Chapter 4
4
MAC
PRESENT DAY.
Iinhaled deeply, letting the smoke fill my lungs before exhaling around the cigarette dangling from my lips. Another night behind this bar—the same bar I’d grown up in, the same one I couldn’t seem to leave.
Working here was in my blood, woven so deep into my DNA that I never saw myself anywhere else. Slinging bottles, pouring drinks, and watching the same faces roll in and out was all I knew.
My father owned this place until the day he died.
I’d like to say he poured his blood, sweat, and tears into keeping it afloat, but that would be a damn lie. The only thing that man ever put effort into was playing pool and getting too fucking drunk to function.
By ten years old, I was pouring draft beers and charming my way into tip money, stuffing every last bill and coin into an old coffee can beneath my bed. Hard work had never been a choice for me—it was a necessity.
“Put that shit out,” Lizzie, my sister, barked as she walked by, rolling her eyes. She made it to the window where our neon Open sign hung, officially signaling the start of another night of business.
“Mind your damn business,” I shot back, taking another slow drag.
“My bar. My rules.”
I scoffed, turning my attention away from her and toward the bottles lining the back wall.
Lizzie was a barracuda, ruthless and set in her ways which made us butt heads more often than not.
She was tall and petite, the spitting image of our mother, right down to the sleek brown bob that barely grazed her shoulders—the same color as mine, though I’d never admit we had anything in common because she and I were nothing alike.
Our parents never married, and when I was eight and Lizzie was twelve, they finally decided they were better off far away from each other. Mom took Lizzie. And me? I drew the short end of the stick, staying behind with Dad in the cramped one-bedroom apartment above the bar.
While Lizzie had a decent life—sports, friends, college—I was left to fend for myself, playing the fucking adult before I was even old enough to ride a bike without training wheels.
“You are insufferable,” I muttered, shaking my head. “Go bark your orders at someone who gives a shit.” Waving her off, I focused back on my final count of liquor bottles, scribbling down numbers before the first pour of the night.
The scrape of a stool dragging across the hardwood echoed, mixing with the low twang of country music filtering through the speakers.
I turned, clipboard in hand, slapping it onto the bar top just as Lizzie reached for me.
In one swift motion, she plucked the cigarette from my lips and dropped it into a cup of half-melted ice beside me.
“I said, put it out.”
My jaw ticked, but I kept my expression carefully blank, both hands flattening against the bar as I leaned in slightly.
“You owe me forty cents for that.”
“Will you ever learn?” Lizzie asked, leaning back, tilting her head in that slow, feline way that always made her seem like she was sizing me up. “Just give it up and get over yourself.”
She crossed her arms over her chest, all exasperation and superiority.
I rolled my neck from side to side, working through the tension that always formed whenever she decided to spend a night micromanaging my bar.
Except it wasn’t mine on paper.
There was no way in hell I was ever going to get over it. Our father leaving her the bar on his deathbed would never sit right with me. I’d poured years of my life into this place, built the clientele, kept the damn lights on.
This was supposed to be mine.
Yet, in his final moments, my father gave me one last fuck you before taking his last breath.
Years ago, after he got sick and Lizzie decided to come back into the picture, I made the mistake of running. I left Faircloud, convinced I’d find something better, a fresh start. Vegas had seemed like the answer—women, an insane bar scene, distractions in every form.
A few months and one big mistake later, I found myself right back here, resuming my position as manager, bartender, and overall CE-fucking-O of The Tequila Cowboy.
Except, in the end, it didn’t matter.
Dad never let me forget that I left. He reminded me every damn chance he got. Even now, in death, he was still playing his games.
Reaching into my back pocket, I pulled out a small white cardboard box and lighter. Slipping a cigarette between my lips, I ducked my head slightly and lit up, inhaling deeply.
Lizzie scoffed. “See, this is exactly why Dad gave me the bar. You’re so damn childish, and that shit will kill you.”
I glanced up at her, exhaling a slow stream of smoke into the air.
That same permanent look of disapproval sat on her face, a mirror of our mother. Mom had never been happy, always carried herself like she was waiting for life to disappoint her.
