Chapter 6
Chapter six
Thought this was a dive bar, not a daycare
Logan
The Rink Rat smells like spilled beer, old fryer grease, and the Marlboros that Gary, the grumpy old owner, pretends aren’t lit even though he’s exhaling right in front of the “No Smoking” sign.
The jukebox wheezes out Nickelback again, because that’s one of the only three albums it’ll play. The boys argued about it once and naturally lost. Now it’s a running gag, especially since Chase sings the chorus loud enough to get us side-eyed by the old regulars who have no idea who he is.
That’s one of the reasons we love this place. The noise is easy, and the light is low. Nobody in here wants a selfie; they want spicy wings and to argue about who’s buying the next round.
“Look what the cat dragged in,” Gary says, flipping a bar towel over his shoulder as he spots me walking in. “And by cat, I mean more of the Colorado Storm payroll.”
“Evening,” I say, nodding at him.
His eyes cut to Reid. “Brought your emotional support rookie tonight, Brick Wall?”
“Not a rookie. Third year,” I mutter, heading straight for the pool table where I can see our usual group. Eli, Ryan, Jake, Chase and Reid.
Doesn’t matter. I’ve shaken off that title, but once the nickname sticks, it sticks. And the guys know it gets under my skin.
Reid lines up the break. “He still needs supervision.”
Chase whistles at me from the bar-leaner. “Pookie! You racking or preening?”
“Keep talking and I’ll use your face for chalk,” I say, taking a cue and swinging it like a bat when Chase charges around to throw fake punches at me, descending into a full-blown playfight.
Gary leans over the bar with a frown and bangs his fist. “Christ, you’re all toddlers. Thought this was a dive bar, not daycare.”
“Pretty sure daycare serves better food,” I shoot back.
He smirks, smoke curling from the corner of his mouth. “Keep yappin’, rook, see if I don’t water down your beer.”
That earns a snort from Jake. “Don’t need to. It already tastes like swamp.”
Ryan shakes his head, tapping the edge of the pool table. “Focus. Doubles. Me and Hutchy against you four.”
“Four?” Chase perks up. “That’s not even—”
“Shut up and break,” Reid cuts in, nodding toward me to do it.
The break thunders, balls scatter, and one sinks into the faraway corner pocket. The jukebox coughs up a Springsteen track because of course it does. It all feels like a well-needed exhale—until my head trips back to the porch.
The way Lulu’s laugh thinned out, the way that guy’s hand tightened when she said no, how casual he was about it. The shift in his face, from polite to pushy in a heartbeat. My body was already moving before my brain decided to.
My stomach knots, just as it did that night. Relief that I was there mixes with the sick thought of what if I wasn’t? The question digs in under my ribs.
“Ball in hand,” Ryan calls, but Eli’s voice cuts in low beside me.
“Lu get in okay last night? You see the guy?”
I stiffen, keeping my eyes on the table. “She was fine.”
Eli studies me. “You kept an eye out?” And after I nod my reply, he continues. “What’d he look like?”
“Not my business,” I say, lining up an easy shot and whiffing by a mile.
Chase barks a laugh. “What was that? Performance art?”
“Eat shit,” I mutter, chalking harder than necessary as Ryan takes his shot.
Reid gives me a look that isn’t teasing. He doesn’t ask, he sees. That’s worse.
I reset, cue trembling just enough that I tighten my grip. Doesn’t matter how loud the jukebox is, how much the guys chirp each other, how many extra baskets of wings Gary drops to our table—my head’s still back on that porch, fists itching, chest tight with the truth I’m fighting.
I care. Too fucking much.
Chase finally scratches on the eight, throwing his arms up in defeat. Ryan smirks, Hutchy fist bumps him, and Jake claims he called that outcome five shots ago. The game unravels into laughter and groans, and the cues are set back in their rack.
The boys peel off to the bar, and I linger by the leaner, rolling the cue ball in my palm. The noise fades to the background, but my thoughts don’t.
Season starts next week, which means I’ll be gone half the time. Back-to-backs, away trips, hotel rooms that all smell the same. And Lulu will be across the street from mine, answering the door for guys who act like “no” is a negotiation.
I’m not okay with it. Not the idea of her laughing with strangers, not the idea of her house, dark at night with no one there but her.
Eli slides up beside me, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Please tell me you've seen that goon try to moonwalk.”
I follow his nod toward Walton, who’s halfway into a terrible impression of Michael Jackson, one hand in the air, the other on his crotch as he thrusts.
“Christ,” I mutter. “This is why Gary tries to ban us.”
He chuckles and lifts his beer in salute. “Bastard couldn't if he tried.”
Our conversation is comfortable and easy, like it always is. For a second, I forget I’ve got secrets sitting heavy in my chest.
He takes another swig. “Thanks again, by the way. For keeping an eye.”
I nod once. “Of course.”
“She’s stubborn as hell,” he says. “Thinks I’m overprotective. Maybe I am, but that doesn’t mean she’s not walking around with a target on her back.”
I don’t look at him, just fix my gaze on the condensation sliding down the neck of my bottle.
“She deserves someone decent,” Eli goes on. “Not some dick from an app, because one of these days she’s gonna end up in a situation she can’t joke her way out of.”
That makes something coil tight in my gut. I take a slow sip, trying to keep my mouth shut.
He sighs. “I just don’t want her getting blindsided, but she thinks I'm paranoid."
“You're not,” I say, quieter than I mean to.
