Chapter 33 Mac
33
MAC
Penny. Penny. Penny.
She was all I could think about.
I was at the bar, hands working on autopilot as I wiped down a rack of clean glasses, but my mind? It was nowhere near The Tequila Cowboy. I was stuck in the last few days with her—replaying each moment, each look, each stolen touch that had somehow grounded me and set me on fire all at once.
I was entirely, hopelessly gone over Penny Hudson. And that wasn’t a revelation, it was a quiet truth I’d carried for the better part of a year.
If there were two things in this life I knew were meant to be mine, it was this bar and Penny. Lately, both had been weighing heavily on my mind, but one was starting to feel possible again… the other, not so much.
I placed a polished glass on the counter, reaching for the next. I had some time to kill before Aspen was coming to the bar for a check-in about how things were going with Penny. Her idea, not mine.
The silence of the bar was almost peaceful without Lizzie buzzing in my ear, which gave me time to think. We hadn’t spoken much since our last blowout, and I preferred it that way. Since I’d called her out for throwing a tantrum and micromanaging everything I touched, she’d kept her distance. It was easier. Quieter. Less tense.
Until now.
The familiar chime above the door rang out, a cold draft sneaking in behind it. I didn’t even need to look up to know it was her—Lizzie, her pristine look and pinched expression.
Funny how quickly the mood could shift. A moment ago, I was riding the warmth of memories with Penny. Now, the room felt ten degrees colder.
She approached the bar with practiced confidence, her dark bob curled perfectly at her chin, one side tucked neatly behind her ear. The sight of her always pulled something tight in my chest—reminded me too much of our mother. Staring at Lizzie was like staring down my lack of childhood in heels and lipstick.
I kept wiping the glass in my hand, pretending she wasn’t there.
“No smoking inside?” she asked, dropping her oversized purse onto a barstool as she slid onto the seat.
It would be much easier if she ignored me as much as I was trying to ignore her. Instead, she always fucking sat down—commanding attention like she was entitled to it.
I rolled my head from side to side, working out the tension her presence had instantly brought with it. With a sigh, I placed both hands on the bar and let my head hang for a second before meeting her eyes.
“No, Lizzie. But now that you mention it, I am craving some menthol.”
I didn’t move to grab the pack from my back pocket, though. Just stared her down.
“Don’t get mad when I ask this,” she started, and instantly, I was already mad. Nothing good ever followed that sentence.
“What now?”
“I saw Penny leaving the other morning.” She tilted her head slightly, watching me too closely. “Is there something going on between you two?”
I stood straighter, shoulders rolling back. “I’m not sure what to call it, but that’s none of your business.”
There was no way I was about to open up to her about something so personal, not when we barely managed to share floor space. She didn’t get access to that part of me.
“Right,” Lizzie muttered. “I didn’t see you walk her out. What if she stole something? People shouldn’t just be walking through the bar unattended, especially people you aren’t sure about.”
I stared at her like she’d grown a second head.
“Are you fucking serious?” I asked, disbelief thick in my voice. “Penny Hudson? You really think she’d steal from the bar?”
“I’m just trying to protect the business,” she replied, lifting her hands in mock surrender.
Did my sister lose one of her very few fucking marbles?
“No, you’re being nosy.” I stepped forward, voice lowering. “For your information, I did walk her down, just didn’t make it all the way to the door because I was in my boxers and figured the morning crowd didn’t need that kind of show.”
Lizzie hummed like she didn’t believe me, then reached into her tote and pulled out a laminated menu.
She slid it across the bar like she was presenting evidence in a court case.
“And this?” she asked, tone clipped. “You made this without even running it by me.”
I barely glanced down at the menu before looking back up. “So what?”
“You just said you didn’t know what was going on with her. But you’re making personalized menus?”
I picked up the next glass and dried it with more force than necessary, my patience with her and this conversation wearing thin. “Just say what you’re really trying to say and get it over with.”
Lizzie huffed, then reached into her bag again. This time she tossed down a handful of wrinkled, half-torn flyers.
I threw the towel over my shoulder and picked one up. It was a promotional flyer for the fundraiser Penny had mentioned—cowboy hats, cacti, and bold fonts carefully curated on the page.
Mechanical bull, themed drinks, line dancing, real cowboys. Saturday night. Right here.
Despite myself, I grinned. It was over-the-top and dramatic—pure Penny.
“What about it?” I asked.
“Did you tell your girlfriend she could use the bar for a fundraiser?” Lizzie’s voice had sharpened.
“Yeah,” I said. “And? You got a problem supporting the library? Helping kids keep access to books and computers and a safe place to go?”
I leaned in close, voice dropping. “Go ahead. Shut it down. See how well that goes over in this town.”
“All I’m asking for is some transparency,” Lizzie said, her voice tight. “Is that really too much to ask?”
“Yes,” I said flatly. “It is.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Whatever resentment you’ve been carrying around since childhood? Put it aside and grow up. This is business, not personal.”
I laughed—a humorless, bitter sound that echoed too sharply in the quiet bar. The sheer audacity of her comment burned like cheap whiskey going down the wrong damn pipe.
“Not personal?” I leaned both palms on the bar and stared her down. “It’s pretty damn personal to me. This place has been my life since I was tall enough to see over this counter. And now you come in here, on your high horse, expecting me to nod and jump every time you bark out an order? That’s not business, Lizzie. That’s arrogance.”
