Page 30 of In Your Wake

“Okay,” I say, rushing out of the cooler before Kayla makes my temperature spike any higher. “POS system?”

At the bar, I power up the touchscreen, thankful that this part is still muscle memory. Hundreds of shifts in college, memorizing menu codes, saving up tips to buy my gear, dreaming of a life that didn’t include being surrounded by all this death—both literal and figurative.

“This is where you open tabs, close tabs, split checks. Easy stuff.”

Kayla leans in again, closer than any professional training requires, sticking her chest out enough to aim her exceptional cleavage my way. “Mind walking me through it one-on-one?”

“This is one-on-one,” I say, gesturing at the group. A blush creeps up my neck and cheeks.

Amused, she laughs low. “You get flustered easily, Mitchell.”

“No, I don’t,” I lie, avoiding her eyes.

Her sexy smile says she doesn’t believe me, but I ignore it and keep explaining the system, at least to the few who are listening. Kayla doesn’t even pretend to be paying attention and won’t stop staring. I should appreciate it, but today, the weight of the evening ahead at the cemetery presses in on me and reminds me that one day, and one day soon, we’ll have to bury my dad in that same cemetery.

I wonder if I’ll be visiting his grave on his birthday, too. This time next year, will I be pouring a shot of whiskey out in tribute or will I have moved on?

Something deep in my chest tightens, and I focus on the grand opening coming up instead of everything else that’s out of my control.

Kayla leans in again, brushing her tits against my arm and smiles.

Perfect. I want to be interested, but she clearly has no clue that I absolutely don’t have the bandwidth for this right now.

The streets are dark when I leave the brewery, but my mind is alert as if I’ve had five cups of coffee.

Pulling up to the liquor store, I kill the engine and squeeze my eyes shut, clenching my fingers around the steering wheel. Hours dealing with Kayla has left me on edge; a constant reminder of the other woman in my life causing me issues. I still can’t believe how upset Maxine is and how hard she’s holding onto her grudge. It’s like she’s forgotten I’m not the one to blame. I’m not the bad guy in all of this.

She acts as if she’s so damn perfect. Completely innocent. But of all people who shouldn’t throw stones, Maxine Nolan is the head boulder-launcher.

Throwing stones… A memory resurfaces, but with the crack of my neck, I shove it back down and try to loosen its hold while I walk into the liquor store.

The bell above the door rings, getting Old Man Talbot’s attention and he looks up from his newspaper. It’s as if no time has passed since I was last here. Probably in his early eighties, his skin is wrinkled, and his head is topped with thin remnants of white hair.

“Well, well, if it isn’t Mitchell Adams,” he says, his eyesight clearly not a victim to age yet. “What brings you back to the Bay?”

“Hey, Mr. Talbot. Nice to see you again.” I shake his hand. “I’m here for business and other things.”

He leans down from his stool and reaches beneath the counter, then hands me a round, white and red peppermint candy, like he used to do when I’d come here to buy some beers. He never cared if I was underage back then—you’ll be twenty-one soon enough, he’d say. But he always made me promise to be safe and not get into any trouble. And then he’d hand me a peppermint. I’m not exactly sure why he’d do it, but I’ll tell you one thing: drinking beer after eating peppermint is fucking disgusting.

I pop the candy into my mouth and grin. “We’re opening the Four Brothers brewery in a few days. You should stop by.”

He nods. “Ah, yes, the bar.”

“It’s nicer than a bar,” I correct. “We have delicious food and local craft beer.”

“Bah, fancy words, but it’s still a bar,” he says with a wave of his hand. I chuckle. “I’ll be sure to pass by.” He tucks his hands into his elbows. “How’s your father? Haven’t seen him around much.” Talbot’s brow wrinkles with his concerned frown. “Your mother tells me he’s seen better days.”

Small towns don’t offer much privacy. There isn’t anywhere I could go where others wouldn’t know my business. I’m not sure why I assumed Talbot’s would be any different. “He has, but he’s a trooper.”

Talbot tucks his thin lips. “All you Adamses are. Since way back when Jedidiah Adams first settled here. You’re a strong family. Everyone knows that.” He nods, his eyes growing distant. “Good family.”

“We sure are, sir,” I say, placating the man, and head toward the whiskey. Old Man Talbot is a saint, but his love of Oakwhite Bay’s history and genealogy leads to long-winded conversations I don’t have the time for.

I pick up the bottle I need, then hurry to pay for it. Hurry is a strong word—it takes Talbot about ten minutes to figure out the credit card machine.

Finally deciding to pay with cash, I let him keep the change. “Take care, Mr. Talbot.”

“You too, Bill,” he says and settles back onto his stool. I do a double-take, my heart breaking at his slip-up, then step out of the store.