13. Duncan
Chapter Thirteen
Duncan
I set the till drawer back down on the desk, only just barely stopping myself from throwing it through the fucking wall. I'd counted it four times and came up with four different numbers.
Elias came in as I sat down and scraped my hands through my hair with a series of vicious curses. "You good, boss?" he asked, tossing the liquor inventory checklist onto the desk.
"No. This fucking drawer won't balance. I've counted it four times and I've gotten four different numbers."
Elias chuckled, dragging over the other chair.
He slid the drawer onto his lap and counted it with the swift precision of a man who’s done it countless times.
He wrote the number he got on a Post-It and counted it twice more, getting the same number three times—dead on. "Your head ain't in the game, kid."
"No shit," I mumbled. "Haven't been sleeping well."
He chuckled again. "Gee, I wonder why that is?"
I blinked at him with lifted eyebrows. "Oh? Why's that?"
He counted the day's take, answering without looking at me. "Well, the reason is about five-eight, has black hair and blue eyes, and ghosted you."
"Shut up."
He flipped me off as he put on readers to gather the credit card receipts and send the batch over. "Don’t shoot the messenger, sweetie."
"Sorry, I just…it's not her. I'm just not sleeping well."
He just laughed. "Sure, sure."
"Elias—"
He set the receipts down and removed his readers, sighing. "You've been off your A-game since that weekend, Duncan. I don't think it's a coincidence."
"I have not."
He snorted sarcastically, rifling through previous reports until he found the one he wanted, and showed it to me.
"Just last week, you had to comp not one, not two, not three, but five different meals because you fucked up. Not judging, just saying. You miscounted the register this past Monday and I only noticed it because I’m a type-A lunatic who double-checks everything.
You bitched out Casey, our new line cook, for what seemed like no reason at all. I can go on. Do I need to?"
I groaned, covering my face with both hands. "No."
"Just admit you miss her and that you're pissed off she ghosted you."
"Fine," I grumbled. "I miss her. But she didn't ghost me—she just snuck out and sent me a shitty blow off text."
Elias blew a raspberry. "If you ask me, a blow off text is almost worse than being ghosted. Scratch that—it is worse. I'll take being ghosted over a blow off.”
"You're married, Elias."
"Yeah, now . I wasn't always, though, obviously.
I've been ghosted, blown off, and dumped in just about every way you can think of.
It all sucks, but to me it always felt worst when he took the time to make a bullshit excuse.
At that point, just be honest, right? But no, the shitty excuses.
The lies. The paper-thin reasons, or worse yet, no reason, just a vague apology. "
"That's what I got—thanks, and I'm sorry."
He didn't answer until he'd finished the credit card batch, sliding his readers back into the pocket of his short-sleeved button-down and turning to look at me.
“That sucks. I think what's bothering you, though, is that you're denying how hurt you are.
It's making you a pissy-ass bitch because you're hurt and won't recognize it.
That shit festers, Dunc. I know you're all macho and alpha, just like your daddy, but you still have feelings.
And also, for the record, your daddy is way more in tune with his feelings than I think you recognize. "
I opened my mouth, said nothing, and closed it again. "I…I've never once considered whether my dad is in touch with his feelings or not.”
"Well, he is."
"And you know this how?" I asked.
“I’ve been tending bar for Sebastian Badd for almost twenty years, kid. I know the man. We've had a lot of deep talks while closing up shop."
"Are you upset that I got the GM job and you didn't?"
He sighed again, tapping a pen on the desk.
"No, I'm not. Mainly because we talked about it.
If you want a war movie metaphor for it, you're the young buck fresh out of West Point with no experience who gets tapped to lead a unit into battle.
I'm the grizzled old non-com who actually knows what the fuck he's doing.
" He laughed, grinning at me. "I'm here to help you learn the ropes, Dunc.
I could get a job managing just about any bar I wanted, anywhere in the world.
I'm damn good at my job. But I like your family.
I like the way you do business. I'm here because it's where I want to be. "
"I see."
He patted me on the back. "Go home, Dunc. I'll finish here. Sort your shit out, okay? Get that girl out of your head, however you have to do it. She's gone. If she wanted the same thing you did, she'd be here. Yeah, I guess you're right," I said. "You sure you’re good?"
He nodded. "Just put up the chairs for me. I got the rest."
"Thanks, Elias. I appreciate you."
He winked at me. "Don't you forget it, sweetie."
I put up the chairs and left through the back, heading home with my head swirling.
