Chapter 5 #2
If this guy is Calvin’s brother, he’s family. Simple as that.
I sigh. “You got somewhere to stay?”
Mateo blinks, clearly not expecting that.
“Uh, no. Not yet, at least. Car’s in a junkyard, and the planning part of this trip wasn’t exactly my strong suit.
” He glances at the duffel bag by his feet.
“But I can figure it out, really. I just wanted to meet Calvin. The crash kind of threw off my timeline.”
“If you’re family, we’ll figure out somewhere for you to stay while all this gets sorted. That’s not up for debate, so don’t bother arguing.”
He tilts his head, something flickering across his face. “You’re the oldest, aren’t you?”
“That obvious?”
“My captain back in Boston has the same energy.” A faint smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Alright then. I appreciate it.”
“Good.” I grab my jacket from the back of my chair. “Calvin’s usually at The Black Lantern on Tuesday nights. But he has no idea about any of this, and I can’t tell you how he’s going to take it.”
“That’s fair,” Mateo says. He picks up the duffel with his good hand. “I appreciate this. You don’t have to do it.”
I hold the door. “Let’s go.”
The Black Lantern is warm and loud when we push through the door, with conversations layered on top of each other, someone’s laugh carrying from a back booth, glasses clinking, and music playing just underneath it all.
It’s a Tuesday night crowd, which means half the town is here pretending they don’t have work tomorrow. The string lights that Maren hung along the exposed beams cast the whole room in that amber glow that makes people stay longer than they planned, order one more drink, linger at their tables.
Mateo stops just inside the doorway, scanning the room. “So Calvin and Maren own the place?”
“Just Maren.” I steer us toward the bar, weaving between tables and nodding at a few familiar faces.
Old Eddie raises his Rainier in greeting from his usual corner spot, and I lift my chin back.
“She bought it from our mom almost a decade ago when Mom retired. But Calvin spends a lot of his time here and helps out behind the bar when it’s busy. ”
“This place is nice. Your mom owned it?” He follows as I guide us to a couple of empty stools at the quieter end of the bar.
I look around, but I don’t see Maren or Calvin anywhere. Just the usual chaos.
“Yeah, she did back in the day.” I settle onto a stool, the wood familiar under me after years of sitting in this exact spot. “It’s always been a family kind of place. Trivia nights and board games and kids running around. But Maren’s taken it up a notch since she took over.”
Mateo’s eyes move around the room, lingering on the framed photos behind the bar. “She must be proud. Your mom, I mean. Seeing it do so well.”
“She was.” I pause. “She passed a few years ago, but yeah. She loved what Maren did with the place.”
“I’m sorry.” Mateo’s quiet for a moment. “I knew about your dad after looking Calvin up, but I hadn’t realized she was gone too.”
The grief flickers up the way it still does sometimes all these years later, unexpected and unwelcome.
I glance over at Mateo and am relieved to see no pity in his face, not like some people get when they hear about it.
But there’s an expression there that makes me think he might know a bit about grief himself.
“Thanks,” I say. “She was something else.”
Mateo settles onto the stool beside me, his eyes still moving around the room. “So Calvin’s a writer, right?”
“Yeah.” I keep an eye on the door to the back. “They’re both writers, actually. Calvin teaches boxing at the gym a few days a week, plus some creative writing classes at the community college. Mostly he’s working on his second book though. And Maren writes poetry when she’s not running this place.”
Mateo’s mouth twitches. “Sounds nice.”
“It is.” I drum my fingers on the bar, the wood smooth and familiar under my knuckles. Mom used to stand on the other side of this thing, pouring drinks and holding court and knowing everyone’s name and everyone’s business.
A second later Maren pushes through the door from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a towel. She’s smiling when she spots me, but the smile shifts when her gaze lands on Mateo. Her eyebrows pull together slightly, confusion flickering across her face before she smooths it over.
“Hey Dom, wasn’t expecting you tonight.” She moves toward us, reaching for a rocks glass without asking because she’s had my order memorized since before she and Calvin even started dating. Her gaze flicks between me and Mateo. “Who’s your friend?”
“Mateo Navarro,” I say. “The guy from the car wreck.”
Mateo reaches out with his good arm. “Hi, nice to meet you, Maren,” he says. “Really nice place you’ve got here.”