Eli glances over. “You’ve noticed it too, huh?”
I nod. “She’s smart. Quick. But yeah, some people don’t see that. They see sparkles and pink and assume she’s easy to fuck with.”
A beat.
“Thank fuck." Eli exhales, slow. "Someone else finally gets it.”
I hum my amused agreement, and then there’s a lull, the kind that begs to be filled.
“You’re not like those guys though, are you Pookie?” Eli asks, not accusing, just curious.
I meet his gaze. “Not even close.”
He studies me for a second, then he lifts his beer again. “Good, because I need you to continue keeping an eye out for me.”
I nod, probably too hard. He doesn’t know I’m replaying what happened on the porch last night, that I can still feel the heat of her stare when I came over, that I also want her safe for reasons that go deeper than they should.
But for this moment, Eli and I are aligned.
And I hope like hell he’s just happy to have an ally.
“So, uhh, what else has she got going on?” I keep my tone casual, eyes on the table. “You know if she’s busy?”
Eli doesn’t even blink. “Busy how?”
“Just for, y’know. Dates. Nights out.” I shrug like it’s small talk. “You said keep an eye, so I figured I should know what I’m watching for.”
He studies me, long enough I can feel it, then he nods. “Far as I know, she had one lined up earlier today. Canceled another tomorrow.” A pause. “Usually she stays in on school nights.”
I nod and swallow that down, pretend it’s enough. Pretend I’m not replaying the thin edge in her laugh. She can handle herself, that much I know. But she shouldn’t have to.
And if she doesn’t like going out on nights before work, then that buys me some time, but not enough. Not nearly enough while we’re on the road for stretches of away games.
I try to think practically. Logic over gut. And that’s when it hits me: Dusty needs someone when I’m gone. She loves dogs, and Dusty loves her. She’s right across the street. It makes sense.
And if it means she texts me morning and night with photos of Dusty’s antics, if it keeps her tethered to me when I’m three time zones away, then that’s just a side effect. A good one.
“Hey, Lulu’s dog-sat for you and Tamara before, right?”
Eli takes a drink and nods. “Yeah. She’s a sucker for fur and bad attitudes. Why?”
“Thinking about asking her to take Dusty when we’re on the road.” I aim for neutral, the way you’d talk about trash day. “She’s right there. Beats paying a stranger across town.”
He snorts. “Beats Dusty eating your drywall, too. She’ll say yes.” There’s a pause, and his eyes narrow just a fraction. “You gonna pay her?”
“Cash,” I say, too fast.
He nods. “Maybe some cupcakes.”
Whatever she wants. Anything.
I force a shrug. “Okay, yeah, sure.”
“Just make sure they’re gl—”
“Gluten free, yeah. Of course.”
Eli laughs with another nod, already turning his head as Chase hollers about the juke box and what’s going on next. “Text her. She’ll be stoked.”
“Don’t have her number,” I toss out as casually as possible.
Eli fishes his phone out one-handed, thumbs it across, and lets me take her contact. No hesitation, no clue. Just hands me the one thing I shouldn’t have.
I save it under Lu with a puppy and sunshine emoji before I can stop myself.
Nobody notices. Nobody calls me on it. And I sure as hell don’t call myself on what it means that I wanted her number this bad.
Eli drifts back to the bar, Gary shouts about last call, and Nickelback grinds out the same two chords it’s been playing all night. I drain the rest of my beer, phone heavy in my pocket. I tell myself to leave it. Wait until tomorrow.
But by the time I’ve stepped outside into the cool night air to wait for my cab, thumb hovering over her contact, I already know I’m going to cave.
Me: Want to look after Dusty when we’re on the road?
Lu: Who is this?
Cheeky. She knows damn well.
Me: Logan.
Lu: Ohhh. Miller. Straight to business, huh? No “hi, how was your day?”
I huff out a laugh. She’d roast me either way.
Me: Oh yeah? How was your day, Parnell? Reject another porch douche?
Lu: Look at you, checking in. Relax, Miller. No porch drama today, just bad jokes and too much talk about CrossFit.
Sharp and stupid relief hits me, and I hate how much I feel it.
Me: So a dud.
Lu: A polite dud. Which is worse, tbh.
I smirk at the screen.
Me: Listen, I don’t need an overshare.
Lu: Please. You’d die without my commentary.
I shake my head, thumb hovering. She’s probably curled up, laughing as she types, smug as hell.
Me: Anyway, it’s practical. You’re across the street and Dusty likes you.
Lu: Smart dog. My answer’s yes. He’s my favorite Miller, anyway.
That one digs under my ribs harder than I want it to, even though I know she’s teasing.
Me: Will pay you in cash… or Eli said cupcakes.
Lu: Adorable. You trying to bribe me, Miller?
Me: Just telling you your options.
Lu: Mmm. I’ll take both. Dusty deserves it.
She’s probably grinning down at her phone right now, and I rub the heel of my hand over my face, trying to erase the thought.
Me: Don’t get used to it. He’s spoiled enough already.
Lu: Guess that makes two of us ??
The winky face emoji stares back at me, and my pulse pounds in my palm. She’s flirting with me, and I’m dangerously close to enjoying it.
I start three different replies, delete them all, then lock the phone and shove it in my pocket.
Practical, I tell myself. Just business. Just Dusty.
Definitely not because I can’t shake the image of her sprawled on my couch, safe in my house with Dusty’s head in her lap.