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I give her a smile… one that’s apologetic, and with hope, she might find charming the way she once did.
“Get the fuck out of my bar,” she says in a voice so ice-cold a shiver runs up my spine. “Get out and don’t come back.”
“Stevie,” I implore, but she brushes by me and heads behind the bar, closing the flip top so I can’t follow. I grab onto the edge and call after her. “Come on, Stevie… talk to me.”
I’m ignored as she moves farther away. I follow her along the outside, brushing past customers on their stools.
“Stevie.” I have to raise my voice to be heard above the jukebox. “Asking the same thing you asked of me… five minutes.”
She doesn’t even look at me, instead grabbing an empty from the bar top and putting it in a rack to be washed. She grabs a clean mug, moves to the tap, and pours. I follow her there, nudging in between two guys to get closer to her. “I know what happened, Stevie.”
To her credit, she keeps her eyes on the beer, but I see her spine stiffen.
“I’ll stay here until you talk to me. Follow you up and down the bar all night if I have to. You’ll have to get your bat out to make me leave.”
She closes her eyes for a moment, and when she opens them, they’re arctic. She sets the beer down, barely glances at me but addresses the men to either side. “Gary… Chris… I don’t want this customer in my bar. Will you escort him out?”
In a nanosecond, both my arms are in vise grips, and I’m being dragged toward the door. “What the fuck?” I snarl, and because they aren’t expecting it, I manage to rip free.
I bolt for the bar again where Stevie stands, watching impassively. “I get it,” I blurt out. She doesn’t say a word, and the men are back, grabbing my arms again. “Now I know how you felt when I wouldn’t let you talk. It fucking sucks, and all I can say is I’m sorry I hurt you.”
Once again, I’m dragged backward, and my attempts to get free are impossible now. No one attempts to intercede, and more than one of the customers looks like they hope I’ll fight so I’ll get my ass kicked. It kind of makes me proud of them for sticking up for her, even if that means I get tossed out.
I’m pushed through the door not so nicely, and I stumble but manage to right myself. I huff out a breath of frustration and look back to the door, consider making another attempt, and realize I can’t afford to get injured off the ice.
“That went well,” I mutter to myself as I turn for the street. I’ll have to come up with a plan B, which probably involves stalking her at her house.
The door opens, a burst of music from the jukebox—“Spoonman” by Soundgarden—and I’m stunned to see John walking out. I was so focused on Stevie I didn’t even see her dad in there.
I brace myself because I’m sure if there’s one person who will try to kick my ass, it’s him. No doubt in my mind John knows the full story as Stevie would have held nothing back from him.
“You sure fucked things up,” he says.
“Trying to make it right,” I point out. “Will you help me?”
“Nah. Just wanted to come out here and gloat over how you fucked things up.”
I don’t buy that for a second. The man likes me. Or he used to like me, and he wants his daughter happy.
But he won’t affirmatively help, so an idea strikes. “I’m ready for you to do my memorial tattoo.”
“That appointment was yesterday, and I canceled it.”
I’d assumed as much. I obviously didn’t bother to show up. Pulling my wallet out of my back pocket, I wave it at him. “I’m ready now. I’ve got a credit card in here with no limit. You name the price, and I’ll pay it.”
Christ, it’s going to cost me a fortune to buy time with her dad, but I know if anyone can break through to her, it’s him. To get him to do that, I need a lot of time to convince him to help me.
“Any amount?” he asks.
I swallow hard. “Any amount.”
“Ten grand,” he says without hesitation.
I wince. “Ten grand?”
“Yeah… I’m going to buy Stevie’s diary back from that douchebag reporter. That’s the amount he paid to get it from Mandi.”
Well, damn… there’s nothing in this lifetime that John Kisner will ever do that will make me like him more.
“Ten thousand,” I agree on the price, sweeping my arm to his tattoo shop next door. “But I’ll get the diary back for her. I’ll track that son of a bitch down tomorrow morning.”
