22. Chapter 22
twenty-two
“Oh. My. God!” Mercy squeals when we get outside, pulling me into a tight hug. “You two. I can’t believe what you did. Jesus. Dabbo. Shit. Change clothes, we’re going to celebrate!”
I glance at Mom, who smiles. “I was so proud of you.” She loops her arm around Dad’s elbow. “Both of you.”
“About time somebody put those blowhards in their place,” Dad says. “The gall of Andy Sellers, acting like ten thousand dollars would hurt ’em. They spend more than that on their fucking trips every year.”
“A dollar.” Bowie, on my hip, holds out his hand. “Aunt Mercy, you said one, too.” He wiggles his fingers.
“I paid in advance.” Mercy shoots him a playful sneer. “Remember?”
“Aw.”
Dad pulls Bowie from my arms. “You and me, kid. We’ve got to reach an agreement on this potty word fine business. You’re about to break me.”
“Then don’t say so many,” Mom says. “Come on, Bowie. Let’s let your Mom go have friend time with Mercy.”
“Are you sure?”
“You deserve it. You haven’t been out since you’ve been home.”
“Bowie, do you mind if Mommy goes out tonight?” I ask.
He scrunches his face as his shoulders droop. “Nooo.” He looks at Mom. “Can we have ice cream?”
“Damn right,” Dad answers. “We’ll go through the drive-through and get ice cream cones.”
“Cones!” Bowie raises his fist.
Somehow ‘cones’ drowned out the potty word. Dad got by with that one.
I’ve never been to the Dust Devil. Pulling into the parking lot, it’s impressive—the neon-blue dust devil spinning high above the front door. It’s an upscale, down-home bar. A little glam. A lot of earthiness.
Plenty of cars for a weeknight. But I don’t see Calder’s truck.
“I never asked—do you know how to shoot pool?” Mercy asks as she parks, flipping down the visor to check her face in the mirror.
“I know how, but I’m not good.” We had a pool table in Franklin. Grant and his friends played. I watched and tried but he lost patience with me. He said my elbow always wobbled.
“I don’t want to keep up with a purse. What do I do with my phone? My cards?”
She cuts her eyes at me with a taunting smirk. “You really don’t get out much.”
“Bowie’s my priority, not partying.”
“Well, first of all, Tanner’s not letting you pay for a damned thing tonight. Not after that performance—you know he loves Calder like a brother.”
“I do.”
“Slide your phone in your pocket and let’s go. And get one of those magnetic card holders for the back of your phone. That’s all you need.”
Stepping inside, I’m doubly impressed. The Dust Devil can hold its own in Nashville, Austin—anywhere. A strange excitement fills the room with people visiting, a few dancing to the jukebox, others at the bar or in the pool room.
The energy pulses through me to the beat of, “Pour Me a Drink.”
“Who are all these people?” I ask, surveying the crowd.
“From all around. Most everyone here is single. Divorced or never married.”
“Who built it?” I ask over the jukebox.
“Who do you think? Tanner and Calder.”
Why does that make me so proud?
She heads toward the bar, chin tilting at Tanner, who’s elbow-deep slinging beers and raking in money.
He yells, “There they are! What are you drinking, ladies?”
Mercy and I take the only open seats. “That’s refreshing, Tanner. In Nashville you can’t call women ‘ladies.’ It’s considered patronizing.”
“Well, fuck Nashville. What’ll you have? It’s on me.”
“Wine?” I cut my eyes at Mercy, who snickers, waving me off.
“Please. Two beers. Michelob Lite for her and I’ll take the usual. Jesus, Laurel. You’re back in Texas. You don’t walk around with a glass of wine.”
“Forgive my ignorance.”
As Tanner gets our drinks, I try not to be obvious scanning for a black Stetson high in the room.
“He’s not here,” Tanner says, setting the beers down.
My heart thuds on the stained concrete floor. I swallow hard, trying to hide the sting.
I guess my face betrays me because Tanner chuckles low. “I can’t explain him.”
“Let’s shoot some pool.” Mercy grabs her beer, heading for the tables.
I follow, weaving through people—surprisingly, none I know. I thought it’d be like old home week, the same way it was at H-E-B, only with former classmates. Not so.
With all the tables busy, we take a spot by the wall to watch.
“He’ll be here,” she says dryly.
“How do you know?”
“Because I know him.”
For a reason I don’t understand, that annoys me more than it should. A tinge of shame crawls up my neck. How can you be jealous of your best friend? You know there’s never been anything between them. They’re like brother and sister.
