Chapter 16
Travis was alone in Scot’s office, battling with outdated software as he tried to get everybody paid.
His phone buzzed with another text from Keely, and he tapped the message to see a picture of a box overflowing with plump golden lemons. She had spent the morning driving around to multiple farms and grocery stores in search of the best possible ingredients for her upcoming event.
He had to admire her commitment to doing everything she took on to the best of her ability.
You secured the Meyers!he texted back. Enthusiasm and encouragement were easier to convey in text messages - just add an exclamation mark. In reality, he felt nothing but a creeping dread regarding the interview that Keely had scheduled with a detective later that day.
He had no idea what to do. He didn’t want to just stop texting and ghost her; she deserved better than that. At the same time, he felt like a complete creep for stringing her along without telling her the truth.
But he couldn’t tell her about Adam. Maybe that made him a coward, or maybe it was just prudent to keep her out of it. After all, wasn’t asking her to carry the weight of his secret even more selfish than keeping her in the dark?
He didn’t know.
All he knew was that he was in deep – not only in this situation that could easily land him in prison, but in whatever this was with Keely. He had always loved her like family, but what he felt now was something else entirely.
That kiss… he had never felt this way about anyone. Ever. It felt like she had imprinted herself on his bones, written herself into his cells. He thought about her constantly.
The thought of ending things with her, of hurting her, of never seeing her again… it was too painful to contemplate. Prison was one thing. He could imagine that with unsettling clarity. But even then, he felt as if the worst part of a prison sentence would be never seeing Keely’s face again. Or worse yet, seeing disgust in her eyes when she looked at him.
“You are so far gone, man,” he muttered under his breath.
He shook his head, trying to refocus on the ancient payroll program on Scot’s computer. They needed something new.
And he suspected that new software would require new hardware too, because this old computer was barely chugging along as it was. He was starting to consider just buying some decent payroll software for his laptop and telling Scot after the fact because doing it this way was tedious as hell.
He blunt forced his way through the task and finally printed out the checks for the Bottlenose employees. Scot would need to sign them. If he went to his house now, he could get everyone paid at the start of their shifts tonight.
Wish me luck,Keely texted.
Those three little words went through his body like a shockwave.
She was headed into the police station.
He took a breath and texted back, You’ve got this.
Then he put it out of his mind. She hadn’t been there the night that Adam died, hadn’t even spoken to the man in months. The authorities were grasping at straws, going all the way back to an ex-girlfriend who had nothing to do with any of this.
They had nothing.
He was safe.
Life was good in Pelican Point. He had friends here who were as dear to him as family – even more so, they were what family should be. Scot needed him.
No one was coming for him, and he refused to let fear derail his life.
The only way through was forward.
He shrugged on a jean jacket and went out to face the gray skies and biting wind. He walked the short distance to Scot’s house, and simply moving out in the open took the edge off his anxiety. He spent too much time at the bar. He needed to get out more, move his body out in nature to combat the worries that plagued him.
Hiking through the state park with Keely would be a good start. In spite of all that he carried, all the fear and worry and responsibility, his heart lifted when he thought of seeing her again. He wanted to see the look on her face when she spotted the elephant seals, the absurd males and the lumbering mothers with their adorable pups.
He wanted to hold her hand again, to put his arm around her, to stand between her and the chill coastal wind.
He wanted to kiss her again.
As he walked up to Scot’s front door, he did his best to put thoughts of Keely aside. Today’s interview, their second date, the meeting he had scheduled with Rachel, he did his best to box it all up and shove it away.
Scot deserved his full attention.
He rapped on the door, and there was a gruff “Come in” from inside. Travis let himself in and walked through to the living room, where Scot sat on his couch with his injured ankle propped up on a pile of pillows.
“You brought the paychecks?”
“Yep.” Travis crossed the room and handed them to his boss.
Scot didn’t look great. He was pale, with dark circles under his eyes. Travis shifted from foot to foot as Scot signed each paycheck.
