Maybe not. But Thursday night was different. Thursday night was meds, injections, his favorite meal, and a bad movie we pretended to enjoy. Thursday night was the worst pain because of the needles, and I never let him face it alone. Aiden didn’t need to know all that.
“Come back… next Friday,” I said with a wink, faking interest, because truthfully, he was still my only escape. Four minutes of sloppy sex was better than crying alone in my bed.
“Feelin’ kinky, Blue?” He waggled his brows. “Why wait another week? I can show up here tomorrow and you can take me back to the storage room and?—”
“No, Aiden.” I cut him off before he could finish that sentence and kill my last brain cell. “I have to work late tomorrow, but I can get out of here early next week. Come back then.”
“You’re gonna make me wait all week?”
“You know my rules. My schedule, or nothing.” I smiled sweetly.
He finally backed off, sliding onto his stool, creating the space I needed between us. The bar was quiet for a Thursday, which was a blessing. Ever since Miles Brooks left town, I’d been bracing myself for chaos.
And by chaos, I meant the Murphy brothers—the bane of my existence. They were the reason my hair was already planning its early retirement. Every week, they found new ways to push my buttons and I was sure I’d be gray before my twenty-seventh birthday.
“Hey.” Tuffy, the other bartender, nudged me as I dried another glass, zoning out. “It’s dead in here, and Jeff already cleared the safe. Why don’t you take off? I’ve got it.”
Tuffy was a legend. Thin and wiry with tattoos up both arms, gray hair twisted into a bun, and a voice that could sandpaper paint off a car thanks to the fact that she’d been smoking since she was fourteen. She always said she’d lived four whole lifetimes and had more stories to tell than the Bible.
“You sure?” I asked, hoping Aiden didn’t hear, or notice, so he wouldn’t try again to squeeze in a quickie.
She nodded. “Go on. Get your ass out of here.”
I grinned. If I left now, I could hit the Piggly Wiggly before closing. Maybe grab some butter pecan ice cream, which was Dad’s favorite. I’d been saving every penny lately, but it felt like the kind of night that needed ice cream.
I acted like I was going to the bathroom, then grabbed my bag from the storage room, slipped out the back door, and climbed into my old Toyota. It wasn’t much, but it had Bluetooth and the AC worked…in the winter. Thankfully it was a cool night, so I opted for the windows down and cranked my playlist up.
Driving through Harmony Haven always felt like slipping into a daydream. Quaint storefronts, perfectly manicured trees, and people who waved at you like they meant it. It was everything I wished I’d had growing up in Pecan Grove, the next town over.
The other side of the tracks, so to speak.
I’d worked in Harmony Haven long enough to know a few people though. So when I pulled into the grocery store, I waved at a few familiar faces as I walked to the front.
“Hey, Mr. Ghesalt!” I called across the parking lot. “How’s the barbershop?”
“Still choppin’!” he hollered back. “When you gonna let me add some blue streaks to that pretty blonde hair?”
I laughed and waved him off. He’d been asking ever since I told him my name. He didn’t stop by Fiddlers often, but he was always fun to talk to when he came in.
Right inside the door, I bumped into Linc, the only cop left in town who didn’t run and hide when I needed help at Fiddlers. He wasn’t as effective as Miles had been, but he tried.
“Hey, Blue,” he said, grocery bag in hand.
“You off for the day?” I asked, pointing at his haul.
“Yeah it's been early days since I took over Miles’ shift,” he said. “Didn’t hear from you today. Everything good at Fiddlers?”
I shrugged. “Quiet. But tomorrow’s a new day.”
“I’m off tomorrow, thank God. Maybe the Murphy brothers will take a break, too.”
“One can dream,” I muttered, already walking past. “I’m grabbing a few things and heading home.”
He nodded and kept going. I found the butter pecan quickly and hit the checkout line. As I waited, something on the magazine rack caught my eye.
Front page of the Atlanta Newspaper was a picture of Westley Brooks. The brother of Easton and Miles, who I considered my friends. West, on the other hand, was a figment of everyone’s imagination. He didn’t live in Harmony Haven anymore, but his presence could be felt everywhere, despite the fact that some of us wished he’d eat dirt.
In the picture, he was shaking hands with someone important, probably making some million-dollar deal. I rolled my eyes. I didn’t bother reading the headline. I didn’t care what was going on in West Brooks’ life.