Then I realize, it’s because she’s spent years living in this same little town with him while I was absorbed in another life. The ache rises, but I breathe through it. I wouldn’t have Bowie without those years. He’s what matters.
Spilled milk. You can’t let yourself dwell on the past. Not tonight.
I can only hope he’ll show. I want to see him so badly, and not from a distance, like in the meeting.
That kiss…
A server sets two beers on our table, and I tell the girl, “Thanks, but I haven’t finished this one.”
“Tanner said don’t let you two run dry.” She winks and heads to a customer.
A table opens, and as Mercy heads for it, it dawns on me, “We didn’t bring any money.”
Mercy pulls out her card, but before she can tap it, Tanner catches her arm. “You know better than that.” He does something to the reader and says, “I’ll get someone to cover the bar and be back.”
“You’re so sweet!” Mercy calls after him, her hand cupped around her mouth.
“Sweet?” he tosses back.
Those two.
I’m becoming suspicious. But I won’t push tonight. My gaze drifts back to the front door, scanning the room. Still no Calder. He’s not coming. Mercy said, he’d drawn inside himself since… well, since our kiss. A kiss I never confessed to her.
“You ready?” Mercy asks, racking the balls.
“As I’ll ever be.” I take a long drink of beer—swallowing my anticipation. Not tonight. Tonight’s Mercy’s, for all the times she’s supported me.
I walk to the cue rack, looking at the weights stamped on them.
Not too heavy, but heavy enough. I pick one out, feeling the tip. It’s smooth, rounded. I chalk it. “You break. I can’t do that.”
She does—and sinks two. “Stripes.”
I’ve been hustled. “You shark.”
Mercy cackles. “What’d you think I do with my evenings in Ladera, Texas?” Smooth and easy, she sinks two more, then leaves her last shot blocking a side pocket. “You’re up.”
I take a deep breath. I’ve only played in private. Never in a bar. I hate making a fool of myself, especially in public, and I’m about to. “Now, Mercy, don’t expect much.”
“You’ll learn.”
“Here goes.” I walk around the table, picking my shot. Line up, bend over—and realize, I’m probably flashing the whole place in this borrowed blouse. My gaze flicks from my aim to my chest. You’ve got to be kidding me. I’m giving everyone a show.
I straighten fast, tugging the back of my blouse down, relieved no one’s looking. Okay, I’m facing the wall, but what about when I’m not?
Mercy sputters into her beer. “They’re used to it.”
Not sure what to do with that.
I bend again—trying to line up my shot, conscious of my wobbling elbow—when arms wrap around me. One hand covers mine on the cue, the other braces on the table as a man’s voice whispers in my ear, “You need help with that?”
Those aren’t his arms.
Whoever he is—he’s pressing himself into me.
Everything in me goes rigid. A cold rage zooms through me, but before I can straighten and let whoever this creep is have it, he’s gone.
“She doesn’t need any help.”
I whip around to see Calder fisting the back of a guy’s collar.
“Fuck—” He wrestles free from Calder’s grip.
Calder, taller by several inches, doesn’t say a word. He just glares down at the guy and says, “This table’s taken.”
“Well fuck, man. I didn’t know she was taken.”
“She is.”
My heart slams against my ribs.
Calder holds the stare until the guy nods and backs off.
Then Calder turns to me, and when he does, every nerve in my body tingles. My pulse kicks up and I catch my breath as he steps closer—so close that I catch his scent, all warm cedar and leather. I feel the heat coming off him as an unexpected shiver sweeps through me.
His gaze moves over me—slow, deliberate, almost like he’s seeing me in a way he never has before. “Hell of a thing you did tonight, Laurel. You and your dad.”
He gets my flirtiest smile. “It was all you.” Because it was. “I’m glad the board voted to do the study.”
“Me, too.”
“Hey, you two! Are we shooting pool over here or not?” Mercy’s voice shatters our private moment, her arms wide, shoulder hiked in her what-the-hell pose. “Show’s over.”
“It’s my shot,” I tell him, my neck craned back to look into his eyes.
“I remember.”
“You’re not going to watch, are you? I’m not good—at all.”
He chuckles—low in his chest—and the sound rolls through me, warm and familiar, loosening something tight inside me. “I won’t be far.” The smile that follows is broad enough to make the dimple dig deep—something I haven’t seen since I’ve been back.
Remembering it from our youth weakens my knees, and I watch, mesmerized, as he strides to the bar. That’s the Calder I knew.
An excitement I’d long forgotten travels through me.
My hands are a little shaky on the cue. I flex my fingers, trying to steady them. Now how am I supposed to shoot pool after that?
