I clock him before I clock anything else. He's got that loose, off-center posture that doesn't come from one drink or two. His jacket is half off one shoulder, and he's gesturing at the bartender with wild gestures, broad sweeping motions that take up more space than he needs.
Levi's already there, stationed at the far end of the bar with his arms crossed.
Levi Marshall, crossing his arms, is not Levi Marshall relaxed. It's Levi Marshall doing the math. He’s calculating how bad this gets, how fast, and what it costs to keep it from getting worse. His eyes cut to me the second I walk in. There's relief in them, just a flicker.
Austin's near the pool table with his cue still in hand, but he's not playing. I haven't known him long, but he's watching Kevin the same way I've noticed him watch everything. He’s already run the scenarios and is waiting to see which one Kevin picks. He spots me and gives a slight nod.
Mason appears at my shoulder. That's his talent. Quiet materializing.
"How long?" I ask, keeping my voice low.
"Forty minutes, give or take." He tips his head toward the bar. "Started with volume. Moved into personal about fifteen minutes ago. Bartender's been watering his drinks, but Kevin keeps waving cash around like that'll change Burl's mind."
I watch Kevin for a moment. He's not throwing punches yet. He's doing the thing that comes before punches. He’s circling, testing, looking for the right surface to bounce off. His eyes keep moving around the bar, cataloging reactions, looking for someone who'll give him what he wants.
"What's up? Why am I here?" Mason's jaw tightens. Just slightly, and he nods toward Kevin. It doesn't hit me rightaway. Mason, Levi, and Austin are here. They could have easily handled Kevin.
"Nothing worth you reacting to. Not yet, but I thought you should be here." He looks at me sideways. "And that's not me being diplomatic. That's me telling you the smartest thing you can do right now is nothing."
I breathe out through my nose. He's right. I know he's right. I roll my shoulders back and let the urge fade a little, but I stay alert.
And then Kevin's voice rises above the general noise of the bar.
"All I'm saying is—" He's talking to the guy beside him, or maybe to the room, it's hard to tell at this point. "—she's out there every night playing farmhand with some guy who can't even commit to a zip code. And I'm supposed to take a number?" He snorts. "She deserves better than a placeholder."
Nobody answers him. The guy beside him stares at his beer.
Kevin spots me.
The whole room shifts in about half a second. His posture reorganizes, the performance changing gears. He straightens up from the bar and spreads his arms wide like he's welcoming someone he's been waiting on.
"Well." His voice carries the full length of the room. It's designed to carry. "Bo Gates. Come to watch over your girl?"
The noise level drops.
I don't answer.
I walk to the bar, take a stool two down from Kevin, and nod at the bartender. "Water's fine."
The bartender's eyes saythank you, andI'm sorryin the same look. He sets a glass in front of me.
Kevin laughs. It's designed to irritate and engage ratherthan connect. "Water. Real exciting. A real man's drink." He snorts. "No wonder she keeps her options open."
A few people shift uncomfortably. Someone near the pool table sets down their cue.
"Kevin." Levi's voice is flat and even. Just his name.
"What?" Kevin swings toward him, throwing his hands up. "I'm having a conversation. This a crime now?" He looks around the bar, playing to an audience that's actively trying not to be one. "Bunch of veterans running the whole town. Can't have a drink without somebody hovering."
"You've had enough drinks," Austin says from the pool table. Calm and factual.
Kevin doesn't like that. He doesn't like the calm, doesn't like being outflanked without a single punch being thrown. His eyes move from Austin to Levi to me and back again, and I watch him recalculate.
"You know what your problem is?" He points at me, that loose, unfocused sweep that takes in the whole room. "All of you, actually. You act like you own this town. Like being in the military makes you something special." His voice tips mean at the edges. "Bo's been hanging around Falon since he got back, and nobody blinks. I try to have one conversation with her, and suddenly there's a committee."
My hands are loose at my sides. I keep them there.
"That's enough," Mason says. His voice is lower and older. It's coming from a man who was actually the problem before he became the solution.
