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“Love you too.” I end the call. I give myself one last look in the mirror. I head out to my car and drive over to the address Flynn’s PI Mike gave me. It’s a bar with a parking lot out back. I park my SUV and slip on my baseball cap. I don’t exactly want to be recognized. I sit off to the side of the bar on a barstool. The place is a sports bar with lots of televisions on the walls and a rustic vibe with all the weathered exposed wood beams.
Mike gave me a small device that fits in my ear to communicate with him.
“He isn’t here yet,” Mike says, referring to Carter. “It’s important you and I do not make any eye contact,” he reminds for the umpteenth time. “Don’t even look my way.” He has given me these directions twenty times already. I get it. I obviously don’t answer him because I don’t want people to think I’m talking to myself.
It takes a good hour before Carter shows up at the bar with his buddies. He frequents this place when he plays in Chicago. He doesn’t notice me as he orders his first beer. A bunch of ladies surrounds the guys, and the guys buy them drinks. I keep my head low because I recognize them as Carter’s teammates. Also if any of these girls recognize me before Carter has enough alcohol in him, it will be game over for our plan.
One of his teammates suggests they do some shots. I’m grateful because that should speed things along. Carter and his friends are laughing and joking around. One of them takes one of the girls by the hand and leads her to the bathroom. Carter sits on a barstool and chats with a blonde standing between his thighs. She gives him a shot and holds it for him as she pours the liquid down his throat. Then they are making out. I want to vomit.
I nurse the beer in front of me.
“Be patient,” Mike says on our little earpiece.
I’m being patient.
“He’s getting drunk,” he says. “I was in the last city he was in. This is routine for him.”
Okay.
Another good hour passes of Carter drinking with his friends, their crowd gets louder. The ladies get closer. The girl Carter is with isn’t shy about touching him all over. I can clearly see his face is flushed, and he’s feeling his drink.
“Get up and go to the men’s room,” Mike instructs through the earpiece. “When you get back, make sure Lewis sees you.”
I stand and keep my head dipped as I make my way to the bathroom. I can’t screw this up. I’ve got one shot here.
I take the world’s longest piss when Carter walks into the men’s room. Shit. This wasn’t the plan. I need Mike here to snap photos.
“Bozeman?” Carter asks.
“What’s up, Lewis?” I say, walking over to the sink to wash my hands.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” he asks.
“My father lives in this city,” I say. Carter knows about my family. He knows what happened to my brother and how my parents split after my whole high school got wind of the news.
I leave the bathroom without looking back. I know I also can’t tell Mike there has been a change of plan.
Moments later, Carter is back out by the bar, and I order another drink. This time, I keep my head held high. I also remove my cap.
“Holy shit,” one of the ladies screeches. “You’re Liam Bozeman.”
My luck . . . it’s the same girl who was lip-locked with Carter.
“Hey.” I smile.
Carter mutters something under his breath.
“Go back to the hole you crawled out of,” Carter barks at me. He’s clearly drunk.
“I’m happy right here.” I grin to the girl and smirk at Carter. The goal being to piss him off.
“Don’t tell me you want my sloppy seconds all over again,” Carter mumbles. I want to get up and punch the guy in the face, but instead, I keep my cool.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Skylar was mine first, and you were probably terrible in bed because she came right back to me, didn’t she?” My words taste bitter on my tongue, but Mike told me I’d have to play dirty. I’d have to say things to raise Carter’s blood pressure enough he would snap.
This is the price.
“Fuck you, Bozeman,” he spits.
