Your Place or Mine (The Reckless River #1)

Chapter One

Callum

The door slammed shut behind me as the chipped glass panels rattled in their frames, and the muted hum of conversation died down. All eyes went to me, and I propped an apologetic smile on my face to my loyal customers. Within seconds, they went back to drinking beer and watching the game.

My brother, Drew, wiped down a glass with a rag that had seen better days and lifted a brow. “What’s got your boxers in a twist?”

I didn’t answer right away. Instead, my boots scuffed against the floor as I stalked toward the bar and shrugged off my worn leather jacket. I tossed it onto the nearest stool.

The weight of my bad mood was almost a physical presence, dark and heavy, like a mountain thunderstorm rolling in, and there was absolutely nothing I could do about it.

The one thing I hated most in life was feeling helpless, and that was precisely what this news did to me.

“Pour me a double,” I growled, leaning both forearms on the bar. “Hell, make it a triple.”

“Sure. It’s your bar.” Drew whistled low but complied.

“Thanks, man.”

“You know, you should really learn to pace yourself. Your liver ain’t gonna thank you if you keep at it like this.” My brother smiled, but he wasn’t completely kidding.

I shot him a look that could’ve burned holes in the brick wall behind him. “Don’t start with me, Drew.”

“Alright, alright. Spill it. What happened? The old man at the feed store tells you off for parking your truck in front of his loading zone again?”

I tipped my head back and drained the whiskey in one go, slamming the glass down with enough force to make Drew shake his head.

My eyes connected with my brother's, and I shook my head. It was eerie how similar we looked. Growing up, everyone always thought we were twins. When we got older, it didn’t get much better. We both had dark hair and green eyes that looked more like a home for swamp animals than emeralds.

“Those damn Ludlowes. I knew they’d sell me out.” I sighed and raked my fingers through my hair.

“Ah,” Drew said knowingly. “This is a landlord problem. Proceed.”

“It’s not just a landlord problem. It’s my problem. Our problem. Your problem. Hell, this whole damn town’s problem.”

Drew leaned on the counter, clearly amused, which only annoyed me more. I didn’t understand how Drew always saw the bright side in things when the truth was that the bright side happened to be the fire blazing in the background as the whole world went up in smoke.

“Well, maybe if you explained what the problem is, I could decide whether or not I give a damn.” Drew tapped his finger on the worn countertops. “You always get your panties in a ruffle.”

My brows lifted with surprise. “I do not.”

“You do but go on.”

I glared at him but relented. “The Ludlowes sold the building. The whole damn thing. Bar, shops, laundromat, bakery, apartments, storage—all of it.”

Drew frowned. “Huh. Thought they’d never sell. You’ve been renting this place for, what, eight years?”

“Ten,” I corrected. “And I’ve never missed a rent payment. I keep the bar running and don’t complain when the plumbing leaks or the heat goes to hell in February. Half the time, I’m the one who fixes the problem. I’ve been a good tenant, and they promised me that if they ever wanted to sell the place, I’d get a crack at it.”

“Ouch.” My brother glanced at the door as a few locals walked inside. “I’m sorry. That does suck.”

I looked around the bar that had become my second home.

The Rusty Stag looked more like a tired old mountain cabin than a proper bar, and that’s exactly how I liked it.

The wood-paneled walls bore decades of scuffs and scratches, each a story. The brick behind the bar made the place feel warm. The stone fireplace hadn’t worked in years, but damn if it didn’t make the place feel like home.

The rafters creaked in the wind, and the floorboards groaned under every step, but the scent of aged whiskey, old beer, and pine still clung to the air like a memory. Yeah, it needed a little sprucing up. Maybe more than a little. But it was mine. And it was perfect.

“So, you can’t buy it. Big deal. Does the new landlord want to jack up the rent?” Drew tilted his head, still looking annoyingly calm. “Is that the problem?”

“No,” I bit out. “The big deal is that they sold it to some city slicker who wants to ‘modernize’ the entire building. This bar included.”

Drew blinked. “Renovations?”

“Renovations,” I repeated. “You know what that means? She wants to gut the place. Rip out the bar, paint the brick grey, replace the wood floors with some kind of trendy concrete shit, put in those stupid Edison bulb light fixtures everyone’s obsessed with. Make it chic! In a town like this? Don’t think so.”

“You spoke to her?”

I shook my head. “No.”