“Thanks, and nice to meet you too,” she says, and her eyes linger on his face in a way that tells me she’s seeing it too.
I can practically see the questions stacking up behind her smile.
She pours my bourbon and slides it across the bar, the amber liquid catching the glow from the string lights, then turns back to Mateo. “Can I get you something to drink?”
“Ah, no thanks,” he says, shifting on the stool. “I uh... I’m good.”
“Mateo needs to see Calvin,” I say. “Is he here?”
“No, he just stepped out but should be back any minute,” she says, her eyes darting to Mateo and then back to me. “Dom, what’s going on?”
“Everything’s alright,” I say, though that feels like a stretch. “But you should hear this too. He has some things he needs to tell Calvin. Family stuff, related to Calvin’s biological parents.”
I have no fucking idea how to handle this, honestly. Mateo should be the one to tell both Calvin and Maren, and I definitely don’t want to break the news without Calvin here, but life doesn’t exactly hand you an instruction manual for moments like this.
Maren nods slowly, her eyes moving between me and Mateo like she’s trying to read everything we’re not saying. Though she’s always been good at that. “Alright.”
“Actually,” Mateo says, “is there any way I can change my mind on that drink?”
Maren lets out a surprised laugh, and some of the tension in the air cracks loose. “Yeah, I think we could all use one,” she says, reaching for another glass. “What’s your poison?”
“Whatever’s strong,” he says.
“Coming right up,” she says, and pours him something amber and generous.
She slides it across the bar and leans her hip against the counter, her posture relaxing just a little.
“So, Mateo, Dom mentioned the wreck when he called yesterday. I’m glad you’re okay.
That stretch of road can be nasty, especially at night. ”
Mateo nods and starts telling her about the hospital, the discharge, the totaled car, but I’ve stopped listening. I scan the room, willing Calvin to walk through that door so we can get this over with. That’s when I see her.
Brooke is at the other end of the bar with a negroni in front of her, wearing jeans and a button-down that would look stiff and corporate on anyone else.
But she’s got the sleeves rolled up and one too many buttons undone and her hair loose around her shoulders, and somehow she makes it look so fucking good that for a moment all thoughts about family drama drain right out of my head.
She’s also not alone. Some guy I don’t recognize is leaning against the bar next to her, angled toward her like she’s the only person in the room, and she runs a hand through her hair and laughs at whatever he just said.
She tips her head back, with that wide gorgeous smile on her face, and my hand tightens around my glass before I can stop it.
I catalogue everything about this guy without meaning to: mid-thirties, decent build, expensive watch, leaning in too close. I don’t like him. I don’t like the way he’s looking at her. I don’t like any of it, and I like even less that I care.
I force myself to look away and take a sip of bourbon that I barely taste. It doesn’t matter. Brooke Bennett can talk to whoever she wants. She can laugh at whatever stupid joke this guy is telling. It’s none of my business.
The door swings open and Calvin walks in, and I’ve never been so grateful for my brother’s timing in my life. His dark hair is pushed back, his jacket collar turned up, and sure enough there’s a paperback tucked under his arm because the man cannot exist without a book within arm’s reach.
He sees me first and raises a hand in that easy half-wave, then starts heading over. Then his eyes find Mateo, and his face goes through the same series of expressions Maren’s did, with confusion flickering into something sharper as his brain tries to make sense of what he’s seeing.
“Hey Dom,” he says, clapping me on the shoulder, but his eyes don’t leave Mateo’s face. “Who’s this?”
“Mateo Navarro,” I say, keeping my voice even. “He’s got something he’d like to talk to you about.”
I glance at Mateo, who gives a half nod but looks about as shell-shocked as Calvin does. The three of us just stand there for a moment, no one saying anything, the silence stretching out awkward and heavy. This is so far outside my wheelhouse I might as well be on another planet.
“Well,” Maren says, coming out from behind the bar and wiping her hands on a towel. “Let’s all talk then.”
Calvin gives her a small smile, but it fades when he looks back at Mateo.
“Maybe somewhere quieter,” Maren says gently, guiding Calvin toward one of the back booths. Mateo follows, lowering himself carefully into the opposite seat, and Maren slides in beside Calvin, her shoulder pressed against his.