9. Dawson
CHAPTER 9
DAWSON
“Excuse you, bro.”
A walking brick wall of a man clips my shoulder as I step back into the dark corner booth of The Rusty Elk Tavern. The guy reeks of alcohol and bad decisions. His bloodshot eyes barely register me before he staggers toward the bar.
I roll my eyes. I knew I didn’t want to be here.
“Yeah,” I mutter, my voice low and edged with irritation as I take a sip off the top of my beer.
My grip tightens around the bottle and my jaw clenches as I shove past him. He doesn’t realize how lucky he is that I’ve got bigger things on my mind. Because ever since Rosalie left, I’ve been looking for a reason to unload on someone.
But right now isn’t the time. It’s almost sunrise and I haven’t seen my bed yet… Not that it’s anything new.
The last few weeks have been a blur of long hours and restless nights. Every spare second has been spent trying to fix what I broke. Because getting Rosalie back is the only thing that matters. Nothing else registers, not even sleep or food. They’re all just distractions. I don’t even know what I’m still running on. Fumes, maybe. Stubbornness, definitely.
The only thing new is the fact that I’m standing in a tavern in a half-assed attempt to unwind. And I’ve got Ella to thank for that.
Ever since the Hollow Tree Inn came back to life, Ella’s been buzzing around me like an over-caffeinated hornet. Yes, she owns the place which also means she’s technically my landlord. But that doesn’t explain why she’s made a damn hobby out of throwing unsolicited advice my way like it’s her life’s calling.
When Ella first told me about these monthly gatherings, I laughed in her face. I told her it sounded like a bunch of washed-up heroes hitting the bottle harder than they should. She didn’t argue. Instead she just slipped a flyer under my door. And then another. By the third one, I had to admit the description fit me a little too well.
Most of the time, I let it roll off me. But tonight she wore me down and the next thing I knew, I was standing in the doorway of the Elk for Beer and Darts Night. I was already regretting my life choices as she shoved a beer in my hand and wandered off to find her wife.
Now here I am. Several drinks deep, no closer to sleep, and still just as wired as when I walked in. Rosalie’s face is burned into the back of my mind, a loop I can’t shut off. And no amount of beer or forced small talk is gonna change that.
I thought coming here would be a massive distraction. But once I stepped through the doors, I realized I was wrong. This place isn’t bad.
The Rusty Elk is your typical small-town bar with wood-paneled walls, scuffed floors, and the faint scent of fried food permanently soaked into the air. It’s the kind of place where the beer is always cold and the music is a little too loud for my taste. The regulars come as much for the gossip as anything else and their names are practically carved into the barstools.
Hank, the owner, is an ex-Marine. He’s older but still built like a tank and with a voice that could make a grown man snap to attention. He throws these monthly gatherings for all of us ex-military saps who can’t get our shit together… his words, not mine. But he’s not wrong.
I’ve been out of the military for over a month now, and nothing feels settled. It’s like I walked out of one warzone and straight into another. Only this time, there’s no orders… only chaos. And Rosalie’s at the center of it.
She’s gone from my world again and it’s left a void in me I’m not sure I’ll ever fill. That’s exactly why letting her go isn’t an option. My mission is clear. I’ve got to get her back but it’s taking longer than I planned and every extra minute is killing me.
The night’s been a decent change of pace with more than one familiar face in the crowd. Old voices swap war stories and the occasional burst of laughter cuts through the low hum of conversation. I downed an entire pint before I was ready to make eye contact with anyone. But the waitstaff didn’t miss a beat. I’m pretty sure they’ve seen this routine before.
Groups of locals gather to trade gossip over rounds of whiskey. A few women throw smiles my way, but they don’t land. I keep my head down.
By the second drink, I threw some darts with an old Army buddy, Finn. He’s a solid guy, always was. He tends to be on the grumpy side but I didn’t hate catching up if I’m being honest. Turns out, he’s been putting the pieces of his life together, or at least trying.
He’s doing okay for himself now… He’s figuring out how to make civilian life work. It made a pang of jealousy stab through me. It made me wish I could settle into my next chapter. Like this is all just another deployment to get through.
But our chat made it clear that I’m still stuck between past and present. It’s like my boots are caught in the mud and no matter how hard I pull, I can’t get loose. Four drinks in, mid-game with Finn, it really hit me. Maybe there’s something wrong with me. Maybe I’m the one screwing this up, making it harder than it has to be.
Then I ran into Griff.
The guy looked like he was being tortured just standing here. His shoulders were tight and his eyes scanned the room like he’d rather be anywhere else. And that felt right to me. That made sense.
He and I didn’t need words. Just a quick head nod of understanding. A silent acknowledgment that neither of us had this whole retirement thing figured out. That we weren’t the only ones struggling to make sense of life outside the uniform.
Now I’m more drunk than sober. I’m slouched alone at the back table under a dimly lit bulb. My thoughts are the only company I’ve got and it’s how I prefer it right now. I’m lost in a pool of self pity and an insatiable drive to finish the project I’ve started.
There’s got to be a way to move faster. Hire more people. Get more done.
A hand on my shoulder startles me back to reality. I look up to see Ella reappear beside me. I don’t appreciate the distraction.
“Yeah?” I blink up at her.
“Hey, it’s late. We’re getting out of here,” she says, nodding toward the exit just as her wife, Maggie, appears beside her.
Just what I need, a front row seat to a happily married couple.
“Great. See you tomorrow,” I mutter, settling back into my chair.
Ella lets out an exasperated sigh. “No, you jackass, we are leaving. As in, you and us. We’re taking you back to the inn for the night. You can pine away over Rosalie from the comfort of your room instead of stinking up this bar.”
I huff out a breath, but I don’t have any fight left in me. Not for this. “Fine, but I’m finishing this beer first.”
Ella plants a hand on her hip, one eyebrow arched like she’s already ten steps ahead of me. I take a slow, deliberate sip, dragging it out just to be the jackass she’s pegged me for.
Then Garth fucking Brooks bellows through the speakers. The sound is loud and twangy. It cuts through the bar like a goddamn assault on my eardrums. And that gets me to my feet.
“I hate this song.”
“Great, I’ll be sure to play it in the car,” Ella laughs.