Chapter 8 Mac
8
MAC
PRESENT DAY
Angus flopped against my chair, sending it rolling back before he let out a deep, bone-weary sigh and sprawled across the floor like he owned the place.
With a faint smirk, I reached down, scratching behind his floppy ear. All one hundred and twenty pounds of him made it impossible to move my chair back, so I stayed put, working on my computer from an awkward distance.
Technically, today was my day off from bartending. The administrative work, though? That never stopped.
If I wasn’t pouring drinks, I was back here making sure we had enough money to keep the doors open.
I’d done this dance with Dad for years—acting as the accountant, janitor, and wearing every other hat possible. He was usually too drunk to notice or tell me how to run the place, so I had full control. Lizzie, on the other hand, thought she always knew best, when in reality, she didn’t know a damn thing.
I hadn’t seen her since she got on my case about smoking in the bar, and not seeing her didn’t bother me one bit.
Reaching down, I pulled a cigarette from the box, lit it up, and took a slow drag—just out of sheer fucking spite.
My head was a tangled mess.
It had been a few nights since my run-in with Penny, and for whatever reason, it was still messing me up.
Maybe it was the way her face softened, that flicker in her eyes—the smallest hesitation that told me, maybe, things weren’t completely broken.
Or at least, that’s what I wanted to believe.
Maybe I was reading into things. Hell, I probably was. But it wasn’t like I had anyone to talk to about it, and truth be told? I didn’t need the bullshit of anyone else’s opinions messing with my head.
If a small chance was all I had to hold onto, I’d have a death grip on it.
Chance meant there was hope.
A loud thud echoed from the main room. We weren’t open yet, which meant only one thing—Lizzie was here.
I had a plan: finish up this last task, go upstairs, and avoid her entirely. Going upstairs was my only relief because leaving wasn’t an option, considering I lived above the bar.
Even on the rare occasion I had a day off, I was never really gone. The constant thrum of old country music shook my floorboards, forcing me to either crank my TV up to an unreasonable volume or come downstairs and end up working anyway.
My fingers tightened around the pen in my hand. I took a long drag off my cigarette, holding it between my teeth before exhaling toward the ceiling, watching the smoke curl and disappear.
Lizzie’s figure flew past the open office door in a blur of blue, moving back and forth like a hurricane. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched her throw shit around, slam doors, even listen to her mumble shit under her breath.
I rolled my eyes and spun my chair to face her theatrics.
Clearly, she wanted my attention. Dramatic entrances and mumbled words were her preferred methods of communication instead of just saying what the hell was wrong.
I tucked the pen behind my ear then leaned back, hands clasped across my chest.
Cigarette still dangling from my lips, I called out lazily, “Did you have something to say, or is this your audition for a soap opera?”
That did it. Lizzie went off like a Roman candle, spinning on her heel and storming into the office, smoke practically pouring from her ears.
Her face was red, jaw clenched tight, and when she jabbed a finger in my direction, I braced for impact.
“You don’t know when to shut up, do you?” she snapped. “You can never just leave me be, let me have my peace without some wise-ass comment.”
I stayed perfectly relaxed, reclining back in my chair with a slow shrug. I knew I was being a dick, still didn’t care.
“Why shut up when toying with you is just too damn fun?” I smirked, tilting my head, watching her fume.
Lizzie and I had never gotten along. Not as kids, definitely not as adults. Hell, I hadn’t seen her for over a decade before she waltzed in here, tossed our father’s will onto the bar, and upended my entire life.
She was the one who started this.
She was the one who barged in on her high horse, never once giving a damn about how I felt or what I had to say.
This place was mine.
And she took it.
Without this bar, I had nothing.
Lizzie let out a frustrated groan and stomped her foot, looking all of five years old. “It’s not just me you can’t keep your shit together around. So don’t act like this is just for fun and games.” She threw up her hands. “You’re pissed because of how things went down. You think I wanna be here?”
That sent my blood pressure through the damn roof.
I shot to my feet, matching her energy.
Angus huffed from his spot on the floor, then, like the world’s most unbothered soul, got up and padded out to the bar. Even my own damn dog was over our shit.
Since her arrival, we hadn’t had a moment of calm between us. The fights were more and more frequent with every day that passed, especially since we were spending so much time around each other.
“If you don’t want to be here, then fucking leave,” I bit out. “Give me the damn bar and go back to your perfect little life far away from here.”
Lizzie rolled her eyes so hard I thought they’d get stuck. Hand on her hip, she let out a dry, humorless laugh. “I can’t give you the bar, dumbass. Think long and hard about why.”
My stomach dropped. My smirk vanished. My eyes narrowed.
How the hell did she know about that?
“Me running away has nothing to do with my ability to handle this bar!” I shouted, throwing my hands out.
Leaving Faircloud had been a one-time mistake, a ghost from my past that I thought I’d buried. But lately? That ghost had been clawing its way back, haunting me in ways I never saw coming.
“Look,” Lizzie said, arms crossed, expression set in stone. She was ready to stand her ground. “Nothing is changing. You can throw all the grown-man tantrums you want, but it won’t fix what’s already happened. So grow up and suck it up.”
I let out a humorless laugh. “Says the one who just stomped her damn foot like a little girl.”
She scoffed. “You can be mad at me all you want. But you can’t be taking it out on everyone else around here—like Dudley, for example. He isn’t your emotional punching bag.”
My jaw ticked. “I don’t treat him like my punching bag.”
Lizzie arched a brow. “Right. So the testosterone showdown in the back alley was, what? A love confession?”
I clenched my fists, the memory of why that fight happened slamming into me like a freight train. It wasn’t my sister, it wasn’t the damn bar—it was Penny. Seeing her on that dance floor, watching her move like she hadn’t spent a single night losing sleep over me, had sent me straight into a tailspin.
Lizzie exhaled sharply. “All I’m saying is, get your shit together. No more dropped glasses. No more storming out in a rage. No more fighting the employees—”
“Oh, come on,” I cut in, scowling. “You act like it’s a habit.”
“Don’t make it a habit.” Her voice softened slightly, but her eyes stayed sharp. “Learn to rein it in. Not everyone needs front-row seats to your personal crisis.”
The last frayed thread holding me back from demanding Penny talk to me, really talk to me, finally snapped. I was unraveling, and there was no stopping it now. The last damn thing I needed was my sister, of all people, trying to put me in check.
With a sharp exhale, I grabbed my keys and wallet from where I’d tossed them on the desk and stormed past Lizzie. The force of my exit sent a gust of air whipping past her, shifting her hair from her face.
“And no more free drinks for your friends, asshole!” she shouted after me, but the slam of the front door nearly swallowed her words whole.
I didn’t care.
I wasn’t waiting any longer for Penny to come to me. Who the hell knew how long that would take? I was done sitting on my hands, drowning in regret. I was standing up and fighting for this.
Penny was never just a fling, no matter how many times we swore that’s all it would be—just a casual, no-strings thing. The more time I spent with her, the deeper I sank. She wasn’t just a habit; she was the air I breathed. I’d be damned if I let her slip away without a fight.
Falling for Penny Hudson had been inevitable.
She was the best trouble I’d ever been in.
I’d do whatever it took to make her see, make her feel, how sorry I was.
I was a determined son of a bitch, and she was about to find out what lengths I’d go to get what I wanted.