3. Shane
Chapter 3
Shane
My bartender, Mickey, was at the other end of the bar, laughing and talking and pouring drinks like he’d been doing this gig for years instead of months. I met Mickey when he’d been busy putting his life back together. I gave him a job and rented him the unit upstairs, even though he’d been staying with Ethan Bennett at the time.
Mickey looked a million times better than when I met him. Putting on some weight had made him look healthier and he no longer resembled a half-starved stray kitten. Being with Ethan made him happier too. Mickey had recently moved out of the upstairs unit and in with his rescuer turned boyfriend.
I sidled up next to Mickey, who was also between customers. Tuesday nights were always slow, but the perks of having more money than brains was being able to do shit like not cut your staff’s hours. Kieran gave me shit for it from time to time, but then I quickly reminded him of all the money he was able to make me with his stock market magic and he shut up.
“Hey, Mickey. How’s married life treating you?”
Mickey rolled his eyes. “We’re not married. But life is good.”
Mickey’s cheeks turned an adorable shade of pink.
“When are you going to make an honest man out of Ethan?”
Mickey elbowed me. “Do you ever stop meddling?”
I pretended to think about it. “No, probably not. ”
“Can you?”
“Oh, definitely not.” I grinned at him and the way he pretended to look dejected. Mickey had walked into my bar and right into my heart, taking up residence next to my brothers. Sometimes he made me miss Brodie something fierce. It wasn’t because they were anything alike, but we had this easy sort of big brother/little brother dynamic. It was so sweet my teeth ached.
“Has anyone told you lately that you’re a pain in the ass, Shane?”
I’d have answered him, but the sight of someone sliding hesitantly onto a stool at my end of the bar stole my attention. Whoever he was, he was fucking pretty. Dark hair, pouty lips, ink for days. A messenger bag hanging off his shoulder, he looked around the bar.
I slid over to him, hoping to get some flirting in if the situation looked right. Up close he was even prettier. Thick eyelashes framed the bluest eyes I’d ever seen. He probably hadn’t shaved in a couple days, leaving a sexy layer of scruff that I’d love to feel against my skin. He hadn’t looked overly tall when I’d clocked him taking a seat, but short suited me fine. Short, tall, thin, thick, male, female. I had four hundred types and this guy was definitely on that list.
“What can I get you?” I asked. He looked at me with his big blue eyes.
“Is Cyrus here?” Saying the words seemed to make this guy deflate a little. Like Cyrus was the last person he wanted to see.
“What’s your business with my cook?” I tried not to be an asshole most of the time, but it was weird for someone to come into my bar and ask for my cook like they were asking to have a tooth pulled.
Annoyance flared in his eyes, making them impossibly bluer. “Is Cyrus here?”
He didn’t give me more than that. Not a single inch. He set his jaw and tilted his chin up, daring me to take him on. And then it hit me like a sack of bricks. The pretty guy with the tattoos could only be the mysterious brother Cyrus had been talking about.
“I’ll get him.”
My acquiescence earned me the barest of nods, the smallest approval. If the guy wasn’t Cyrus’s brother, I’d totally have turned on the charm and tried to flirt my way into making something happen. But Cyrus would kill me.
Slipping into the kitchen, I found Cyrus grilling up a burger. He’d taken it upon himself to feed Mickey every day and I think he thought of him as a younger brother too.
“Hey, Cyrus. Is that the Mickey special?”
“Don’t tell me he’s actually admitted that he’s hungry?” Cyrus cast a look of shock over his shoulder.
“Nothing that radical has happened.”
Mickey was the kind of guy who could be on fire and ask if maybe you wouldn’t mind putting him out, if you had the time, and the water to spare. “You have a visitor.”
Cyrus plated the burger and I took it from him. “He’s out front.”
Cyrus furrowed his brow. His husband usually invited himself into my kitchen, or Cyrus let him in the back way if they wanted to pretend that I didn’t know he was there.
I followed Cyrus out into the bar. The guy was still sitting there, but he had a pop and he was stirring the ice around his cup with a straw. He looked up and offered Cyrus a half smile.
“Hey, Cy. Uh… I thought we could eat dinner or whatever.”
Cyrus stomped around to the other side of the bar, yanked the guy off the stool, and pulled him into a crushing hug. “You thought? All on your own?”
“Cy… air. ”
Cyrus released his brother. “Okay, maybe Marshall talked me around to it. Do you want to eat or not?”
“Keep your ass on this stool and give me ten minutes to whip up dinner for us. I swear to God, Archer, if I come out and you’ve fucked off, I will chain you to my couch.”
“Noted.” Archer motioned to an empty booth. “I’ll be waiting right over there for you. Promise.”
Cyrus stormed off back to his kitchen and Archer went to the booth leaving me standing there with Mickey’s burger. I walked it over to him and he rolled his eyes.
“Is there any point in ever telling him that I can feed myself?”
“Probably not.” I handed the burger off. “Grab a seat, fill your face. It’s fucking slow tonight.”
“It’s always slow on Tuesdays.” Mickey took the plate from me and went around to the other side of the bar. He grabbed a stool and dug into his food. I left him to eat and tried not to watch Archer. I half expected him to still be stirring the ice in his glass, but he’d taken something out of his messenger bag and it was currently occupying all his attention.
Keeping one eye on him in case he decided to bolt, I remembered Cyrus telling me that his brother was an artist of some kind. A tattoo artist. My skin itched with a renewed interest in adding more ink to my collection.
