I think I will,” I say, though part of me wants to stay and fight my own battles.
As the regulars glance my way, I untie my apron, feeling the weight of the evening lift from my shoulders. Pete watches over the room like a hawk, ready to swoop in and restore order. And maybe, just maybe, that’s what family is all about.
CHAPTER 7
PETE
The hum of conversation around me is a low constant. Then, without warning, it’s like the air shifts, and I feel the hackles rise on my neck. The laughter from Ricky and Snake turns jagged, cruel as they corner Jane at the far end of the bar as she’s about to leave. Her pale green eyes are two shards of ice, her jaw set hard in defiance.
“Leave off, boys,” I call out, but it’s lost in the din of the rowdy crowd, the clink of pool balls, and the twang of the jukebox.
My patience, already worn thin, snaps like an overused rubber band. Setting down the glass with a thud that claims silence from the immediate area, I stride toward them. My boots scrape against the wooden floor, each step measured, heavy with intent. Blood pounds in my ears, and I can practically taste the tang of confrontation.
“Ricky. Snake.” My voice is gravel, low and laden with an authority that brooks no argument. “That’s enough.”
Ricky’s slim frame goes rigid, his smug smirk faltering. He turns to me, that permanent sneer still clinging to his lips, but there’s a flicker of something else—caution. His buddy, Snake, narrows those cold eyes, sizing me up like he’s calculating the odds. They know I’m not some idle threat.
“Aw, come on, Pete. We’re just havin’ a little fun,” Ricky drawls.
“Your fun ends where her patience does,” I shoot back, not breaking eye contact. “She’s not your plaything.”
Snake snorts, a sharp sound that slices through the tense air, but he steps back, a silent concession to the line I’ve drawn. Ricky hesitates, then mirrors his friend’s retreat, the arrogance bleeding away from his posture.
“Alright, alright,” he mutters, and I can tell he’s trying to save face, keep that fragile ego intact. “No need to get your beard in a twist.”
The bar breathes again, the moment of danger passing as they slink away, their shadows melting into the crowd. Jane offers me a nod, her expression softening just the slightest, and I wonder if she sees past the gray in my beard, the weariness in my eyes, to the man who once would have thrown punches first and asked questions later.
“Thanks, Pete,” she says under her breath, and there’s something like warmth in those frosty eyes.
I gruffly nod back, watching her disappear towards the back. It’s getting harder to remember a time when this kind of trouble wasn’t waiting to pounce. But family means you stand up, even when your bones ache and your spirit’s tired. It means you protect your own against the darkness, even if it’s just with a few stern words and the unspoken promise of a fight.
A playful laugh from the other end of the bar catches my attention, a stark contrast to the tension that had filled the room moments before. Life goes on, it seems, regardless of the little tragedies that unfold within these walls. And for now, that’s enough for me.
The door swings open, a gust of cool night air brushing past me as Texas steps through the threshold.
“Thanks again, Pete,” Jane says, as she materializes from the back room. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
