AllFreeNovel
Share Us
If Sam had just done what was expected of him, he wouldn’t have ended up in constant trouble. He wouldn’t have set himself up for failure, brought down the wrath of their parents, or cut himself off from their small family.
Not that Lincoln had been an angel. He’d known how to push Sam’s buttons. Sam wanted to be a dickhead? Fine. Then he’d have to go up against Lincoln, too. They’d fought over everything—the last cookie, who got to sit in the front seat of the car, who was better at what.
As the older sibling, Lincoln had always had a hard advantage. Sam hadn’t been able to match him academically or in social status, so they’d battled both at home and, as teenagers, in separate boxing divisions.
Though Sam was a better boxer, Lincoln won his matches more often. Which had proven his point that life was easier when you played by the rules and exceeded expectations.
But that had all been years ago. He’d come to Bliss Cove with the hope that they might be able to get past their lifelong shit and act like adults.
Based on the way Sam was glaring at him, that was probably a futile hope.
“Look.” Lincoln held up his hands in a gesture of truce. “I’m not here to give you any crap. I just want to talk. Are you free for lunch?”
Wariness rose to Sam’s eyes. “Maybe. How long are you in town?”
“Just for the weekend.”
Sam studied him for a second, then nodded. “I need to finish something here, but I’ll meet you over at the Mousehole Tavern in an hour.”
“Okay.” A surprisingly strong relief filled his chest. He grabbed a pen from the counter and wrote his cell number on a piece of paper. “Text or call if you need to. You said the Mousehole?”
“Few blocks south, take a left on Dandelion and go up the dirt road toward the redwood grove. You can’t miss it.”
Taking the portfolio, Lincoln headed back out to Starfish Avenue. He found the Mousehole Tavern, one of several wooden buildings located at the edge of the redwoods.
White lights twinkled around the windows, and rockers sat on the front porch. Inside, the red-and-white checkered tables were filled with lunch patrons, and Chuck Berry’s “You Never Can Tell” drifted from the jukebox.
Lincoln made his way to the bar and hitched himself onto a stool. On the wall behind the bar, a mounted plastic fish was warbling out “Love Me Tender.”
The bartender put a napkin in front of him. “What’ll you have?”
“What’ve you got on tap?”
“Just brought in a new craft IPA.” The bartender picked up a pint glass. “Eight different hops. It’s smooth, but on the bitter side, if that matters to you.”
“It doesn’t. I’ll try it.”
The bartender poured the beer and set it on the bartop. Lincoln took a sip and nodded his approval of the crisp, malty flavor.
“Where’d you come in from?” The bartender began wiping down the counter.
“New York.”
“Here for long?”
“No. Just a couple of days.”
“Got done early.” Sam approached the bar, pulling off his jacket. “Brooke came in to take over.”
Lincoln didn’t miss the warm note in his brother’s voice. “Brooke’s your girl?”
Sam nodded. “You want to get a table or sit here?”
“Doesn’t matter.”
Sam tossed his jacket onto a nearby wall rack and sat on the barstool beside Lincoln. The bartender put a beer in front of him without asking what he wanted. He glanced from Sam to Lincoln and back again.
Sam twisted his mouth. “My brother, Lincoln.”