I watched Archer for longer than was reasonable or proper. Longer than Cyrus would have let me get away with, but he was in the back. Sounds of his cursing and swearing filtered out from time to time. Even when Cyrus appeared with two burgers, I couldn’t pry my gaze away from Archer.
When Cyrus sat down, Archer slammed his book shut and stuffed it into his bag. His gaze flicked up and caught mine—caught me, really. Instead of being embarrassed, I shrugged a shoulder, letting him see me not care that I’d been caught checking him out.
Cyrus wouldn’t actually kill me. He might talk a big game, but the man was a softie. He nudged Archer’s plate toward him and I finally made myself look away.
Mickey ducked into the kitchen to get rid of his plate and I busied myself by doing a round in the bar, tucking chairs in and bussing tables. The Anchor had a small stage, a more generous dance floor, and a DJ booth, but mostly we were the sit down and eat a burger and have a few beers kind of place. The pool tables and the darts brought people in, but tonight the place was a ghost town.
“Hey, Mickey, it’s quieter than a cemetery in here. How about you go home early?”
Mickey’s boyfriend owned a diner and was up at the ass crack of dawn every day. Not my favorite time to be alive, but it worked for some people.
“You don’t mind?” Mickey was already reaching for his apron strings.
“I wouldn’t have suggested it if I did.”
I needed the distraction of working alone more than I needed the help. My gaze still wanted to slide over to Archer and Cyrus and when it did, they looked… animated. Cyrus was probably doing his typical big brothering that he inflicted on Mickey. But where Mickey blossomed under the attention, even from here I saw Archer bristling.
His plump lips were pulled into a flat line and he’d pulled his shoulders back. Fire danced in his eyes and I wondered if I was going to have to break up a fight between my cook and his brother in the middle of my bar .
Before things got out of hand, I poured two new drinks and carried them over to the table. Cyrus was talking with his hands again. The more agitated he got, the more he sliced at the air.
“Thought you boys could use a refill.” I set the drinks down and grabbed the empty glass. Archer’s hand shot out and he grabbed his straw and stuffed it into his new cup. I watched him lock eyes with Cyrus and stir the ice faster and faster. The corner of his mouth twitched and Cyrus let out a sigh.
“You’re a nuisance, Archer.” Cyrus sounded tired and dejected and I knew I’d probably get way more information than I needed later. Cyrus had a big heart, but his big heart came with a big mouth.
Archer flicked his gaze to me and raised his eyebrow, silently questioning what I was doing still standing there. I refused to feel sheepish, but I did leave the table.
I poured a few beers for some locals who liked to come here on quiet nights to play pool. The tables I’d invested in were coin operated and any money they made went to the community food bank. When I first won the money, I promised myself that I wouldn’t be one of those people who always said they’d help people if they won, but then spent it on cars that were too powerful and houses that were too big.
Kieran thought I gave too much away, but he’d long since stopped commenting on my charitable endeavors. Promising him that he could veto any of my harebrained ideas that could actually ruin me seemed to help. I didn’t want to go broke, after all. Even my generosity had its limits.
A flurry of movement caught my attention and I looked over in time to see Archer stand up and toss a couple of bills on the table. He snatched up his bag and was gone even quicker than he’d come.
Cyrus stomped into the kitchen and I glanced around, making sure everyone was good before I ducked into the back to check on him .
“That insufferable child.” Cyrus loaded dirty dishes into the tray to get them ready for the dishwasher. He slammed the plates in like they’d personally offended him.
“He’s hardly a child.”
Oh boy, if looks could kill. Cyrus glared at me.
“If he wants me to call him an adult, he can act like one.”
I folded my arms over my chest. I didn’t know Archer, but I wanted to stick up for him. He looked like he had walls that went ten feet high and just as thick. And clearly Cyrus had been slamming into them like the battering ram he was.
“Mickey has spoiled you.”
Cyrus stilled. “Come again?”
I let my arms drop and hooked my thumbs in my front pockets. I didn’t want to look or sound as defensive as I had been. “Mickey lets you fuss over him. You show that kid a scrap of affection and he thrives under it. I have the feeling it’s the opposite with your brother.”
“He won’t let me help him. I’m lucky he’s even staying at my place. Even though I bitch about that sometimes—to you, where he can’t hear me—I like having him around, but I want to do more to help him.”
“And he doesn’t want you to.”
Cyrus nodded. After a deep breath, he went back to loading the dishes, more calmly this time.
Running my tongue over my teeth, I allowed only a moment to talk myself out of saying anything.
“So don’t help him.”
Cyrus looked at me like I’d grown several heads.
“Maybe you’re not what he needs right now. I know you’re his brother, but sometimes that kind of love can be to smothering. There’s expectations attached. It’s a lot of pressure.”
Cyrus stopped what he was doing and watched me for several seconds before his shoulders relaxed. “If he’s not willing to ask me for help, I hope he asks someone. Now get out of my kitchen.”
“Love you too, Cyrus.”
I took his dismissal with a grain of salt. I knew from experience what it was like to have a brother you wanted the best for, but didn’t always see eye to eye with.
“That’s not what I said.”
“It’s what you meant, though. Admit it.”
Cyrus shoved the tray of dishes into the dishwasher and lowered the door, starting the cycle. “Idiots. I’m surrounded by idiots.”
I left Cyrus to his kitchen and I went out front and worked the bar. So what if I was still thinking of Archer hours later? So what if he was exactly my type? What Cyrus never knew wouldn’t hurt me.