Obviously, I can’t, all the nerves making me worse than normal.
It doesn’t take Mercy any time to clear the table and sink the eight ball—I only manage to get three in a pocket.
Tanner and Calder walk over, each carrying two beers, setting them on the table.
Tanner grins. “Let’s play teams. Nicole’s covering the bar.”
“You and me?” Calder’s voice is warm honey.
My heart gives a hard, traitorous thump. “Who else?”
His gaze drops to my mouth, then back to my eyes, and the whole room tilts. My breath stutters as he says, “You changed clothes.” His fingers brush my hair—light, careful, like he’s not sure he’s allowed, but he can’t help himself.
The touch is barely there, but it sends a gush of warmth through me. He rubs a strand between his fingers before leaning in, his voice a whisper meant only for me. “Do you have any idea how damned sexy you were tonight, Laurel?”
“Was?”
“Are.”
I step closer without thinking, my hand resting on his hard rock chest, his Henley soft and warm beneath my palm. “Do you know how good you look, Calder? Do you have any idea? Even when you’re hot and sweaty, covered in dust and soot.”
I’m not sure what’s happening between us—what’s about to happen—as the bar disappears.
Tanner’s voice cuts through. “Flip for it.”
Good grief.
Calder doesn’t look away from me as he pulls a quarter from his pocket. “Call it.” He flips it.
Tanner calls, “Heads,” while it’s in the air.
“Tails,” Calder says. “You rack.” Then to me, “You want to break?”
I can’t help it—I’m giddy, and it’s not the beer.
It’s him. Us. I feel like I’m eighteen again, before I knew I’d have to leave. I tilt my head back and laugh, lighter than I have in years. “Are you kidding?”
“I wasn’t.” He grabs a cue, bends over the table, and smashes the cue ball into the rack. I flinch with the sharp, cracking boom. The balls explode across the felt, skittering off rails and dropping into pockets before I can blink.
Jesus. That’s a break.
He circles the table, eyes sharp, body loose and confident. “Solids.”
By the time he stops, the table is almost empty, and I can’t believe how turned on I am by this smooth operator.
“Shithead,” Mercy mutters. “Tanner, take him.”
“My pleasure.” Tanner does the same—methodical, smooth, always leaving the cue ball set up for his next shot.
Their precision is absolutely to die for.
Watching Tanner, Calder hooks an arm around my waist and pulls me between his legs as he sits on a stool. It feels so natural I don’t even think about it, leaning into him, inhaling him. Wrapped in his strength.
The table is cleared except for the eight ball and our last two when Tanner finally misses his shot. “Fuck!”
“Your shot, Laurel,” Mercy smirks, certain I can’t sink anything.
Calder hands me his cue, whispering, “Just don’t leave her a shot.”
I can do that.
I tap the cue ball gently, tucking it right behind one of ours, where Mercy can’t get to the eight ball.
“You little tramp. You’re the hustler.” She shoots me a playful glare.
“Beginner’s luck,” I laugh.
“Beginner’s luck my ass.” She looks up at Tanner. “What do I do with that?”
“Same thing she did to you. Don’t leave her a shot.”
She can do that.
Mercy barely nudges the ball, leaving Calder nothing to shoot at.
He takes a long drink of his beer—he and Tanner exchange glances.
Calder circles the table and hits the cue ball against the far bank. It bounces off, tapping ours into the pocket.
“Fucker,” Tanner says.
Calder chuckles as he clears the table.
“Son of a bitch,” Mercy drawls, her hands on her hips. “That was no fun.”
“You break first next game,” Calder says.
“Hell—no.” She grabs Tanner’s arm. “Let’s dance.”
“You remember how?” Calder asks.
I nod.
He holds out his big hand, lacing his fingers with mine.
The dance floor isn’t big—no one can move much—but the song is slow.
Calder’s hand settles on the small of my back, so warm, and we start to sway, the same way we used to dance with the truck doors open, his stereo humming—and it’s like the years disappear.
It’s us, again, as natural as denim and dust.
“You sure it’s safe for you to be out?” he murmurs, barely a whisper.
“Bowie’s with my parents.”
“What about… Grant? And his PI?”
“He’s agreed to what my lawyer offered. It’ll be over soon.”
He pulls me closer, pressing the side of my face to his chest, and I hear the drumming of his heart. “I’ve lost my fucking mind, Laurel.”
Before I can tell him he hasn’t—an alarm shrieks through the Dust Devil and Calder’s cellphone vibrates at the same time.
“Fire,” he says, already looking at Tanner. “We’ve got to go.”