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He turned to me and shook his head in disgust. “If you quit now, then that devil woman wins.”
Hazel looked at me, wide-eyed. Then she turned to her brother. “Leave him alone, Dylan. If he’s got a broken heart, that’s his business.”
My face went hot at that comment. That wasn’t it. I had just lost my motivation. Between my dad’s death, Crystal’s cheating, and all the trouble I’d caused for the family business, I’d lost myself. Carefree Remy was gone. The guy who never took things too seriously started fading when we lost my father to a horrific accident. That disappearance only accelerated with the hurt Crystal caused. And the recent knowledge that my dad’s death may not have been an accident was the nail in the coffin.
I wasn’t sure anything would get me out of this rut. Especially not a sham marriage to my best friend’s little sister.
“Sounds like you need a therapist, not a wife,” she quipped, making me chuckle.
“You’re not wrong,” Dylan added, “but sponsors and fans love a devoted family man. A wife could help his image.”
“That is some straight-up sexist bullshit,” Hazel said. “You need a pathetic, doting little woman cheering for you to make you a viable asset for a sponsor? Fuck that noise.”
“Amen,” I said. “It’s so backward and unnecessary these days.” I swallowed thickly. “But Dylan’s right about the other stuff. I do need to train harder. And be more focused…” God, I was a mess. My dream was finally within reach, and I was sabotaging my chances. And that had never been clearer than it was sitting here with my two oldest friends, who had done far more with their lives with far less than I had been given.
Thankfully, before I could drone on about my woes, Hazel stood and threw the blanket onto the back of the couch. “I gotta go shower. I’m bartending tonight.”
“You can’t work. You’re sick,” Dylan protested.
She spun around and put her hands on her hips. She was tiny but carried herself like a warrior. “It’s bad enough I’m broke and sleeping on your couch. I gotta work.”
And with that, she strode out of the room.
And I would be lying if I said I didn’t notice the sway of her hips or the curve of her ass in her oversized sweats.
When did that happen?
Chapter6
Hazel
Ipoured pint after pint, catching up with locals and explaining—repeatedly—what I was doing back in town. The work was hard, but the hours flew by. Mostly, I just had to smile and make drinks. Plus, it saved me hours of talking to people at the diner, since every single bit of Lovewell news and gossip was on display at the Moose tonight.
I was no stranger to manual labor. I had endured every type of job since I’d started working at fourteen. House cleaner, dog sitter, barista, camp counselor, car wash attendant and ghostwriter, to name a few. But I always came back to food service. The chaos of a busy bar or restaurant always helped me detach from the constant stressors in my life. The frenzy allowed me to turn off my brain for a few hours and focus on the task in front of me.
Counting my tips at the end of the night, even now, gave me a thrill. Honest money for honest work. Uncomplicated. And exactly what I needed right now. If I stopped moving, I risked letting the overwhelming thoughts that constantly swirled take over. The pressure, the expectations, the decade I’d spent in school. It all hung on the next year and whether I could pull off my dissertation.
The passion was there. The opioid crisis was personal for me and millions of other Americans. I had seen firsthand how opiates could ravage rural communities like Lovewell. And I had spent years digging into the science and data surrounding it, working on ways to fix it.
The point of this research wasn’t just to add those three little letters to the end of my name. My goal was to help further the dialogue about this deadly problem and offer solutions to communities in danger.
So I had to buckle down. Get more sleep. Better sleep. Could I fit a twin-size mattress in Dylan’s living room? How mad would he be if I did? My back ached after only a few nights, and the crick in my neck intensified every day. I’d need to find a quiet place to work, maybe the town library, and get cracking.
Everything else would have to wait.
A shadow fell over the bar top I was wiping down, pulling me from my thoughts. And there, across the bar, was a familiar pair of dark eyes.
“Henri.” I would have hugged him, but I was way too short to reach him from across the bar.
The gruff eldest Gagnon brother gave me a small smile. “Good to see you, Pipsqueak. My mom said you’re back for a while. That true?”
I nodded. “It’s cheaper up here than in Boston, and I’ve got a lot of work to get done.”
“We’re real proud of you,” he said, cramming a twenty into my tip jar and making me blush. “A doctor…”
“Not yet,” I trilled, “and it’s a PhD.”
“Same difference. My mom will be calling you Doctor Pip at Thanksgiving for the rest of your life. Get used to it.”
