8
Noah
“You look like shit, man.”
I laugh, bringing the beer Jace placed in front of me to my lips. “Exactly what every man wants to hear. Thanks, bud.”
Jace shakes his head as he dries glasses, his massive frame taking up the majority of space behind the bar. “You know what I mean. You look like you haven’t slept in a week.”
He’s not wrong. This time of year, my mind goes into survival mode. During the day, I keep my hands busy. At night, I slip down to the gym by the ranch and hit the bags until my brain turns off. I’ll sleep for an hour or two then do it all over again.Nothing about February is ever easy. Too much loss over the years.
When I don’t answer Jace, he sets the glass down and leans against the bar to catch my eye.“Two weeks out,” he says. Nothing more. He just waits.
I stare at the cowboy decor behind the bar while taking another long pull from the green bottle, knowing Jace won’t add anything unless I acknowledge the date that is quickly approaching. I almost brush him off, but Jace is too intuitive for his own good and would bring us full-circle to what the month of February entails.
Giving in, I nod while trying to keep emotions from clogging my throat.
“How are you holding up?”
It’s a miracle the bottle doesn’t shatter with the grip I have on it. My knuckles are nearly white. I take a breath, forcing my hands to relax and pasting a smirk on my face. It isn’t Jace’s fault that this month holds too many rounds of trauma to count.
“Might just skip February this year,” I grumble, taking a swig of beer. I’ve worked every allowed overtime hour for the last two weeks in an attempt to ignore the mental anguish that lives rent free this time of year. I wish there was an easy solution to this, or someone to share my struggles with. Images of green eyes and messy hair flash through my mind, but I push them away as soon as they surface.
No one deserves to get dragged through this pit with me.
“Noah.”
“Jace.”
My best friend sighs. “Is that really what you want? To pretend nothing’s bothering you?”
“Trace and Farrah are in town staying at my mother’s house for the next week or two. Mom’s already called and asked when I’ll be making an appearance. Oakley has been blowing up my texts between flights. Apparently, I should be overjoyed for the opportunity to spend time with family.”
I can’t help the bite of sarcasm that slips in. Jace is one of the few who know about my dad’s death and the guilt I still carry over a decade later. I’m more than a little damaged from the things I’ve seen, and trying to pretend like I’m not is infinitely more difficult when under my mother’s roof. She has never placed the blame on me, but seeing the heartbreak in her eyes even after all these years eats away at what is left of my heart. My brother is a different story; time has not lessened his hatred of me.
“Mama Slater loves when you visit, man.”
“I’d rather her just come here, ya know? Instead of Trace spoutin’ off at every turn. I’m pretty sure I’ll put him through a wall if he says something to make Mama or Oaks upset, even if it is deserved.”
“Take someone with you who can run interference. Hell, I can get someone to run this place for the day and go with you. Kelsey would probably jump at the chance to spend time with your sister.”
Shaking my head, I rock back and balance the barstool on two legs for a second before settling back down. “I don’t need a babysitter.”
“Never said you did. But you need your friends.” Jace waits for me to meet his eyes before continuing. “It’s okay to ask for help, man.” He slides a soda in front of me, a brow arched as if daring me to argue.
“What? Am I on the Drew drinking plan, now?”
“Tired of my friends making poor decisions. Figured it’s time to force y’all into better habits when I have the chance.” He swipes the empty bottle from the counter and tosses it before something across the room catches his attention. “Still think if you just don’t talk about the other elephant in the room, it’ll magically get better?”
“Damn it, Jace,” I grumble, pushing away from the bar with a half-cocked plan to storm out.
Jace quickly slips around the bar and forces me back onto my stool. “Don’t storm out of here pissed at the world, man. You need to talk about her. Especially if you want to make anything happen with the little number that just walked in with her brother.”
“You know it wasn’t like that with Maya.”
“Do I? Because you haven’t been with anyone since her.”
“How do you know?”
He cuts his eyes at me, that eyebrow arched.
“Yeah, okay. I haven’t been with anyone in three years. So, what?”
“You need to let yourself move—”
“I have moved on.”
“No. You’ve let grief for something that wasn’t your fault keep you from finding someone who could love your surly ass. And my money says she just walked in.”
