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His friends waited. Lucas drank some ale. After a couple of minutes, Nicolo took a breath, then expelled it slowly.
“She went back to Texas?”
Lucas nodded.
“And you said, good riddance.”
“Of course.” Lucas frowned. “Well, I thought it.”
“But you never said it to her face.”
“No.”
More silence. Damian knew it was his turn to take a stroll on the exceedingly thin ice.
“So, is that the problem? I mean, is that why you’re in this mood?”
“Mood? What mood?” Lucas demanded, and then he shrugged. “Yes. Maybe. Probably. Idiot that I was, I let her tell me off but I never—”
“You never reciprocated.”
“Exactly.”
Nicolo and Damian looked at each other.
“You know,” Nicolo said slowly, “not that it’s any of my business, but—”
“Right,” Damian said. “I mean, I’m pretty sure Nicolo’s going to give you the same advice I would.”
“Closure,” Nicolo said, and Damian nodded.
Lucas looked at them. “Closure?”
“Sure. Go to Texas. Confront the lady. Tell her what you should have told her when she walked out.”
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Lucas said nothing. He lifted the damp bottle and made interlocking circles on the tabletop.
“You think?”
“Of course,” said Damian. “Fly to Texas, tell the lady what’s on your mind. Right, Barbieri?”
Nicolo gave a quick nod. “Abso-freaking-lutely.”
A muscle jumped in Lucas’s jaw. “You’re right. I should have thought of it myself. I need closure. I need to tell Lyssa—”
“I thought it was Alyssa,” Damian said, and waited for a kick in the ankle that never came.
The muscle in Lucas’s jaw twitched. “I called her Lyssa when I thought…Never mind that. Thanks for the advice, both of you.”
“Yeah, well, that’s what friends are for.”
The three men got to their feet, shook hands, clutched shoulders, threw friendly jabs at each other’s biceps. Lucas reached for his wallet and they waved him away.
“Just go,” Damian said.
They watched him stride through the bar and out the door. Then Nicolo grinned.