“Then how do you know what she wants to do?”

“I have a good imagination and a terrific gut instinct.”

Drew let out a low whistle. “Damn. Well, what you painted sounds like a mess, but you don’t even know her plans.”

My fist slammed onto the bar, rattling the glass again. “She’s threatening to take everything this place is and turn it into one of those sterile, overpriced nightmares. I know it. You don’t drive from Seattle three hours away and just dab a little paint on the walls.”

“We don’t know that.”

“I know that.” I barely paused to catch a breath. “She doesn’t care about the history, the memories, the fact that this bar has been standing for over sixty damn years.”

Drew’s brows drew together in a rare show of sympathy. “She say anything about your lease to you?”

“Like I said, I haven’t spoken to her. I’m sure it’s only a matter before she jacks up the rent.” I shook my head. “She’s already laying the groundwork to justify it.”

Drew leaned back and scratched at the stubble on his jaw. “If you say so.”

“Of course I say so. I’ve seen how these things play out a million times,” I muttered.

Stretching back, I crossed my arms and stared at the rows of liquor bottles like they understood what I was talking about.

I looked around at the booths, worn but comfortable, that lined the far wall under an assortment of old photos and framed newspaper clippings. The jukebox in the corner had been there longer than I had, and though it sometimes skipped on track six, I’d never replace it. This space wasn’t just a bar. It was my bar… the town’s bar.

“It’s my damn life, Drew. This bar isn’t just a job to me. It’s my home. I built this place up from nothing. It was a dive when I took it over, barely keeping the lights on. Now it’s the heart of the town. People come here to celebrate, to mourn, to escape. You can’t just throw that away for a glittery chandelier.”

“Well, she can do whatever she wants. She owns the building now,” Drew said, shrugging. “But you might be overthinking things here.”

I shot him another glare. “You’re not being helpful.”

“Hey, I’m just calling it like I see it,” Drew said, holding up his hands. “But if you’re looking for advice, you’ve got two options. Fight her on whatever changes she suggests, or figure out how to work with her.”

“Work with her?” I scoffed. “Are you out of your damn mind? She’s like every gentrifying asshole I’ve ever met. She doesn’t care about this place or this town. She just sees it as a project.”

“Alright, so fight her,” Drew said. “Get yourself a good lawyer, dig into the terms of your lease, and see if there’s a way to stop her from touching your bar.”

I stared into the empty glass and felt the day's weight settle even heavier on my shoulders. Fighting sounded good in theory, but I knew it wasn’t that simple. Legal battles took time and money, two things I didn’t have in abundance.

And yet, the thought of rolling over and letting her win wasn’t an option either.

“You’re right about one thing,” I said finally, his voice hard. “I’m not giving the essence of this place up without a fight.”

“That’s the spirit,” Drew said, smirking. “Now, how about we switch gears and focus on something productive? Like drowning your sorrows in more whiskey instead of punching a wall?”

I rolled my eyes but shook my head. “I’ve got bottles to count and boxes to cut up for recycling. I’ll be in the back if you need me.”

“But today’s your day off.”

I glanced at my brother and smiled. “Surprise.”

Drew chuckled as I pushed open the door to the back room and let it swing shut behind me with a soft creak. I only flipped on one of the lights. I knew the bar like the back of my hand. Every nick, scratch, and squeaky board… was all part of me, etched into my bones after ten long years.

I leaned against the doorway momentarily, letting my eyes scan the room. The low amber glow of the light above cast long shadows across the wood-paneled walls stacked with metal shelves and cardboard boxes full of booze.

I walked across the room, and even my boots thudded with dismay. The floor was uneven in spots due to decades of shifting and settling, but I didn’t mind. The imperfections gave it character, a story.

“This bar’s seen more good times than anyone’s got a right to ask for,” I muttered. “It doesn’t need a damn thing changed.”

The ghosts of memories seemed to linger in the bar, heavy and warm. I thought about the corner booth where old man Travis sat every Friday night, nursing a beer and telling anyone who’d listen about the time he won the county fair pie-eating contest. His memorial was also held here.

Near the dartboard was where Danny Peters had proposed to his girlfriend, surprising everyone in the bar, especially his girlfriend, who’d burst into tears before saying yes.

And the tiny makeshift stage. It wasn’t much, just a few feet of space barely big enough to fit a drum kit and a couple of amps, but it had hosted some unforgettable nights. Like when the traveling bluegrass band had stopped by on their way to a festival and played for hours, the crowd stomped and clapped until the floorboards shook.