At Jace’s second nudge, I glance up from where I’d traced a pattern in the Coke can’s condensation and slowly refocus on my surroundings. As I turn to follow his gaze, I catch sight of Jett by the community bulletin board. The farmhand follows his sister and immediately spots me, his face turning to stone. Reece’s dislike of me is just one more reason to avoid seeing my brother in person any time soon.
“Ah. Her.”
Jace snorts but doesn’t say anything else as Reece makes his way to the bar.
The tension in the room intensifies by ten. Reece hesitates for only a second, but it is enough for Jett to notice me, too.When her green eyes find me, she gives a little wave before turning back to the board. Her hand reaches up, quickly snatching an index card off. Before hope sets in—because I’m fairly certain that was my rental card she grabbed—Reece appears beside me, blocking his sister from view.
“Your kind just can’t leave well enough alone, can you, man?” he says. “She’s off-limits.”
Any semblance of patience and desire to be civil for Jett’s benefit catapults out the window. Before I can stop it, I feel myself slip into the person I am everywhere else. Outside of Havenwood. The asshole elevator mechanic.
“My kind, huh?”
Reece steps into my space, crowding me. Wrong damn time for him to bring up Trace. I shift to my feet, the bar stool skidding across the wood floors.
“Talk shit about my family. I dare you.” Even if my brother is a jackass, no one else gets to hate on him.
Reece takes another step forward, and my shoulders tense. I’m itching for a fight. Throwing a punch or two would alleviate some of the pressure, both mental and physical.
“Stay away from my sister. She’s too good for you,” Reece says, his voice low as he glances to make sure she isn’t approaching yet.
I can’t stop the laugh that slips out. “No shit, Sherlock. But it seems like you’ve done a shit job protecting little sister from scum not worth her time. That girl is beautiful inside and out. And yet she thinks she isn’t worth my time. Tell me, hot shot, how a girl like her could possibly believe that? My kind would convince her that she is everything .”
Some of the anger seeps out of Reece’s eyes, but I’m too keyed up now to stay put. Stepping around Reece, I lock eyes with Jett, certain she heard at least some of that and not caring that she did. I hold my fist out, and she bumps it, a slight grin on her face.
“Later, chaos.”
Jace stops me before I can get too far. “You goin’ to Drew’s?”
“I’m going to lay someone out in your bar if I don’t.”
He nods, glancing back at Reece. I can feel the daggers shooting into my back, but I refuse to acknowledge him any more than I already have.
“Touch base later, yeah?” Jace says.
“Will do, brother.”
***
The sun is already sitting low as I walk through the door of Drew’s gym. The guy lives in the upstairs loft apartment, but I’m surprised to see him downstairs. Last I heard, he still wasn’t cleared to do much of anything outside of his physical therapy sessions.
As I step closer, I take in the pallor of his skin and the coating of sweat. A new tension sets into my shoulders, this one fueled by panic. I quicken my steps across the gym floor to the bench near the stairs that lead up to the loft.
“Drew, man. You okay?”
His head tilts in my direction, but his eyes aren’t focusing on me.
“Hey.” I snap a finger in his face.
His eyes slide to mine this time.
“Pain or withdrawal?” I hate that I even have to ask.
“Both,” he pants before looking away. The strain is visible in each breath he takes as he tries not to move his torso or arms.
“Back or shoulder?”
As Drew tells me it’s his shoulder, I’m already shooting off a message to his brother, knowing Declan can get here faster than Jace can.
“I don’t like how pale you are, bud. Can you let me help you to the floor?”
A single nod is all he gives me.
“Cradle your arm.”
As he does, I crouch beside the bench, quickly pulling Drew onto my knee and lowering us both to the rubber mats.
By the time I have his head pressed between his knees and am pulling a wet rag from the gym cooler, Declan storms in, his wife Kristen quietly slipping in behind him.
“The hell were you doing down here, Drew?”
“Declan, we talked about this. Now is not the time.” How Kristen manages to scold her husband without sounding like she’s ripping him a new one is impressive.
Declan stalks across the gym, hands clasped tightly behind his head.
Placing the rag on Drew’s neck, I tune back in to what Kristen is saying, her tone soothing as always.