The house was silent as I let myself in through the garage—not unusual, these days. Mom and Dad go to bed early, Delia and Emerson have both moved out, and Dane has early classes at the community college, so most nights I'm the only one up when I get back from closing shifts.
I grabbed some chips from the pantry and sat at the island in the kitchen, eating chips and salsa and sipping a beer, considering Elias's advice about Rune.
"Chips and salsa at three in the morning?" a voice said, startling me from my thoughts.
"Mom! Jesus, you scared the shit out of me. What're you doing up? Did I wake you?"
She was standing in the hallway at the entrance to the kitchen, wearing one of Dad's button-downs, her hair frizzy and held back by a pink silk sleep mask, legs bare, eyes squinting sleepily. "Nah. A mama knows when her kids need her."
"I'm good," I lied.
She barked a laugh. "Okay, sure. Pull the other one, Dunc, it's got bells on."
"I don't know what the hell that means, Mom."
“It means I don’t believe you.” She rubbed at her eyes as she shuffled into the kitchen. "When was the last time you had real food? As in, a decent meal?"
"Mom, I'm fine. You don't need to cook for me." She just gave me the Mom-stare until I groaned. "It's been a while. I've been living at work, lately."
She leaned over the island and cupped my cheeks, rubbing her thumbs under my eyes. "And not sleeping, either, I see." She tapped my nose. "Talk to Mommy."
"Only if you never refer to yourself in the third person as Mommy ever again."
She laughed. "No promises, but I'll try. Now, spill the tea, bubbie."
"I'm sure someone has given you the tea about that whole…wedding business that happened a month or so ago?"
She nodded, pouring a can of tomato soup into a pot and heating a frying pan. "Yeah, your Uncle Brock said he flew you and some girl you met and her friends to Anchorage. Apparently you were so upset when he picked you up that you didn't say two words to him the whole way home."
I groaned. "I don't think I ever said thank you to him. Guess I owe him an apology and a thank you."
"No, you didn't, and yes, you do." She slathered two slices of bread with butter, added sliced cheese, and set the sandwich into the pan. "He's redoing their deck this weekend. A good way to thank him would be to show up and give him a hand."
"I will."
"So. The girl?"
"It honestly doesn't matter, Mom," I said. "And not just because I don't want to talk about it."
"But you're gonna!" Mom said, singing the words far too cheerfully for a woman woken up at three a.m. to counsel her grown son.
I sighed. "The Sparks Notes version is that she showed up wanting a date for a wedding. Her friends were having a destination wedding here in Ketchikan and planned to party at the Kitty after. Her ex, who cheated on her, was going to be there."
Mom nodded knowingly. "And she wanted my handsome boy to make her ex jealous."
"Mom," I groaned. "Don't be cringe."
“Too late for that, kiddo. One of a parent's primary jobs when their kids get older is to embarrass them by being as cringey as possible."
"Well then, you're killing it," I said.
She narrowed her eyes at me. "Watch it, bub. I'm making your food."
"I'm kidding."
She rolled a hand. "So? Destination wedding, cheating scumbag ex, and a plot to make him jealous. Then what?"
"Then the Old Toby burned down. They'd rented out the whole thing for their friends. Their whole wedding plan went up in flames, literally."
"Ahhhh," Mom said, stirring the soup. "So you called your sister and got them the back room up in Anchorage, and got Brock to fly you guys there."
"Yep."
"And she wasn't appreciative?"
"No, it wasn't that."
Mom poured soup into a bowl, plated the sandwich, cut it with the spatula, and sent both in front of me, and then came around to sit beside me while I ate, occasionally stealing a bite of sandwich or soup. "So? You're living at work and not sleeping or eating. Something happened."
"We…" I sighed, finding it hard to put into words, especially to my mother. "She just left."
Mom barked a laugh. "You skipped a bunch of stuff in the middle, I think."
"We hooked up," I said, snapping it with more frustration than I'd intended. "Sorry, Mom. I just…yeah, things happened. She was clear from the get-go that she was leaving after the wedding, and that us getting together was only for the weekend."
"But you thought there was something more there?" She guessed.
I nodded. "I don't think there was, I know there was.” I shook my head. "It's weird talking about this with my mom."
"You know the story of how I met your father, don't you?"
Puzzled by the non sequitur, I shrugged. "I mean, sort of? I'm fuzzy on the details."
"You're an adult, now. You can hear the whole thing."
"Okay?"
"I was about to get married."
"When you met Dad?"