Just as the scent of tequila hits my senses, the shot glass is snatched frommyhand.
“Or not,” Regan says, downing my nip oftequila.
I balk, surprised when Regan doesn’t attempt to grab a wedge of lime sitting on the round bar table after she swallows the entire nip of tequila in onequickgulp.
“Come on, Regan, one shot won’t kill me,” Iargue.
Regan is Raquel’s older sister. If that doesn’t already make her a ball crusher, she is also Isaac’s friend andlawyer.
Regan quirks her lips. “No, but Raquel might if she finds out you were drinking alcohol after taking painmedication.”
I scoff. “If she stopped ramming them down my throat, I wouldn’t have toworry.”
Regan smiles a bright grin. As much as she would deny it, she loves that Raquel is following in her footsteps. Raquel’s hard ass, take-shit-from-no-one stance has been wearing my patience thin the past week. But in all honesty, even with her busting my chops at every opportunity, Raquel is good at her job. Without her pushing me, I'd most likely still be laid up in a hospital bed, stewing over my confrontationwithRhys.
Only now, years after the incident do I realize I was in the wrong from the way I reacted when Rhys informed me Jorgie wasn’t going to pull through her injuries. But in my defense, part of me died the day Jorgie did. And no matter how hard I fight to piece back the shattered pieces of my heart, it never happens.It will neverhappen.
My eyes lift from the floor when Isaac asks, “How did you get out of Raquel’s clutches for thenight?”
“I didn’t,” I grumble, my mood balancing dangerously between somber and playful. “She sent her evil twin in herplace.”
My mood sways to playful when Regan throws her clutch into my chest, winding me from the power of her hit. I chuckle while ribbing her with my elbow. Although Regan acts like she hates me, the tears frequenting her eyes every time she visited me in the hospital tells me she likes me a little more than she is letting on. But just like Raquel, as much as taming the beast raging inside Regan would be a compelling feat, she’s too much of a friend to tread overthatline.
I cringe when a high-pitched voice shrieks through my ears. “Holy crap! Whatisthat?”
My eyes missile to Cormack’s little sister, Cate. Her bugging eyes are planted on a glistening of color sparkling onIzzy’shand.
Izzy’s teeth munch on her bottom lip. “We’re engaged,” she says, hervoicehigh.
I can’t hold in the grin that morphs across my face. Although Izzy and Isaac have only been a couple a few short months, time is no barrier when you find your other half. It shouldn’t matter if it is a week or a year, if they are who your heart desires, that’s all that matters.Oh god, would you listen to me? Maybe I did get shot in the cock instead of myshoulder.
My brows furrow from the stern glare Isaac directs at me when I issue my congratulations to Izzy with a friendly hug. He knows me. I never cut another man’s turf. Shrugging off Isaac’s newly acquired second green head of envy, I slip away from the group and amble to the bar. I raise my chin in greeting to the bartender preparing a spritzer for a slightly overweight lady wearing a dress five sizes too big for the luscious curves ofherbody.
“Can I grab a beer?” I request, sitting on thebarstool.
The bartender places a coaster in front of me before setting an open bottle of beeronit.
“Where have I seen you?” I ask, raising the beer to my parchedmouth.
He seems familiar to me, but his name has been misplaced, which is unusual for me. I have a stellar knack for matching names withfaces.
“Dante,” he introduceshimself.
After wiping his condensation-covered hand down a white tea towel hanging off his waist, he offers it ingreeting.
“Hugo,” I reply, acceptinghishand.
He tries to mask his surprise, but I didn’t miss his quick intake of breath that relays he knows who I am. Not the Hugo Jones everyone in Ravenshoe knows. The real Hugo. The Hugo Marshall who vanished from Rochdale nearly fiveyearsago.
The pulse thrumming in Dante’s neck increases when I squeeze his hand with more force than I was originally instilling. He tries to pry his hand out of my grasp, but his small frame is no match for a man ofmysize.
“Please don’t break my hand. I’m starting my internship to be a surgeon next month,” he begs, his eyes pleadingintomine.
“How do you know me?” I query, my tone low as angerenvelopesme.
I’ve reached my quota of run-ins with people from my past. First, I had to deal with Col Petretti sniffing around Ravenshoe, then Rhys, nowDante.
“My brother,” he stammers as the bones in his hand creak from my brutal pressure. “My brotherisRhys.”