“Do you want me to call Dr. Lindsay? You know she’ll make a house call for you.”
“No.”
Declan growls from the other end of the room but doesn’t comment. I know it has to be killing him to see his brother in pain. It’s sickening to see a shell of my friend.
None of us expected Drew to develop a dependency on opioids, least of all the man who treats his body like a temple. Aside from a few drunken adventures, Drew thrives on water, lean protein, boxing, and riding. Whatever happened leading up to his accident changed him. I thought he’d quit the pills cold turkey a month ago, but the bits of conversation I heard between him and Jace recently suggest it wasn’t as clean cut as I’d hoped.
My gut churns as I ask, “Where’s the pill bottle, Drew?”
Defeat pours from his body, but he doesn’t say anything. It must be the last straw for Declan, because he storms up the steps and disappears into Drew’s loft.
“You can’t ride out the withdrawal and the pain together, man.”
I slip up the stairs to follow Declan and hear Kristen add, “Drew, honey. I do not want to haul you down to the medical center, but if we can’t get your pain level down, I won’t have a choice. We can try a few pressure points if you want.”
As I slip through the door, Kristen’s voice fades, and I can hear Declan storming through the bedroom and what sounds suspiciously like things being thrown against a wall.
Leaning my head back out, I holler down. “You gonna tell me where to look, or are you good with your brother ransacking the entire place?”
“Sock drawer,” Drew rasps.
I slip into Drew’s room to find Declan on the edge of the bed, head in his hands.
The groan that wants to slip out stays contained, barely. I do not have the mental capacity to comfort grown-ass men today, no matter how important they are to me. Drawing on my last bit of patience, I retrieve the two pill containers from the top drawer of Drew’s dresser before leaning against the worn furniture.
“What’s on your mind, Dec?”
“You know it’s my fault, right?” Declan asks.
I shake my head. “You didn’t make him jump on Havoc.”
The poor colt hasn’t been saddled since the accident, and the only guys allowed to handle him are Declan and Reece. The thing is a skittish mess.
“Not that part. The reason he got drunk that night, though? That was all on me.”
“Drew’s a big boy. He made his own choices. That’s not on you.”
Declan nods toward the door. “He’s trying to do it on his own because he doesn’t want my help. And he doesn’t want to talk to Kristen because she’s my wife.” He mumbles something else that sounds suspiciously like “stupid Leila” as he stands and slips out of the room. I bite my tongue in an effort to keep from asking questions.
Leila was Drew’s childhood sweetheart. When she became the poster child for bad luck and had to leave Havenwood before she turned eighteen, it’d taken over a year for Drew to move on. How could she have anything to do with something that happened last summer?
Shrugging off the thoughts, I return to the gym to find Kristen encasing Drew’s shoulder in ice packs. Some of the tightness in my neck and shoulders releases as I take in the color returning to Drew’s face.
“What caused the flair up?” I ask, placing the pill containers in Kristen’s awaiting hand.
“Got pissed off. Punched the bag a few times.”
Declan opens his mouth, I’m sure to call his brother all sorts of words—I’m ready to as well—but Kristen stops him.
“Honey, if you aren’t going to be helpful, go outside please. Drew, where is your stability brace?”
“I saw it upstairs,” I mumble. “I’ll grab it.”
As Declan storms out, I trek back up the steps to get the brace from the bathroom. Except when I find the brace, Drew’s phone is on top, screen lighting up with a text message. I try to ignore it, but the name draws me in.
“Not my business,” I mumble to myself as I slip back downstairs and help Drew slide into the brace.
He looks at me. “You aren’t going to tell Jace about this, right?”
Shaking my head, I grin. “Of course not, man.” As Drew sighs in relief, I add, “You are.”
Kristen laughs while she double-checks the straps and placement. If it were anyone else going back over my work, I’d be irritated, but Kristen did time as a trauma nurse before she transitioned to psychiatry. She knows her stuff.
Drew hangs his head.
I give his good shoulder a squeeze on my way out. “If I go gray before thirty-five, I’m blaming you.”
I swear, friends in this town are good for nothing but stress. But damn, do I love them. At least I no longer have the urge to knock Reece Taylor on his ass.