I smirked, unbothered.
“What can I say?” I took another long drag, my voice lazy, taunting. “C’est la vie.”
The bell above the door chimed, signaling someone had walked in. Glancing up, I realized it was two someones—Aspen and Boone, making their way toward the bar.
Lizzie never stuck around to socialize with my friends. True to form, she stood and disappeared into the back office without so much as a glance in their direction.
Shaking my head, I bent down and grabbed two glasses to make their usual drink of choice. Aspen, a tequila sunrise. Boone, Jack and Coke.
By the time Aspen slid onto the barstool, placing her small purse on the counter, and Boone settled into the seat beside her, their drinks were already in front of them. I took another slow drag from my cigarette before using the half-melted ice in my cup as an ashtray.
“Everything’s on the house tonight,” I announced, reaching for a shot glass and filling it to the brim with tequila before knocking it back in one go.
If Lizzie wanted to call me childish, I was more than happy to act the part.
Boone scoffed, lifting his drink. “You sure that’s a good idea?”
I shrugged. “What do I care?”
“When Lizzie’s on your ass for the millionth time, you will.”
I let out a dry laugh, leaning against the back of the bar, arms crossing over my chest as I propped one foot over the other.
“Hell will freeze over before I give a shit what she thinks.”
And that was the truth. I’d grown up unaffected by her opinions, and I sure as hell wasn’t about to start now.
Boone shook his head, giving me a pointed look over the rim of his glass.
“What?” I asked, eyeing him skeptically.
Aspen straightened, leaning forward over the bar, eyes narrowing like she was trying to figure me out.
“Mac…” she drawled, studying my face.
“Yes?”
Her gaze sharpened, then suddenly her expression lit up with amusement.
“Is that a mustache?” she gasped, sitting back with a laugh, tipping her head as she grinned behind her glass.
I smirked and strolled toward her before leaning across the bar on my elbow, closing the distance between us.
“It is,” I replied with a wink.
Then, tilting my head toward Boone, I added, “I know you have a thing for a mustache. Do we tell him?”
Aspen giggled, shaking her head, playing along.
I extended my hand to her, flashing a cocky grin. “Let’s run away, baby.”
That smirk? It had gotten me what I wanted more times than I could count.
Boone, unimpressed, cleared his throat and took another sip of his drink. “You’re lucky I know you’re joking,” he muttered. “Otherwise, I’d kick your scrawny ass.”
“Whoa there, cowboy,” I said, stepping back with my hands in the air in mock surrender.
Before Boone could respond, the door swung open again. This time, Theo and Rhodes walked in.
Rhodes held the door open for his woman, and Theo entered with a bright smile, her hair styled in pigtails.
Rhodes removed his hat and raked a hand through his hair before setting it back on his head.
“I didn’t know they were coming too,” I muttered, tilting my head toward the couple.
Aspen turned toward them, waving. “Rhodes’s mom is watching the baby tonight so they could come out.”
Theo picked up her pace, leaving Rhodes a few steps behind, and pulled Aspen into a hug before sliding onto the stool beside her.
Theo and Aspen were also Faircloud natives; we all went to school together. Growing up, we never crossed paths, but ever since Boone started taking a liking to Aspen nearly a year ago, we all became one big happy family.
“What can I get you two?” I asked, tapping the ash off my cigarette before placing it between my lips.
Rhodes clapped Boone on the shoulder in greeting before turning to me. “I’ll take a Coors.”
“I’ll have the same,” Theo chimed in, tossing her pigtails over a shoulder.
“Mac’s feeling generous tonight,” Boone added with a smirk. “Everything’s on the house.”
Rhodes shot me a suspicious look, brows knitting together. I shrugged, popping the caps off two Coors bottles against the edge of the bar before sliding them over. “It’s one of those nights.”
Theo laughed, eyes knowing. “Lizzie piss you off again?”
I nodded, my lips pressing into a thin line.
Rhodes smirked as he took a sip. “Penny will be glad to hear everything is on the house.”
Her name hit me like a gut punch.
