Chapter 4 #4
Malcolm took a few gulps, impressed by the chill on the beer. Sometimes the drafts ran a little warm. “Hope so, but you’d have to ask Iggy for any real details.”
“Who?”
“Howie’s nephew.” He jerked his head at Iggy. “Iggy Donohue. The guy flipping bottles? We went to high school together.”
“Oh, that’s him? Didn’t recognize him. I just figured that guy was some temp city replacement, so Laurel doesn’t go nuts handling the place alone.”
Malcolm didn’t like Clive’s subtly snide tone when he said “city” replacement.
In a lot of small towns, “city” was a derogatory word and code for “other.” He hated the forced politeness from folks who said, “I support gay rights” out loud, and then whispered, “Just keep it private” behind your back.
Clive was one of those types, and Malcolm wasn’t in the mood to entertain it.
It didn’t surprise him, either, that Clive hadn’t recognized Iggy. Clive didn’t much look like his yearbook photo, either, and not in a complimentary way.
“Well, I spoke to Iggy at length today,” Malcolm replied tartly. “He’s here for the foreseeable future, and he’s a professional bartender. Maybe he’ll pizazz the place up a little, give it more class than just Sunday night line dancing.”
“He can pizazz all he wants, as long as he doesn’t hang a bunch of rainbows, or whatever the hell they’re doing up at Snow Creek Ranch.”
Malcolm’s skin buzzed with irritation. He was all-in with the good work the boys up at SCR were doing, and he was sure to clear his schedule whenever they needed help fixing up the old cabins or any of the other buildings.
Maybe if he and Iggy had a place like that to run to when they were teens…
when things got bad for different reasons…
Can’t change the past, ding-dong. Melissa’s voice rang in his head, forever his Jiminy Cricket.
“Later, man,” Malcolm said, picking up his beer.
“There’s an empty barstool I gotta talk to, so adios.
” He left Clive with an utterly confused look on his face, and circled to the other end of the bar.
He nursed his beer alone and covertly watched Iggy chat and pour drinks, occasionally flipping a bottle for the amusement of his guests.
Commanding his audience in a confident way Malcolm had never seen before.
Time and bartending skills had done a lot for Iggy.
When Malcolm’s beer got down to about two inches, Iggy swooped in with a fresh one and a basket of bar nuts. “Hey.” Iggy put a lot of meaning into three little letters, and then he was gone again.
Malcolm wasn’t a huge fan of nuts (not those nuts, anyway), but he picked at them as he drank and watched.
Watched the bar, watched folks dancing, watched everything like he’d be tested on it later.
Watched like he was Iggy’s unofficial bodyguard, even though no one was going to pull anything at the Saddle Up.
The occasional drunken bar fight happened, but folks were generally respectful of area businesses.
Fights that started inside usually ended somewhere down the road, often with a bloody nose or split lip.
By ten-thirty, the place had cleared out by half.
Laurel and Iggy were conferring by the register, and Malcolm caught her say, “tip you out,” to Iggy, who shook his head hard.
Malcolm held up his debit card, and Iggy swooped over.
Iggy didn’t just move behind the bar, he danced in a graceful, practiced way.
“Close it out?” Iggy asked.
“Yeah, thanks.”
“Receipt?”
“Nah.”
Iggy ran the card, and when he brought it back, held it slightly out of Malcolm’s reach. “You always drink alone on a weeknight?”
“Sometimes I meet a friend.”
“Friend busy tonight?”
“Nah, I wanted a chance to see you in your natural environment.”
“Hmm.” He gave Malcolm the card. “And?”
“I’m impressed. And I know I’m not the only one. I’ve seen people throw bottles like that online, but not in person. You have incredibly dexterous hands.”
“I know I do.” Iggy winked. “Thank you. For coming tonight. It helped having a friendly face in the crowd. Laurel is great, and I’ve met a lot of people so far, but…you know.”
“I do.” Malcolm leaned in closer. “If you need anything, Iggs, you call me. I mean it. Day or night.”
“So, if I have a nightmare at two a.m., you’ll come over and hold my hand?”
“Yes.” Something warm and protective rose in Malcolm’s chest, and he grabbed the edge of the bar so he didn’t do something dumb. Like reach for Iggy. “I’ll always come when you need me.”
Iggy’s gaze flickered, and he backed up. “Yeah. Right. Night, Malcolm.” He walked away.
The abrupt dismissal left Malcolm reeling with confusion, until he understood what he’d said.
Teenage Malcolm had once promised Iggy that he would always be there, always come if Iggy was in trouble.
And he had, as best he could, for being only seventeen.
Until the last time Iggy had needed him, and Malcolm hadn’t been there.
Because Malcolm was busy someplace else.
The last, unforgivable time that had destroyed the best thing in his life, and left his heart broken on the trailer floor.