Chapter Forty #2
“What a dump,” Doyle muttered, squinting around the bar like he’d walked into a health hazard. “I’ve drank in some real shitholes, but this one has both character and mildew.”
“Pretty sure the wallpaper’s just beer residue that evolved into its own ecosystem,” Sutton added, pulling her sweater tighter and making a face at the menu.
“It’s not O’Malley’s,” Jordan said under his breath.
That quiet landed like a stone in the middle of the table. We all looked down for a second too long.
“No,” I said. “It’s not. But it’s what we’ve got tonight.”
“On the plus side,” Doyle offered, lifting his glass and giving me a weary side-eye, “Charlie hasn’t punched anyone yet, so that’s something.”
“There’s still time,” I muttered loud enough to remind him that I hadn’t forgotten who drove his sister out of town.
“Can’t blame him,” Sutton said. “His whole life just caught fire. Literally. And he’s dealing with it by sitting here, drinking this—” she took a sip and grimaced, “—swamp water pretending to be a stout.”
We sat for a while, talking like people do when nothing’s normal but they desperately want it to be.
Lee’s upcoming tour. Whether we should mark Magnolia’s would-be wedding date with an impromptu picnic or just take her the hell out of town to get away from it all.
Planning the next art show at Cheese, Please!
. Sutton debating whether she should break up with Ryan for calling her his “main bitch” instead of his girlfriend.
“You know,” she said after a few more pints, loosening into her seat, “you and Tally never labeled it. You just… went off vibes.”
I scoffed into my beer. “Yeah. And look how that turned out.”
Doyle met my eyes over the table. A question hung there.
Did he know? What happened between Tally and me was more than a fling?
That I lay awake most nights, staring at the unfinished sketch of her by the river—the twin to the one I gave her on Christmas—forever incomplete, like the way she left me.
Sutton yawned four times in ten minutes before finally standing. “Time to go home to my super fun roommate, who’s definitely not listening to Lee’s latest single while plotting the total demise of this entire city.”
“Don’t forget your new pet,” I said, kissing her cheek. “Give my girl Pickle a kiss for me.”
“She only likes you now because you saved her life. Give it time. She’ll be back to shredding your ankles and swatting at the back of your head.”
Jordan and Doyle exchanged a pointed look as Jordan pushed back his chair. “I should head out too. See you at home, love.” He kissed Doyle’s head, and before I could ask why they weren’t leaving together, Doyle waved toward the bar.
“One more round.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Are you really sticking around, or planning to Irish exit once the bartender stops making eye contact?”
“I’m not the one who ghosted on Christmas,” Doyle said, drumming his fingers on the rim of his glass. “But sure. Let’s pretend I’m the flaky sibling.”
“That was low,” I said. “Even for you.”
We sat with that. The jukebox flipped to a slow and bluesy tune. The kind of song that makes you miss someone who’s not dead but might as well be—roughly 290 miles away. Not that I was counting.
“I’m sorry,” he said, not looking at me. “For a lot of things.”
“I know.”
Silence passed between us like a puck sliding across ice. But it wasn’t awkward. It was too old friends trying to figure it out.
“Wanna go in on a soft pretzel?” Doyle asked, dead serious. “You look like you need the carbs.”
I huffed out a laugh. “Yeah, alright. But I’m getting the cheese cup. And you’re buying.”
As the server dropped the pretzel, Doyle stiffened in his seat.
“It’s not exactly Cheese, Please! caliber,” I said, biting in. “But we’re drunk, and it’s edible. Now’s not the time to be a diva.”
He shook his head and reached into his messenger bag, pulling out a worn envelope—edges soft, creased, like he’d been carrying it around for weeks.
“I found this in her room,” he said, sliding it across the sticky table.
“I’ve been struggling with when to give it to you.
And probably not for the reason you think. ”
My gaze bounced between him and the envelope like it might explode.
“I don’t know what she says,” he added, nodding toward it. “Didn’t open it. I wanted to, because I’m nosey. But I was afraid she’d say…”
The anger came fast, hot up my neck. “Just spit it out.”
“Okay, fine.” He took a huge gulp of cider and slammed his glass down. “I’m afraid she’s gonna tell you to fuck off. That she didn’t love you. Because shutting people out is her go-to defense. And I know you’ve got a lot going on, and I didn’t want to make it worse and—”
I held up a hand. “You should’ve given it to me when you found it. No matter what it says. You’ve been a shitty friend lately, Doyle. And I’m trying—really trying—to give you grace. But it’s getting harder every time we do this.”
“You’re right. I have been a shitty friend. And a shitty brother.” He stood, grabbing his bag and one last piece of pretzel. “I’ve got things to work on, and so do you. Let that be our New Year’s resolution.”
I frowned.
“To be better,” he said, stepping back. “For the people who love us. That includes being a little less selfish for me… and a little more selfish for you.”