Page 11 of Halo

“Then what is it?” she asks softly. “I swore I wouldn’t be this woman, but we haven’t done anything in well over a year. And that’s fine—we said no commitments, but—” she laughs sardonically—“you’ve left me hanging.”

“And that’s on me, not you.” I sigh. “I have a lot going on right now, and this? It’s not doing it for me anymore. Not with anyone.”

She slowly nods, crossing her arms. “So, that’s it then?”

“I think so.” We stare at each other for a beat, the sound of heavy rainfall filling the space. Puddles litter the sidewalk as streams cascade down the roof and awnings. Seeing her heels, I lean in and offer my arm. “C’mon. Let me walk you to your car.”

We hurry to the parking garage, and Casey doesn’t waste any time getting into her car. After she backs out, she tosses me a wave, and heads out for the night.

Watching her headlights disappear, I let out a heavy breath.

Jesus Christ. I need a fucking drink.

Chapter 3

Nick

The parking lot at Low Places has more rain puddles than cars. The guys and I usually don’t hit up our favorite dive bar on Tuesday nights—unless it’s playoff season—but tonight seems like the perfect night to have a drink or two by myself. Fortunately withthe rain, I can do so in peace.

Shaking off my umbrella, I mosey into the bar, taking in the desolate place, and suddenly, there she is. Skye. The owner of Low Places, and someone you do not want to fuck with. She’s a tiny thing with soft features, always clad in bright colors withblack accents, but on multiple occasions I’ve witnessed her taking out men twice my size. Over the years, she has become a solace.

“Here comes trouble.” She snickers.

“Hey, Skye.” I wrap her in a big hug. She quickly pulls back, giving me a once-over. Then sniffing me. “Okay, what’s wrong?”

I scoff with a smile. “What are you talking about?” I smell my shirt. “Do I stink or—?”

“Why are you a sad little puppy?”

I wince. “I’m not a sad little puppy.”

She raises an eyebrow before directing me with her gaze to take a seat. “Are we needing your usual, or are we needing whiskey tonight?”

I smirk. “I’ll let you guess.”

She flips out a tumbler before pouring two-fingers of a top shelf. Skye knows me; just give me something good. She slides the glass across the polished wood, my drink stopping perfectly in front of me with practiced precision.

I hum, taking a pull, letting the burn overwhelm the aches from the day.

Skye grabs a dish of peanuts, placing them next to me. “Fresh bowl. No one’s had their grubby hands in it yet.” She winks, settling in front of me, leaning against the counter. “So?”

“So … what?”

She laughs sardonically. “Are you going to make me beat it out of you?”

I take another sip. “There’s nothing.”

“Right,” she sasses. “Okay, Nicholas.”

“Did you just proper-name me? Geraldine?”

“Damnit, I never should’ve told you that.” She snickers, wiping down the bar. “Where are your cronies anyway?”

I toss a couple of peanuts in my mouth, staring at her inquisitively. “At home. With their wives—”

“All done!” A petite brunette with her hair braided and fixed like a crown pokes her head out of Skye’s office from behind the bar.

“Ah, perfect timing. I’ve got an important job for you.” Skye waves the woman over. “Leah, this is Cowboy Ken. Your job is to make him not so grouchy.”