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“Damn, that’s amazing! Just what he always wanted.”
“Yeah, so he’s doing great.”
Liam’s eyes shifted between me and Charlotte. I could see his mind working as he put the pieces together. He obviously knew everything. “And you?” He asked her softly as he eyed me. “How are you doing, Charli?”
“Fine, of course. Uh, I’m doing great—”
“Are you still writing?”
An embarrassed puff of air escaped her, blowing back a wayward curl. “You could say that...”
“Ever heard of Keli Marlowe?” Gwen asked Liam as she nudged Charlotte’s shoulder with hers.
“The murder mystery author? No shit? Oh, Charli, you did it.”
Charlotte beamed. “Yeah...”
I couldn’t take it anymore. “I’m getting another pitcher.” I stood. “Anyone want anything while I’m at the bar?” I all but ran off without waiting for an answer.
Jealousy and regret ate at me. There were so many aspects of her life that I hadn’t been part of. So much that I didn’t know about her—where she’d been, what she’d done. Who she had been with when she should have been with me.
Fuck, I had no right to these feelings. I was the one who had screwed things up for us. I had been impatient, unyielding, stubborn. I let her go when I should have made a compromise. I should have done whatever it took to keep her in my life.
I had been a fool, and now I was paying for it.
“Cade. Rough night?” My cousin Oliver was out of the kitchen for once and serving drinks behind the bar.
“To say the least,” I mumbled. “I came here to blow off some steam. I have to be able to talk to her without sounding like a possessive dick. But every day that goes by makes it worse. And I’m not sure how to handle myself.”
He filled up a glass with ice and a Coke. “No more alcohol. You need your head in the game tonight.”
“You got that right.” I took the Coke. “Thanks.”
“Yup. Food?”
“No thanks. Not tonight.”
“Take it easy. And help me keep an eye on this one.” His head tilted toward Levi before he moved down the bar to help another customer.
I sat in the stool next to Levi, who was currently not taking Oliver’s “no more alcohol” advice. Several empty shot glasses were lined up in front of his seat at the bar. His eyes were red-rimmed and sad.
“You okay?”
“Fuck no.” He downed another shot then slammed the glass next to the others. “This is my last one though. I’m not an idiot. I’m exactly drunk enough to forget for the night, but not so drunk I’ll end up texting her.”
“That’s good. Want to talk about it?”
“Nope. I already said too much. Doyouwant to talk?”
“Fuck no.”
He snorted. “I figured. You should go talk to her though. Don’t let any more time go by. It’s stupid.”
“You think?”
“You love her, don’t you?”
“I don’t—” I stopped talking. A denial would be a lie, but a confirmation would be too soon. I wasn’t ready to admit it to myself.
