“You’re her! You’re the panty-free girl!”
My stomach lurched at his words. Was that how people were talking about me? “Um, yeah,” I managed to admit before Jake cut me off.
“Turn that off, Hank. It’s—”
“You’re a hero,” the waitress said, her voice husky. “Might as well accept that. A superstar through and through.”
Jake didn’t respond. He was too busy glaring at the bartender until the man did something to the electronics beneath the bar. ESPN came on and everyone else in the bar hooted about Jake’s false modesty.
“You know you love it!” one cried, and the others heartily agreed.
Jake nodded, his expression tightened into a false grin. “Yeah, yeah, I do.”
A total lie.
Then he turned back to his father. “Come on, Pops. Let’s get you home so I can take my pretty lady to bed, too.”
“Bed?” his father croaked. “No way. Come on, little lady. Come sit by me.” He patted the barstool next to him. “What’s your name?”
I moved forward with my own false smile. After all, I’d been raised to respect my elders…even if they were three sheets to the wind. “I’m Ellie. And you must be Jake’s father. It’s nice to meet you.”
“Call me Pops. It’s always nice to meet one of Jake’s girls. What can I get you? Want a beer?” He peered too close at my face. “Now wait. I bet you’re a white wine kind of lady.”
“Nope. Definitely a beer girl.” I looked over at the bartender and shook my head. “But I think Jake wants—”
“He wants you to sit right here while I tell you about what he was like as a kid. Isn’t that what you want to know? Home runs, kitten rescues. How about the time he set the kitchen on fire, just so he could put it out?”
“That sounds fun, but—”
“You’re a pretty one, aren’t you? Practical, too. I can tell because you’re in smart shoes.” He gestured toward my knockoff Keds.
“Thank you. And I’d love to hear all about Jake’s childhood. Why don’t you tell me on the way to the car?”
I linked my arm underneath his and tried to steer him toward the door. But he had surprising strength and instead of following my lead, he did a quick twist with his arm which jerked me around until I dropped onto the barstool for balance.
“Oh!” I cried, startled by his quick move.
“Got ya!” he crowed. Then he waggled his finger at me. “Many a woman has tried to lead me around, only to find that I had the upper hand.” Then he grinned as he gestured to Hank. The bartender, though, looked to Jake, who looked even grimmer than I’d ever seen him before. But his father wasn’t having any part of the delay. “What you looking at him for? I’m going to have one more beer before last call. I have to toast my hero son and his new girl.”
“Pops—” Jake protested, but suddenly, his father started singing “Take Me Out to the Ball Game” like his life depended on it. He had a great voice, too. Deep and resonant. Within moments, everyone else at the bar was singing along. Well, everyone except Jake, who watched in mute annoyance as the bartender put a beer down in front of his father.
Even I was caught up in the energy of it and was mouthing the words without even thinking about it. Everyone seemed to love it, and I found myself relaxing. Jake’s father was fun. A drunk, to be sure, but fun. His eyes sparkled when he sang, and there was clear love in his eyes for his kids. Both of them. I looked at Larry, who leaned against the wall with a kind of bemused resignation. It was as if he understood his father’s foibles and had stopped fighting them a long time ago.
But not Jake. Frustration was written all over his face. Still, even I could see it was like a man fighting the tide. His father was going to sing, honoring his son with a song, and there was nothing Jake could do to stop it. I wasn’t sure why he was trying.
Eventually the song ended, and while everyone else cheered, Pops lifted his beer and drank deep. He really drank deep. In fact, he drained the mug while everyone cheered, me included. Jake just sighed and leaned back against the wall with the same resigned expression his brother had. In fact, looking at the two of them, I could see the stamp of the same childhood in their features—and their anger.
Pops slammed his beer mug down while people clapped. He started to gesture to the bartender, but I quickly covered his hand.
“So Pops, what do you do for a living? Are you a firefighter?” I already knew the answer, but I wanted to get him talking…and not drinking.
“That I am,” he said proudly. “I’m at the 410 with my son.”
Jake pushed into the conversation. “And when’s your next shift, Pop?”
His father peered owlishly at his son. “Monday morning. Plenty of time.”
Jake cursed as he pushed off the wall. “That’s in a few hours. You can’t go in like this.”
