Chapter 6 #2
“Back door,” I confirmed, already moving to be there for her. I’d stand by her side while she faced him, but I wished she would let me just pick her up and carry her away from his bullshit. I wanted to fix this, to make everything okay, but I knew it would only piss her off if I interfered.
Spencer’s eyes met mine, searching for agreement—maybe for permission, maybe for backup. The air was thick with the promise of confrontation, everyone acutely aware that lines were being drawn, stakes raised.
We slipped through the kitchen and out the back just as Paige’s voice rose through the gravel-scented alley.
“You want to sell my house?!” she shrieked. “Your children’s home?”
Inside, the entire tavern hushed; she was that loud. Even the jukebox seemed to lower itself into a pause.
“It’s not just your house. We should split it.” Eli said. “My new lawyer said it should have been considered marital property—”
“Oh, you do not want to start with legalese and technicalities. You left, Eli. You moved out. You moved on. You don’t get to come back and claim pieces of the life I rebuilt.”
“I need the money. I’m not trying to hurt you.”
“I do not care enough about you to let you hurt me. But threatening to take away your kids’ home? What kind of father does that? You are pathetic.”
“I’m just saying—it could help us both, financially, I mean. You could pay off the bar, take a break. Or maybe even sell the bar. Think about it. We could sell and split it, and then we could both be set.”
“Are you crazy? I’m not selling anything. You think I want a break? This is my place. Mine. I don’t need a fucking break.”
“You’re running yourself ragged. It’s not sustainable, Paige.”
“And whose fault is that?” She was on fire. Furious. “You’re choosing Danielle’s comfort over your daughter’s dreams. You’re trying to cut Briar’s dance class so you can buy new furniture for your fiancée’s living room! They told me everything.”
“I’m doing my best—”
“Your best sucks!”
Behind me, I heard Eliza suck in a breath. Lucy folded her arms. Piper stayed quiet, her jaw set like stone.
“He’s gone too far,” Cara whispered, voice tight.
“I’m texting Ren,” Piper muttered.
Eli took a half step forward, hands held out placatingly, like he thought being reasonable would work now. “You don’t have to make this harder than it is.”
“Oh, you have got to be kidding me,” Paige snapped.
“You don’t get to pull the ‘I’m the reasonable one’ card.
Not when you’re standing in my parking lot, outside my bar, telling me to give up the home we raised our children in.
That house is mine, and it’s going to stay mine. Forever, you stupid prick.”
He opened his mouth. Closed it.
Then he noticed all of us standing there.
Her sisters. My brothers. The bar staff. Me.
And for once in his life, Eli did the right thing.
He turned and walked off. Stalked across the parking lot, got into his car, and left.
Paige exhaled like she’d been holding her breath since he arrived. Her shoulders slumped for half a second, just enough to feel the cost of staying upright. Then she looked up and saw us.
“Did you seriously all follow me outside?” Her eyes were bright with something sharp and defiant, and for a heartbeat, no one moved. Then the tension snapped—just a little, just enough for breath to return—and the crowd shifted closer, a ripple of solidarity.
I hung back behind the others, the urge rising in me to swoop in and hold Paige, to take her home and make sure she was okay.
Every instinct screamed at me to shield her, to make things easier.
But I knew her too well—her pride wouldn’t let her leave before she’d finished her job.
She needed to stand her ground and prove she could handle this, and I respected that.
Still, I watched from the edge, wishing I could do more, wishing she’d let me carry some of the weight for her.
Jasper stepped forward, holding out a glass of water. Paige took it, her fingers steady but pale, and drank it. “Thanks,” she muttered.
Piper was the first to break the silence, her voice low but sure. “We wanted to make sure you didn’t kill him,” she said gently.
“You looked like you might,” Eliza added.
“No one would have blamed you,” Lucy said.
“I have alibis,” Spencer offered with a grin, breaking the tension.
She let out a short laugh. “I don’t even know what to say to that.”
I stayed quiet, watching her. “You okay?” I finally asked.
She gave me a look. “Do you even need to ask?”
“I’ll always ask.”
“I know. You’re always here when I need you.” Her expression softened, barely. “Thanks for not jumping in.”
“You didn’t need me to. You had it covered.”
That pulled a breathy laugh out of her. Not quite amused, but close enough. “He’s just so—ugh.”
“I know.”
“Do you think there’s a planet somewhere where men like that turn into frogs instead of middle-aged, deadbeat, cheating assholes?”
“I can only hope. But hey,” I added. “I’ll send him to another planet whenever you want. Just say the word and I’ll handle him.”
