Page 32 of Run to Me

“Information is power.” I slip my phone into my back pocket and pick up the dirty glasses I had intended to grab before my phone distracted me.

“Are you blackmailing people now? Bar life isn’t good enough anymore, so you’re doubling as a secret agent?” Trevor asks.

“Something like that,” I mutter before firing a question back at him. “Why are you here?”

“Gina took the kids to church with her parents. Thought I’d get some work done.”

“On a Sunday? You could be working at home, enjoying the peace and quiet,” I say.

“I’d much rather hang with my boys.”

Javi points to the laptop on the bar. “But you’re working.”

“But I’m here,” Trevor responds, as if his reasoning makes perfect sense.

I roll my eyes and resume the group activity everyone, except Trevor, showed up to do: party cleanup. Tatum’s show was a success. A stressful, lucrative event I’ll never host again. My staff was so exhausted by the end of the night, I sent them home and told them we could deal with the mess this morning.

Javi follows as I push through the kitchen door with the glasses in hand. “My abuela’s birthday party is next month.”

“It’s on my calendar,” I say.

“Don’t forget. She’ll be disappointed if you’re a no-show.”

Bristling from the unspoken accusation, I dump the glasses in the industrial sink and face him, hands on hips. “Since when do I forget things?”

“You tell me,” he says. Meeting my challenging stance, he plants his feet wide and folds his arms across the suede vest he’s wearing. It has fringe, for fuck’s sake.

Annoyed that he’s bringing up my mistake from the last karaoke night we held, I turn my back on him and yank open the dishwasher. “It was one keg. And that was a month ago. Get over it.”

“And the wings we ran out of last night? Who forgot to put in the order for extra?”

Me.

Sighing, I cram the last glass into the top rack and slam the door shut, close to losing my temper. Not because Javi’s poking at my weak defenses, but because I’m weak, consumed with the blinking dot on my phone. Every day, a thousand times a day, I pray the dot moves toward Walford. And when it’s here, like yesterday, I pray it never leaves. But the dot relocated this morning and now blinks proudly in Austin.

Because I was busy working last night, I didn’t talk to Maisy, so I’m in a shitty mood today already. The last thing I need is more of Javi’s prodding.

Facing him, I add a hard edge to my tone. “I have a lot going on, especially with trying to help Vera. Who else is gonna do it? You? Trevor?” I ask, waving an arm toward to the door where Trevor sits on the other side.

“She’s not your responsibility, man.”

“Yeah? Well, I don’t see anyone else stepping up. She has no one.”

“She has Maisy,” he argues, which only adds fuel to my fire.

Rather than yell at my friend, I control my raging emotions and grit my teeth. “None of us have Maisy.”

He clamps both hands on my shoulders, his eyes sweeping over my face like he’s searching for cracks. The cracks are there if you know where to look for them, and Javi usually knows. Thankfully, he nods as if confirming I’m still whole and drops his hands.

“You own a business,” he says, reminding me of my priorities. “Your attention is needed here.”

Need.

“I’m aware.”

“Good. Keep your head on straight and put Maisy out of your mind. She’s not coming back, man. There’s no sense in getting your hopes up every time she blows through town. Even if she decides to help with Vera, she’ll never stay. She’ll show up, do the bare minimum, and flee again.”

Leave it to Javi to sour my mood further with hard facts. Refusing to hear more, I push past him and exit the kitchen. I stride toward the stage where Danny Foster packs up the video equipment from last night’s show. He and his friends from the school’s AV club ran a live feed to neighboring businesses because my bar couldn’t accommodate the huge turnout. Curiously, Danny’s friends are nowhere in sight.