I tapped my finger hard against the bar top, each word punctuated with the weight of a lifetime. “I grew up behind this damn wood. You didn’t.”
She stayed on her stool, arms crossed, lips pressed in a line—unbothered, at least on the surface. But that only fueled the fire roaring inside me.
Maybe it was her accusing Penny of stealing. Maybe it was just years of built-up shit between us. But I wasn’t holding back anymore.
“Why is it that every time you walk through that door, you have to push every one of my buttons?” I snapped. “You don’t say hello. You don’t check in. You just pick something to complain about—something to fix, something I’m apparently screwing up.”
“Me?” she shot back, hand on her chest, voice edged with sarcasm. “I’m the one pushing buttons? Give me a break, Mac. You do shit just to get a rise out of me.”
“Because I’m tired, Lizzie,” I said, stepping back and throwing my hands in the air. “Tired of being micromanaged. Tired of the nagging. Since the moment you came back, it’s been one thing after another. I’ve offered more than once to take this place off your hands and let you walk away.”
“I didn’t ask—”
“Yeah, yeah,” I cut her off, waving a hand between us. “You didn’t ask for this. Boo-fucking-hoo. But you stayed. You keep coming around. So, what is it? What’s keeping you here if you hate it so much?”
She mumbled something under her breath, arms crossed again, eyes shifting away.
“If it was that easy,” she said, tone sour.
“Then say what’s so hard about it,” I pushed. “What? Is it the fact I was married?”
Her head snapped up so fast I knew I’d hit a nerve.
Gotcha.
I held her gaze. “Yeah. I figured you knew.”
Reaching into my back pocket, I pulled out the cigarette box I hadn’t touched since this conversation started, then grabbed the ashtray from beneath the bar. With a flick of the lighter, I lit one and drew in the smoke, letting it steady me.
“I figured you were just waiting for me to say it out loud,” I muttered, exhaling slowly. “You could’ve just asked. You could’ve been honest.”
She said nothing. Just stared at me with something unreadable in her eyes.
“If that’s what’s been making this so difficult, me being married, then let me save you the energy.” I took another drag and tapped the ash into the tray. “It’s over. It’s been over. So if that was your reason for holding out, it’s gone.”
“If you figured I knew,” Lizzie snapped, “why not say something sooner and get your precious bar back?”
I took a slow drag of my cigarette, exhaling to the side as her words settled over me.
“Because I didn’t really know that was why, not at first,” I said. “Not until everything else started to fall apart because of that damn marriage. That’s when it clicked. It was the only thing that made sense.”
I pointed the burning tip of the cigarette toward her, not in anger, but with emphasis.
“I did the research, Lizzie. I get why you held onto it. You thought she’d be entitled to a piece. But if you’d just picked up the phone and called a lawyer, like I did, you’d know that’s not true.”
“What do you mean?” she asked, arms folding tighter across her chest.
“In Texas, it would’ve been mine. Married or not. The bar was always going to be my property. It had nothing to do with her.” I ashed the cigarette, then placed it between my lips again. “But instead of talking to me, you just assumed. You came in here with your attitude and condescending tone, acting like you knew everything. Just like Mom.”
I blew out a long stream of smoke, feeling the bitter truth loosen from my lungs.
Lizzie’s jaw tightened. She tucked her hair behind her ears—both sides now. She was trying to hold onto that composed, self-righteous thing she did, but I could see it cracking.
“Well, there was a reason Dad gave it to me,” she said, quieter this time. “Maybe he trusted me more.”
I barked a dry laugh, full of venom. “Yeah, more like a final fuck you from beyond the grave. That man made it his life’s mission to screw with me. Why not do it in death, too? Or maybe he was so far gone, he didn’t even realize whose name he wrote down.”
Her face flushed with frustration. “How was I supposed to know? I hadn’t spoken to the man in years, and then suddenly I get a call saying I’m the proud new owner of his dive bar?”
“You could’ve asked, Lizzie. You could’ve picked up the damn phone instead of assuming you knew the whole story. Dad didn’t even know I was married. Hell, I barely remembered it myself until Penny—” I stopped, raising both hands in surrender. “Forget it. Doesn’t matter now. You know the truth.”
I turned away, pretending to busy myself with the glasses again, needing the distance more than I wanted to admit.
The silence that followed was the loudest part of the conversation. Lizzie, for once, had nothing to say. No smug retort. No carefully phrased insult. Just… silence.
I didn’t turn around when I said, “Aspen should be here any minute. You can run and hide like you usually do.”
The soft rustle of her bag and the shifting of feet on the wood floor told me she’d taken the invitation. When the office door shut in the distance, I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding.
It felt good. Saying the things I’d swallowed for a while. I’d always masked it with sarcasm, treated our tension like some sibling rivalry, a game of verbal sparring. But that hadn’t gotten me anywhere. Not with her. Not with this bar.
I braced my hands on the bar top, let my head hang between my arms, and took another long drag from the cigarette. It helped settle the edge still crackling in my chest.
This conversation was far from over. But for now, I needed a second to breathe.
Of course, the universe had perfect timing.
The front door creaked open and Aspen stepped inside. I didn’t look at her right away—didn’t need to. I heard her familiar sigh, the scrape of the stool as she slid into the very spot Lizzie had just left.
When I finally turned and looked up, her eyes went wide. Her brows pulled together in something that looked like worry, maybe even pain.
“What the hell happened to you?” she whispered.