“Might be a good idea,” Holden said to Rye. “Pard and I can watch that judge show. He likes that.”
Chance let himself breathe. Good. At least that was handled. “Yeah, you stay in with Pard. Keep him out of the foxtails—he’ll get them stuck in his ears again. We don’t want that.”
Holden patted the dog’s head with a gnarled hand. “Gotta do it for Pard.”
Quint set down his mug. “Break’s over. Dad, you got your cell in case you need us?”
Holden nodded. Quint left without a backward glance. Chance gave Rye a look—Help him into the living room—then followed Quint.
His older brother was waiting on the front porch, his jaw set. Chance knew what would happen next. He and Quint would have one of their talks about how everything was going to shit, but they were already doing everything they could to stop it. When Holden had been drinking, they’d done this about every day.
When they’d been desperately trying to figure out what to do about Rye’s wreck or Lane’s disappearance, it had felt like they’d never stopped talking. Never stopped worrying. It was all on them to keep their family from falling apart.
Seeing that look on Quint’s face always sent Chance’s stomach to his knees.
Chance thought of everything he could say to his brother.We should get him to the doctor.Except Holden wouldn’t go, and they couldn’t force him.Maybe we should take him to the ER to be safe.Again, Holden wouldn’t go. They’d tried that before when the alcohol withdrawals had gotten real bad. Turned out you couldn’t check someone into an ER against their will.
Chance worked his jaw. “He been drinking?”
Quint shrugged, then shook his head. “Don’t think so, but something’s up. Says his chest is fine, stomach’s fine, just tired, leave him the hell alone. The usual.”
“Maybe he’s got that liver thing.” Chance couldn’t remember the name.
“Probably. He drank long and hard enough that his liver’s likely fucked.” Quint’s mouth turned down. “I’ve got to get back out there. It never stops.”
Quint sounded worn down. Worse than worn down.
Chance wanted to ask what was really wrong because it wasn’t the damn grain mixer. But the answer to that was the one Quint never wanted to talk about—his wife.
Yeah, the Kessal boys were messed up good. But at least Chance had the small comfort of knowing he’d never brought a woman into this mess.
Cordy was right. Chance was the last man who ought to be helping her.
four
The Swing Innwas slow for a Friday night, not that Cordy was complaining. Yeah, she’d miss the extra tips, but her feet already ached, and she had five hours till closing.
She had to work until she delivered—she needed the money—but now that she’d hit her ninth month, she was feeling the pregnancy in every inch. From the thickening of the hair on her head down to her feet, which had gone up a full size, no body part was left unscathed.
Cordy rubbed her belly as she looked over the bar patrons, laughing, drinking, and socializing. No matter how tired she was, she loved seeing people enjoying themselves.
Even so, she wanted to get off her feet. “Just a few more weeks,” she told her baby. “Then I get to meet you.”
It was finally sinking in that she’d be a mom very soon. With all the mess in her life, Cordy hadn’t had time to face her new reality. There was always another baby item to get, another class to take, or work to occupy her. And grieving Reed had taken up all her emotional energy for a time.
But tonight was quiet, so Cordy’s thoughts were loud. She’d put the ad back up in the Donut Palace, but no one had replied so far. The class started next Tuesday, and she was seriouslyconsidering showing up alone. She’d already registered, putting down a fake name for her partner. What were they going to do, toss a pregnant lady out?
What she definitely wouldn’t do was call Chance Kessal.Tomcat. He’s a tomcat.
Pierce Bautista, the teenager who worked in the kitchen, came in from the back. “Hey, Cordy!” He was always so happy to see her; it made her feel like a celebrity.
“Hey, Pierce, how’s it going? Shouldn’t you be off by now?”
“I’m finishing up.” He took a deep breath. “Also, I have to talk to you.”
She put down the bar towel she was holding. This sounded serious, and Pierce was never serious. “What’s wrong? Is everything okay?”
“Did you pick up that rack of clean glassware?”
