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“Look at Taylor, can sing like an angel but talk about self-sabotage. She never got over being the adopted kid, feeling unlovable. She’s mothered you something fierce since she first popped you with that potato gun and you told her she’d blinded you, and she did it because she didn’t think she was good enough to be your friend, thought she had to earn it. And that’s exactly what screwed her up with Jamie. Talk about never learning.”
The cloth slapped down again. “Look at Sam, barely finished school, dyslexic, started Royal Flush because he didn’t think anyone with any sense would employ him. Never had a music lesson in his life, taught himself to drum and now he plays piano. The class bloody clown, wait till you hear the lyrics he’s written, so damn beautiful, they’ll make you want to gag.”
“And Jamie?”
Angus crinkled something, screwed the top on a bottle. “Think little brother has it together, at least now. Barely bothered by his asthma these days. Remember him as a kid, all those trips to hospital. All those times we nearly lost him. But what a flipping idiot. Too stupid to tell Taylor he loved her for all those years.”
Damon could hear the smile on Angus’s face.
“Heather?”
“Is one hundred percent perfect, and I don’t want to hear another word about how she was once anorexic and is obsessed about food. Obsessed, like if it’s not green it’s going to take ten years off her life; like bring pizza into the house and she thinks she’s put on a dress size by the time you open the lid.”
Damon smiled. He heard love, pride, obsession of another kind in Angus’ voice. And he was catching on. “And you?”
“Not about me, mate.”
“Right, because you have no hint of a disability.”
“You wan
t to keep drinking at this bar, right?”
“This bar, Moon Blink, the place you opened because you and book learning have a hate-hate relationship and you didn’t get into business school, and because you were a hopeless failure you figured you might as well just pour dumb drinks for a living? You’re wondering if I want to keep drinking at this bar, the business you run so efficiently, so sensitively it’s a case study in how to print money.”
“I had help. You for the loan. Jamie for the books. If it weren’t for Taylor, or Heather…” And now Angus was catching on. “That’s the point, right.”
Damon chomped on a nut. It was better to say nothing.
“You know it’s just you and me here, no kitchen staff, no cleaning crew. I could smack you around and say you walked into a wall, who wouldn’t believe me?”
Damon gestured to the floor. “Mel is a highly trained attack dog. One false move and your life is forfeit.” He had a suspicion she was asleep.
“You do know she’s snoring.”
They both laughed. “You really want to hit me, don’t you?”
“I really do. Heather won’t let me, even though she still blames you for the tattoo.”
“Whipped.” He tossed a nut in the air tried to catch it in his mouth. It pinged off his shoulder and flew off somewhere. “I had nothing to do with it being so lame.”
“It’s a sprig of heather, it’s not lame.
“Mate, the tattoo artist laughed at you.”
“Bloody hell, I want to hit you.”
He waved his hand. “Bring the nuts back first and can we change the subject?”
“Yeah, let’s do that. What are you doing about Georgia?”
“Nuts.” The bowl brushed the back of his hand. “You mean other than flying for twenty-two hours to tell her I’m sorry, I had life altering surgery, wasn’t right in my head about that, and I’d give up my voice to get her back.”
“Yeah, other than that.”
“What are you suggesting?” He popped a pinch of nuts in his mouth.
“How about something mega?”