“Can I get you anything?” he asked.
“How about a couple of beers from the fridge?”
Travis froze, shocked by the request. Never in all of the time that he had known the owner of the Bottlenose had he started drinking before noon. Hell, the man barely drank a drop before closing. He usually poured himself a glass of scotch when they were closing up for the night, and he often had a beer with dinner. But this… Travis almost said something, almost refused to do as he was asked. Then Scot looked him in the eye, his expression stern, and he nodded.
He walked into the kitchen, grabbed two bottles of a local IPA from the fridge, and cracked them open. He assumed that one was for him, that Scot wasn’t just getting a running start on a day of day drinking, but he wasn’t sure. Steeling himself, he walked back into the living room. Scot signed the final paycheck and leaned back, holding his hand out for the beer. Travis handed it to him and then perched on the only other seat in the living room, an uncomfortable old recliner.
“If you’re going to need to keep that ankle up any longer,” he said, “we should look into getting you a decent recliner.”
“What’s wrong with that one?” Scot groused.
“It’s terrible!”
“It’s fine.”
“It’s the worst!” Travis laughed and took a swig of his beer. “If it were any good, you’d be sitting here with your feet up instead of on the couch.”
“I like that chair. It doesn’t get my ankle up high enough, that’s all.”
“If you say so.”
Scot nodded and tapped the stack of paychecks. “You’re missing Juan.”
“He’s been out the past week or so. Drove down to… I forget, somewhere in SoCal. His mom’s in the hospital.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Sounds like she’s doing okay. He’s supposed to drive back up tomorrow.”
“Good. That’s good.” Scot looked down at the beer in his hands and turned it slightly. Took a sip.
Travis couldn’t take the silence. He started talking without even meaning to. “If you don’t want a new recliner here, how about one for your office? You could come in and preside over your domain while still keeping your feet up.”
Scot looked up and met his eyes with a steady stare. “Travis…”
“Or if a recliner’s too silly, just a comfortable chair. We could prop your ankle up on a stool or something. The Bottlenose isn’t the same without your around, even if you’re just sitting in your office grumbling at people.”
“Travis, I want you to take over the Bottlenose.”
The silence that followed that declaration was overwhelming.
Travis could hear the clock ticking in the kitchen. He looked down at the brown bottle in his hands, up at Scot, down and up again.
He opened his mouth to speak, but he had no words.
“I’m not going to get better,” Scot said quietly.
“You don’t know that,” Travis protested.
“On the contrary, I could get worse very quickly.”
“Did they…” he started, stumbled to a stop, tried again, “...the tests?”
“Nothing conclusive yet, but none of the options are hopeful. When they figure out what’s happening, they might be able to slow it down, give me some idea of how much time I have… but this is only going to get worse.”
“It might get better, though. You might get better.”
“I won’t,” Scot snapped. Then his voice softened again. “I won’t. I know it in my bones. And it’s time I looked reality in the face. I want you to have the bar. And I want you to take over sooner rather than later.”
Travis shook his head and stood. He set the beer down on the table, still mostly full. He picked up the paychecks and tucked them back into his jacket.
“No, you won’t run the bar for me?” Scot asked.
“I already am. We can just keep going as we are.”
“Not for much longer.”
“You don’t know that!” Travis insisted. His throat hurt with suppressed emotion. “You don’t know that. Just wait a while. See what the doctors say and get back on your feet. We don’t have to decide anything today.”
“Soon, though.”
He just shook his head. “What do you want for dinner?”
Scot sighed and let the subject drop. “Whatever’s hot.”
“Mike’s making clam chowder today.”
“Perfect.”
“I’ll bring it over around six.”
“Sounds good.”
Travis nodded curtly and moved toward the door. He was halfway out when Scot spoke.
“And Travis?”
He turned to look at him, and the depth of emotion in Scot’s eyes hit him like a boulder to the chest.
“Thank you.”