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I wave over the waitress to get the check and have dessert wrapped to-go, telling Levi, “We’re right around the corner, I’ll be there in a few minutes.” I hang up the phone, rubbing a hand down my face in frustration. Why didn’t he call me? Remind me, even. I could’ve talked to Cassidy and rescheduled our date.
“What is it?”
“My brother,” I say, taking out my wallet and handing my card to the waitress who says she’ll be back with the receipt and to-go box. “Duke. It’s…the anniversary of his wife’s death. Five years ago, today.”
“Oh…”
“He’s not himself right now,” I grunt. “I’m sorry, but I need to go get him and bring him home.”
“Of course.”
I sign off on the bill and stand, taking Cassidy’s hand as she grabs her purse and our dessert. I’m hoping we’ll get a chance to enjoy it…depending on what I’ll be dealing with tonight. She hurries to keep up with my long strides as we make it to the parking lot and into the truck.
I hit the gas a little harder than I should, guilt clogging up my thoughts. Not only did I forget about today and what it meant for Duke, but I haven’t had the chance to tell Cass about her brother yet. And now…I just ended our date early.
Fuck.
Eighteen.
Cassidy
Butch stops the truckright outside the front door to Tavern Nine, throwing it in park. “Wait here,” he says, pushing his door open with his boot. He slams the door behind him, eating up the space toward the bouncer and the bar owner, Roger, standing outside as if they were waiting for him.
I nibble anxiously on a fingernail, watching the door as he disappears inside with Roger. I hope his brother’s okay. I suppose I’ll be finding out soon enough since he’ll be getting in the backseat any moment.
Or should I move to the back and let him have the front?
I’ve known Duke for as long as I’ve known Butch—years—and I’ve met him several times and seen him around town on countless occasions. He’s the most level-headed, kindest guy I know. The fact that another one of Butch’s brothers calledhimtohave Duke picked up because he’s not himself…well, I can relate to that feeling all too well.
Part of me wonders if Garrett is inside right now, drinking away his sorrows.
I reach for my phone, my chest tight, debating if I should text him to check in or not—while simultaneously trying to decide if I should move to the back seat. The door to the bar slams open and Duke stumbles out with Butch hot on his heels.
“Over here,” Butch tells him, trying to scoop an arm under his brother’s for support.
Duke jerks away, righting himself. “I know where the fuck I’m goin’.”
When he reaches the truck and goes to open the front passenger side door, he looks up. His glossy, heartbroken expression catches mine and he turns away to face Butch. “What the hell, man? I can’t—”
“Get in the truck, Duke,” he says, opening the back door and tossing a few things out of the way to clear the seat for him. “Now.”
“I can get in the back if—” I start to say.
“You’re fine where you are, sweetheart,” Butch tells me, nudging his brother not so gently in the right direction. “Get. In.”
A moment later, Duke is in the back muttering to himself and Butch is shifting the truck out of park and waiting for a car to pass. We pull out onto the road as a retching sound from behind has me spinning in my seat.
“Don’t you fuckin’ blow chunks in my damn truck,” Butch growls.
“I ain’t doin’ shit.” Duke coughs, clearing his throat. “Haven’t puked since high school. Relax.”
I fish some napkins out of the center console and hand them to the back. “Here.” He doesn’t bother taking them from my handor say thank you, so I set them on the back edge of the console. “Just in case.”
He grunts.
The cab of the truck falls eerily silent, with nothing but the rumble of the engine and the low hiss of the AC to be heard. Well, this is an awkward way to end a first date.
Butch’s hand finds mine resting on the center console. I glance over at him, giving him a small smile as I slide my hand in his.
