Chapter Two
Logan
Some people don't know when to quit and that's why they quit
Some need to hit the bottom to see they got a problem, they can't handle it
But that ain't why I started cleaning up my life
Wish it was but, that would be a lie
I've been sober 'cause there ain't no hangover like you
- ‘Drunk Me’ Mitchell Tenpenny
Walking into Ambrosia, I’m surprised how crowded it is on a Monday afternoon.
The hum of conversation mixes with the low thump of bass from the speakers, and the scent of whiskey and perfume hangs heavy in the air.
I scan the room automatically, a habit from years of reading a space before I settle in.
I look at the stage and see Darcy up there, hips swaying in a way that’s supposed to be seductive but just looks practiced. She gives me a wink as she drops into a split, the sequined fabric of her top catching the dim light. At least she fucks better than she dances.
Darcy’s been around a lot, hoping one of us will fall for her and make her an old lady.
Difference is, no brother is going to give that title to a chick everyone in the club has already had.
Giving someone that title isn’t something to fuck around with.
These girls think it’s the same as being a girlfriend, but it’s not even close.
If anything, you could compare it to marrying a woman but even that doesn’t hold up.
You can divorce your wife. Making a chick your old lady is permanent. One and done.
I’ve seen plenty of successful relationships in this life, and they worked because the guy didn’t just pick any blow-job Betty to wear his patch. They picked women who could weather storms most people couldn’t stand in.
It’s something I thought I wanted once. With one girl.
Since her, I’ve never considered it. She was good. Pure. Everything I thought I didn’t deserve and in the end, I didn’t.
I grab a seat at the bar, the stool creaking under my weight, and look over at Shaina. “Can I get a Coke?”
She shakes her head at me, smirking. “Still don’t understand why you don’t have a drink. Maybe it’ll take that stick out of your ass.”
“Just pour the damn soda.” My voice comes out sharper than I mean it to, but it’s none of my sister’s business why I don’t drink. And she’s got a big mouth. Shaina slides the glass down to me, ice clinking softly.
I haven’t had a drink in over eight years. Two days after I broke the heart of the only girl I ever loved, I got drunk and did some stupid shit I can’t take back.
My skin runs hot as my hand moves toward my phone. It’s late. She won’t answer. I tell myself I’ll just listen to her voicemail then pretend I called by accident. But the second it starts ringing, my chest tightens.
After the fourth ring, I hear it. The sexiest, half-asleep voice I’ve ever known. “Logan?”
Goddamn, I miss her.
“Logan? Hello?”
Shit. This was a bad idea.
“I can hear you breathing.” Her voice sharpens, more awake now and more annoyed.
“I fucking love you, Kenzie.”
Her sharp intake of breath hits me like a sucker punch, and for a second, it’s like time folds back, pulling me into the night I lost her. But this isn’t fair.
I can’t do this to her.
This isn’t right.
I hang up and hurl my phone across the room, watching it shatter against the wall, pieces skittering across the floor.
Carter opens my door, eyebrows drawn together. “What the fuck was that?” His gaze drops to my phone. “There a reason you broke that?”
“Can’t call her if I don’t have a phone.” I shrug, though the pain in my chest feels like a vice tightening with each passing second.
“I don’t get it. You say you love her but—”
“It’s not your fucking business to get!” My voice cracks into a yell before I can stop it.
Carter’s eyes go wide. He takes a few steps toward me, his tone hard. “Watch your fucking mouth, little brother.”
I stand, jaw tight. “Or what? You don’t fight anyone that challenges you.”
Carter opens his mouth, then closes it, shaking his head. He turns to walk away.
“Pussy,” I throw out with a short, bitter chuckle.
He spins back, and before I can react, everything goes black.
That was one of the last times I saw Carter.
The next day, he packed up all his shit and left. This club should’ve been his, but he doesn’t want it or anything to do with us.
I knew as soon as I could walk that the club was where I wanted to be. Anytime my dad was here, I was by his side, soaking it in, planning in my head what things would look like when I took over. Now the club is mine. We’ve made a few changes, but nothing major.
Honestly, the biggest one was getting rid of the tradition of road names. Some of my uncles have the stupidest goddamn names, and I wasn’t carrying that on. Let the old-timers keep that shit.
Fingernails scrape down my arm, pulling me out of my thoughts. I look over and see Darcy standing there, her bleach-blond hair pin-straight, falling just past her barely covered fake tits.
“Hey, handsome. To what do I owe this surprise?” Her voice is sweetened for effect, but it grates on me.
I look away, hating how desperate she is. “Not a surprise for you, just coming in to check on things.”
Her nails keep stroking my arm, unfazed by my flat tone. “Well, either way, I’m happy to see you. Want to go to one of the private rooms?”
Jesus. I hate being an asshole, but this kind of thing brings it out in me. “Why don’t you go throw yourself at someone who’ll at least give you money and enjoy it.” I stare at the glass in my hand, hoping she takes the hint and walks away.
Her hand stills, and for a second, she lingers there before finally leaving without a word.
I catch Shaina looking at me. “Sure, you don’t want a drink?”
I don’t even answer.
“You know, brother, I used to think you were in a bad mood. But it’s lasted so long, I’ve finally accepted you’re just an asshole of a person.” She laughs and walks off. Everyone’s a fucking comedian.
The door to the club swings open, and everything around me grinds to a halt.
Mackenzie is standing in the doorway, framed by the fading daylight spilling in from outside.
She looks like a lost little puppy, her big eyes scanning the room hesitant, and unsure.
When they land on me, I see it: the sharp inhale, the flicker of something that’s equal parts recognition and impact.
Every inch of me feels like it’s being pulled in a million directions.
Hank, our security guard, approaches her. She says something to him, and when he walks past me, I grab his arm. “What’s she here for?”
“Says she’s here to see Allison about the bartending job.” Hank shrugs and moves to walk off.
“Stay. I’ll go get her.” My voice is flat, but my pulse is pounding. I get up, forcing myself not to look back at her. Even after all these years, the sight of her wrecks me in ways I can’t explain.
Once I get to the office, I open the door and see Allison sitting at her mom’s old desk.
“You know there’s this thing called knocking, right? It helps.” Allison glares, but I couldn’t care less.
“The girl here for the job, you aren’t going to hire her.” My tone leaves no room for debate. There’s no way in hell she’s going to become a fixture in any part of my life.
Allison stands, her glare sharpening. “Excuse me? I’ll do whatever the fuck I want to. This isn’t the club, Logan. You don’t run shit here.”
She reminds me so much of my Aunt Tracy it’s uncanny the same fire, the same refusal to listen to anyone. The same way I grew up in my dad’s shadow, Allison is every bit her mom.
I step closer. “You don’t understand. I’m not fucking around here, Allison. This is not a damn game. She doesn’t get the fucking job. Period.”
I turn and walk out before my temper burns hotter. I need to get on my bike, ride until the wind cuts through the chaos in my head.
I make sure to leave from the back door, avoiding any chance of crossing paths with her again.
I never imagined Mackenzie Bersell would walk back into my life.
And I sure as hell can’t handle it.