asked.
“Who is he?” Doug replied.
I stood. “I’ll go.”
A briefcase dangled from one of Doug’s hands. He set it on the kitchen floor. “There’s a thought.”
I looked down at the envelope on the coffee table. I looked at Autumn, twisted on the couch to face Doug, the back of her dress visible. The fabric had split down to the base of her spine, exposing flesh I ached to touch.
Doug’s eyes were red and watered. He licked his lips. “Who are you?”
“Ridley,” I said. “Brone.” Would he know the name? Had Autumn ever talked about me—her first love, the one she’d walked out on, the one she walked back in on?
Doug’s boyish cheeks flushed. “Ridley?”
Autumn’s hand absently went to the envelope on the coffee table. “He’s an old friend.” She picked up the envelope, turned to me. “Don’t forget this.”
I gaped at what she offered as if I’d never seen it before.
She pushed it against my slack hand. “Take it.”
I snatched the envelope, crumpled the edge.
Autumn turned to Doug. “He was just leaving.”
A pressure thrummed in my ears, as if I had sunk to the bottom of the ocean. My jaw ached. I stalked from the living room into the kitchen, paused with a foot between Doug’s chest and my own.
He stared me down.
I went to move past him, hesitated, glanced at his briefcase. I lifted my foot as if to take a step, then gently toed his briefcase and knocked it over. The case slapped against the tiles.
Doug’s nostrils twitched.
“Sorry,” I said and strolled into the hall.
On the porch, I heard screaming begin inside. The sprinkler rattled in the background. The sun forced me to squint, as if I’d stepped out of a dark cave. But I felt like I had stepped into one.
Chapter 5
Hal was on his third song in a row, sweating under the eye-burning disco ball, pumping his arms in the air during an instrumental break. In all this activity, the zipper to his jumpsuit had slipped down a couple of inches, exposing an upside-down triangle of hairy belly.
He got three songs in a row because, despite every table and nearly every inch of floor space crowded with patrons, no one had signed up to sing.
I sat in my usual booth, nursing a Bells pale ale. I watched the swarms of bodies drink, laugh, and cringe whenever Hal tried a High Note —or any note really.
It’s a karaoke bar, people. Get up there and sing .
I hoped this crowd didn’t think I’d hired Hal as the entertainment.
Some movement to the left caught my attention. Mandy made a beeline through the crowd toward my table.
“I don’t know what the hee-haw is going on,” she said, clutching her tray so hard her knuckles turned white, “but what kind of bar doesn’t have Captain Morgan’s?”
I put my face in my hands. “Don’t tell me we’re out.”
“These people are going to start killing me, Ridley. I go to the bar for a drink, Sheila tells me there’s none left, I have to bear the bad news, and Mr. Drunk wants to shoot the messenger.”
Hal dropped to his knees, face red, veins popping out around his neck, and belted the final verse of his song, some country number I’d never heard before. Playing the part, Hal howled like a hound dog doing his version of a country singer.
“Would somebody shoot that guy,” Mandy said. “Why isn’t anyone else singing?”
“Maybe you could encourage them when you bring them their drinks.”
She snorted, giving me are-you-crazy eyes. “Maybe you should get up there.”
I glanced at the stage, short of breath. “I don’t sing.”
“Then why do you own a karaoke bar?”
I slapped the table. “Why don’t you go do your job?”
Mandy’s lower lip pushed out. Her eyes watered.
I took a deep breath, touched her elbow. “Mandy, I’m sorry. I’m stressed.”
“From what? Watching everyone else work their asses off?” She tossed her drink tray onto the table. “I quit.”
“Mandy, wait.”
She turned and marched out.
“Oh, damn.”
I slid out of
“Who is he?” Doug replied.
I stood. “I’ll go.”
A briefcase dangled from one of Doug’s hands. He set it on the kitchen floor. “There’s a thought.”
I looked down at the envelope on the coffee table. I looked at Autumn, twisted on the couch to face Doug, the back of her dress visible. The fabric had split down to the base of her spine, exposing flesh I ached to touch.
Doug’s eyes were red and watered. He licked his lips. “Who are you?”
“Ridley,” I said. “Brone.” Would he know the name? Had Autumn ever talked about me—her first love, the one she’d walked out on, the one she walked back in on?
Doug’s boyish cheeks flushed. “Ridley?”
Autumn’s hand absently went to the envelope on the coffee table. “He’s an old friend.” She picked up the envelope, turned to me. “Don’t forget this.”
I gaped at what she offered as if I’d never seen it before.
She pushed it against my slack hand. “Take it.”
I snatched the envelope, crumpled the edge.
Autumn turned to Doug. “He was just leaving.”
A pressure thrummed in my ears, as if I had sunk to the bottom of the ocean. My jaw ached. I stalked from the living room into the kitchen, paused with a foot between Doug’s chest and my own.
He stared me down.
I went to move past him, hesitated, glanced at his briefcase. I lifted my foot as if to take a step, then gently toed his briefcase and knocked it over. The case slapped against the tiles.
Doug’s nostrils twitched.
“Sorry,” I said and strolled into the hall.
On the porch, I heard screaming begin inside. The sprinkler rattled in the background. The sun forced me to squint, as if I’d stepped out of a dark cave. But I felt like I had stepped into one.
Chapter 5
Hal was on his third song in a row, sweating under the eye-burning disco ball, pumping his arms in the air during an instrumental break. In all this activity, the zipper to his jumpsuit had slipped down a couple of inches, exposing an upside-down triangle of hairy belly.
He got three songs in a row because, despite every table and nearly every inch of floor space crowded with patrons, no one had signed up to sing.
I sat in my usual booth, nursing a Bells pale ale. I watched the swarms of bodies drink, laugh, and cringe whenever Hal tried a High Note —or any note really.
It’s a karaoke bar, people. Get up there and sing .
I hoped this crowd didn’t think I’d hired Hal as the entertainment.
Some movement to the left caught my attention. Mandy made a beeline through the crowd toward my table.
“I don’t know what the hee-haw is going on,” she said, clutching her tray so hard her knuckles turned white, “but what kind of bar doesn’t have Captain Morgan’s?”
I put my face in my hands. “Don’t tell me we’re out.”
“These people are going to start killing me, Ridley. I go to the bar for a drink, Sheila tells me there’s none left, I have to bear the bad news, and Mr. Drunk wants to shoot the messenger.”
Hal dropped to his knees, face red, veins popping out around his neck, and belted the final verse of his song, some country number I’d never heard before. Playing the part, Hal howled like a hound dog doing his version of a country singer.
“Would somebody shoot that guy,” Mandy said. “Why isn’t anyone else singing?”
“Maybe you could encourage them when you bring them their drinks.”
She snorted, giving me are-you-crazy eyes. “Maybe you should get up there.”
I glanced at the stage, short of breath. “I don’t sing.”
“Then why do you own a karaoke bar?”
I slapped the table. “Why don’t you go do your job?”
Mandy’s lower lip pushed out. Her eyes watered.
I took a deep breath, touched her elbow. “Mandy, I’m sorry. I’m stressed.”
“From what? Watching everyone else work their asses off?” She tossed her drink tray onto the table. “I quit.”
“Mandy, wait.”
She turned and marched out.
“Oh, damn.”
I slid out of
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