Or the time Drew had grabbed a mic after one too many beers and serenaded the bar with a painfully off-key rendition of Sweet Caroline to his childhood crush.

I grinned despite myself.

“Place has got soul,” I said aloud, my voice echoing faintly in the quiet. “Not something you can buy with a fancy remodel.”

The Ludlowes’ talk of the new owner and her dream of modernizing came back, and my smile faded. What would a city woman see when she walked in here? Faded paint, scratched furniture, mismatched barstools? Would she see the laughter, the music, the life? Or just the flaws?

I grabbed a box cutter and started dismantling the boxes in the corner.

“Hell,” I muttered. “She’d probably rip out the bar itself. Replace it with some shiny, soulless counter made of some sparkly stone.”

I could already hear her smooth and businesslike voice explaining why the jukebox had to go. “People don’t use those anymore,” she’d say. “We’ll put in a Bluetooth sound system. Cleaner, more efficient.”

And the walls, with their mismatched photos and yellowed newspaper clippings. She’d probably want them bare or covered with overpriced artwork or floral wallpaper. “It’s about creating a cohesive aesthetic,” she’d explain, as if the bar needed an aesthetic beyond existing.

I snorted and shook my head. “Aesthetic. What a crock.”

“Uh-oh,” Drew’s voice cut through my thoughts, and I turned to see my brother standing in the doorway, arms crossed and smirking. “You’re talking to yourself again.”

I scowled. “I’m not talking to myself. I’m talking to the bar.”

“That’s somehow worse,” Drew teased, walking over to me. He leaned on the shelf beside me and looked around the room. “But I’m here for you, even though nothing has happened. The building has just changed owners.”

I gave him a flat look. “This bar means something to people, Drew. It’s not just a business.”

“I know that,” Drew said, holding up his hands. “But maybe don’t think the sky is falling until it actually is, Chicken Little.”

“I’m dreading this afternoon.” I shook my head.

“That’s when she’s coming?”

“I guess that’s when she’s visiting the town. Lucky us.”

“It won’t be that bad. She might even like the place.”

“You don’t get it. This isn’t just some dive bar. It’s... It’s ours. The town’s. It’s the kind of place people walk into and feel at home.”

“I do get it,” Drew said, his voice softening. “You’re preaching to the choir, man. But you’re spinning yourself up over something that hasn’t even happened yet.”

“The Ludlowes flat out told me she wanted to modernize the building,” I said, stopping near the stack of flattened boxes. “I can see her ripping everything out right on the spot.”

“But let’s not get all riled up until we know.” Drew stared at me like I’d lost my mind.

“Remember that Christmas when half the town lost power? People crowded in here for hours, sharing blankets and mugs of whatever we could warm up on the stove. Or when Coach Davis brought the high school baseball team in after they won state, and they had root beer floats like they were damn kings?”

Drew nodded. “Yeah, I remember. Good times.”

“Good times,” I echoed, his voice quieter. “That’s what this place is. It’s memories. People connecting. You can’t put a price tag on that.”

“True,” Drew said, leaning back against the bar. “But it’s also a building. And buildings get sold. You can’t stop that.”

I turned to him, my jaw tightening. “Maybe I can’t stop the sale, but I’ll be damned if I let some outsider come in here and rip the heart out of this place.”

Drew studied me for a moment, and his smirk faded. “Look, I know you’re pissed. I’d be pissed too. But you’re talking like this woman’s the devil incarnate, and you haven’t even met her yet. What if she’s not as bad as you think?”

“She’s from Seattle,” I said flatly. “How good could she be?”

“That’s a solid way to keep an open mind,” Drew said dryly. “You know, if this goes sideways, you might need to channel all this energy into something productive. Like poetry.”

I glared at him, but Drew just laughed. “Seriously, man. Get some rest. She’ll be here soon enough, and you’ll need to have more than angry rants to throw at her.”

“I’ve got more than rants,” I muttered, though I wasn’t entirely sure that was true.

Drew clapped him on the shoulder. “Good. Just don’t start talking to the chairs, alright? People might think you’ve lost it.”

As my brother walked away, I turned back to the stack of boxes. The Ludlowes might have sold the building, but the soul of the place? That was still mine. And I wasn’t going to let anyone take it without a fight.