“So, if I have a nightmare at two a.m., you’ll come over and hold my hand?”
“Yes.” Something warm and protective rose in Malcolm’s chest, and he grabbed the edge of the bar so he didn’t do something dumb. Like reach for Iggy. “I’ll always come when you need me.”
Iggy’s gaze flickered, and he backed up. “Yeah. Right. Night, Malcolm.” He walked away.
The abrupt dismissal left Malcolm reeling with confusion, until he understood what he’d said. Teenage Malcolm had once promised Iggy that he would always be there, always come if Iggy was in trouble. And he had, as best he could, for being only seventeen. Until the last time Iggy had needed him, and Malcolm hadn’t been there. Because Malcolm was busy someplace else.
The last, unforgivable time that had destroyed the best thing in his life, and left his heart broken on the trailer floor.
Chapter
Five
“I’ll always come when you need me.”
The earnest statement rang in Iggy’s head long after Malcolm left the saloon, long after he began cleaning down the bar, long after he and Laurel closed for the night. Laurel parked in the rear, she told him, because Howie insisted. He liked to walk her to her car most nights, and even when he left the bar early, he left his porchlight on for her.
Iggy made a mental note to start leaving the porchlight on at night.
He adored Laurel from their first phone conversation, way back when Howie hired her as a waitress, who quickly moved up to bartender and General Sassy Bitch, as she liked to call herself. Mid-forties with a smoker’s voice she swore was from too much screaming in mosh pits as a twenty-year-old college dropout (and maybe a little too much weed), her tops were too tight to contain both her boobs and her personality.
She reminded Iggy of a drag queen he knew from Providence, in all the best ways.
“I can’t remember the last time I had so much fun here,” Laurel said as she locked the back door, “that didn’t involvewatching some young’un with bigger balls than brains try to ride old Thor.”
Thor was her name for Iggy’s nemesis, that damned mechanical bull.
“I’m glad I wasn’t in the way,” Iggy replied. “I know sometimes bartenders can be territorial about their space.”
She blew a raspberry at the sky. “Honey, it’s Howie’s space, he just lets me play there six nights a week. I don’t mind sharin’ the sandbox with someone who’s got your tricks.”
“Well, I’m grateful to share. I’m used to being busy at night and staying up late, so I really don’t mind helping. We can stay open without the expense of hiring a temp. God knows what sort of insurance Uncle Howie has, and what his out-of-pocket for all this is going to be.” Even one day in-patient could cost thousands, and Howie was on day two, with at least a few more to go.
“Even if you won’t take hourly, I’m keeping track of your tip share.” Laurel strolled over to a newer model VW Bug covered in layers of stickers. “I’ll force Howie to hide it in your suitcase at some point. You’re earning it.”
“Without a formal work agreement with Howie, I don’t want to take any money from you or the till. It can wait.” Iggy’s finances weren’t unlimited, but he had a small nest egg for when he was between gigs, and considering he’d left his last job in the lurch with zero notice, it wouldn’t be waiting for him.
“Okay. But at least eat a burger or two on the house. Howie would comp that to anyone who spent more than an hour with him when he’s sick. Trust me, when he busted his ankle, he was worse than a spring grizzly by a honey tree.”
“I believe it. So, around the same time tomorrow? Or do you need help earlier?”
“We’ve got it covered until five. G’night, Iggy.”
“Night.”
After Laurel drove off, Iggy walked slowly toward the dark trailer. At the bottom of the ramp, he tilted his head to the sky. Even with the bit of illumination from the front parking lot’s lights, an ocean of twinkling stars still blanketed the inky darkness above. Stars he’d spent hours on a blanket staring at with Monte, creating their own constellations, wishing on them night after night.
He missed the stars when he lived in the city, but in the city, he didn’t need the stars. He was surrounded by other lights, bright and dim, stationary and twinkling. Out here, in the dark…well, he hated stormy, cloudy nights the most.
He’d ignored his phone for a while and wasn’t surprised to find a text from Abigail:
How did it all go today? Up until 3. Call me.
Abigail Osborne owned her own photography business, which had gained a lot of traction recently after shooting engagement photos for a pair of social media influencers who then refused to pay her. The subsequent lawsuit—Iggy hadn’t paid close attention, because he knew she was in the right, and social media personalities bored him—sent her business soaring.
She was also the younger sister of Iggy’s late, long-term boyfriend, Darren, and they’d stuck by each other through a lot these last six years.
He parked his butt on one of the deck’s lawn chairs and called her.