She sighed, nodding her thanks to me, then looked at her sisters. “Sorry, guys.”
Piper just waved her off. “Please. We were one dramatic moment away from storming in like the Sisterhood of the Traveling Murder Charges.”
“Maybe tomorrow I can get through the night without needing a rage fest and a court-appointed mediator,” Paige muttered.
“This will be over soon,” Piper said, as they all turned back toward the door. “By the way, I called Ren; he’s on it. That asshole will not be taking the house. Get that worry right out of your mind.”
“Thanks.” She looped her arm through Piper’s. “Talking to Ren is probably better than committing murder.”
The cool night air followed us in as the kitchen door swung open and we filtered back into the warm, noisy light of the tavern.
The jukebox, as if sensing the all-clear, picked up in the middle of “Hit Me With Your Best Shot”.
Glasses clinked. Chairs scraped. Conversations slowly returned to normal.
By the time I sat down again with my brothers, Paige was back behind the bar like nothing had happened, the servers were making their rotations, and Jasper was pouring drinks.
“Is she going to be okay?” Tucker asked. “That was bad.”
“She will be.” I shrugged, trying to downplay my worry for her, running a thumb along the condensation of my glass. “She always is.” But the words felt less certain than I wanted, less reassuring than I’d intended. Around us, the tavern buzzed as everyone went back to their evening.
I watched her from across the room as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and smiled at someone at the bar. It wasn’t a big smile. Not her real one. But it was enough to make me stay put—for now.
She caught me looking and gave the tiniest shake of her head, like she knew exactly what I was doing and was too tired to argue about it. And then she moved on to the next customer and returned to work.
I stayed where I was, beer in hand, letting Spencer and Deacon argue over ranch versus blue cheese on wings while I kept an eye on her.
When closing time rolled around, the tavern’s energy had faded to a gentle murmur.
The regulars trickled out with nods and waves, the last glasses were stacked, and the bar lights flickered low.
I said goodbye to my brothers, then started stacking chairs on tables while Paige finished tallying the register—her movements were precise and practiced, eyes focused anywhere but on me.
She clicked the lock on the door and gave me a tight smile. “You don’t have to help. I got this,” she said, voice quiet but clear. The way she straightened her shoulders made it obvious: she wanted space, not comfort.
“You know I do,” I insisted.
“Okay. Thank you…” she whispered.
I watched her for a moment, wanting to bridge the distance but knowing better than to push.
There was a rawness in her eyes, a tension in her posture that told me tonight wasn’t the night for easy reassurances or clumsy gestures.
Instead, I just nodded, stacking the last chair and letting the quiet settle between us like a fragile truce.
We moved through the familiar motions of closing up—her wiping down the bar, me checking the back door—each of us careful to keep our words light and our distance respectable, as if any sudden move might shatter what little calm we’d managed to reclaim.
Once finished, we headed to the door in silence. “Are you okay to drive? Tonight was a lot.”
Paige hesitated before answering, her fingers tightening around her car keys.
She took a slow breath, and for a moment I thought she might actually tell me how she felt.
But all she said was, “Yeah. I just need a minute before I get going.” I nodded, respecting her need for space, even as concern tugged at me.
The air between us was thick with everything left unsaid, but I chose to trust she’d reach out if she needed me, at least for tonight.
“Just making sure,” I replied, stepping outside into the cool night beside her.
The street was empty, darkness pressing in with only the distant hum of traffic.
Paige crossed her arms, gaze fixed ahead.
I wanted to offer something that might lighten the weight she carried, but she shook her head—barely, just enough for me to know the conversation was over before it started.
“I’m fine,” she said, keys clenched in her hand. “Really, I’ll be okay, I promise. I don’t feel like talking about it. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
She didn’t linger. A quick wave, a determined stride toward her car, and she was gone, leaving me standing under the streetlamp with nothing but the echo of her footsteps fading into the night.
I stood outside for a long moment, listening to the quiet city and letting the chill settle into my skin.
It was the kind of night that made every sound carry—a distant dog barking, the hum of a stoplight changing, the crinkle of leaves skittering across the sidewalk.
I thought about texting Paige, just a simple “made it home?” or “let me know if you need anything.” But I knew better than to crowd her, so I slipped my phone back into my pocket and let the silence stretch.
In the end, I just took a deep breath and headed toward my car, the faint glow of the tavern sign behind me a reminder that sometimes, the hardest part is knowing when to let someone walk away on their own.
I drove home beneath a sky brittle with stars, and the silence back at my place echoed the unsaid words between us. Tomorrow, maybe, things would feel less fragile.