Instantly, my stomach twisted, the air shifting and tightening around me.
Being in the same room as her was hard enough. Pretending everything was fine? Even fucking harder, and unfortunately, I had to pretend way too often.
I’d chosen to ignore her the best I could the last couple of months, but I couldn’t take it anymore.
I desperately wanted her to hear me out. To listen to what I had to say. I knew I’d fucked up—I’d admitted my wrong—but she was a woman scorned, and I was in the doghouse.
I wasn’t giving up; I just had to find a way to alter my approach, yet every time I tried to corner her, to get a moment alone, she’d find an excuse to run.
Most times, she wouldn’t even acknowledge my existence, looking right past me like I didn’t fucking exist.
I schooled my expression, doing my best not to let the mere mention of her show on my face. Instead, I busied myself with cutting lemons for garnish, letting my friends fall into easy conversation while I focused on forgetting.
Penny and I had something good. It was fun, effortless—something we both benefited from. The secrecy of everything made it more intoxicating, adding to the pull, the tension, the depth of whatever the hell we were.
But I fucked it up.
Not much of a surprise.
The door swung open again, and this time, a few locals straggled inside. They headed straight for a table on the far side of the room.
Dudley was supposed to be working the bar with me tonight, but the bastard was late—no shock there.
I silently counted my blessings, hoping he’d actually show up so I could slip away, pull Penny aside, and end this shit once and for all. I couldn’t keep going like this. I couldn’t keep feeling sick at the sound of her name.
With our friends dating, there was no avoiding her.
Tonight, I was fired up. The interaction with my sister was fuel added to the raging fire inside me.
Stepping away from the bar, I ducked into the storage room to grab extra supplies. But when I returned, the group had grown.
Logan and Ellie now stood behind the others, slipping into the fold like they’d always belonged.
Lately, Logan had been coming around more than usual, and Ellie, Boone’s little sister, was finally home after nearly a year.
After a brutal breakup, she’d packed her bags and left Faircloud behind, choosing to spend some time alone and rediscover herself.
And honestly? I couldn’t blame her one damn bit.
Sometimes, running again sounded like the best possible answer, but I tried that once. This time, it wouldn’t fix the problems, because my biggest one would be walking through the door any minute.
Time ticked by, and I held true to my promise. Every drink I poured for my friends was on the house.
Luckily for me, Dudley finally showed up, which meant I could focus on them while also managing the rowdy crowd that had packed into the bar.
Music blared over the speakers, the bass thrummed through the floorboards, and the neon lights cast their usual warm glow over the space. The place was packed, double-stacked around the bar, people shoulder to shoulder, making it damn near impossible to keep up.
For a small-town bar, this was busy, and judging by the unfamiliar faces, these weren’t just locals.
“You!” I called, pointing at a guy standing toward the back of the mass of people.
He was tall, wearing a cowboy hat, his lips moving as he placed an order. I was great at reading lips; you had to be in a job like this.
Round of shots.
He held up five fingers, mouthing the word tequila.
Nodding, I reached out, and he passed his card over the heads of the people between us. “Open or closed?” He gave me the universal sign for the latter.
Wiping my hands on the towel slung over my shoulder, I turned toward the register before finishing the transaction. When I spun back around and glanced up, she was there.
Penny.
Standing at the door, staring directly at me.
The crowd had somehow parted, leaving a perfect line of sight between us, like the universe was taunting me. Testing me.
My throat tightened, and I swallowed hard, forcing myself to focus on the customers before me, but it was useless.
There was no way in hell I would be able to concentrate when my thoughts kept drifting back to her, when my eyes kept scanning the room, searching for another glimpse.
My obsession—the sheer pull she had over me—was becoming impossible to resist.
And maybe that was the real problem.
The more she ignored me, the worse it got.
I had to talk to her.
But first, I needed to get this crowd under control.
Exhaling sharply, I shut my eyes for half a second, steeling myself before pointing to the next customer.
Once the crowd was under control, I would make my move. Until then, I had to power through the racing thoughts and the itch to talk to Penny and focus on work.
Something told me that was going to be really fucking difficult.