Chapter 30 Phoenix
PHOENIX
Ipushed through the door of Frank’s Bar, the old cowbell above the entryway giving its usual half-hearted jangle. Not that anyone noticed. The place was packed, shoulder to shoulder, especially for five o’clock on a weeknight.
Somewhere in the back, the sharp crack of a pool stick sliced through the low drawl of Willie Nelson crooning through the jukebox. The hum of conversation, laughter, clinking glass—it all blended together like whiskey on the tongue. Smooth. Familiar. A little too easy to drown in.
Frank’s wasn’t just a bar—it was Berry Springs gospel. Stepping inside gave locals thicker accents, a trucker’s vocabulary, a steel-plated ego, and a liver that could survive a nuclear blast. I loved this place. Always had.
As always, the men were in their dirtiest Carhartts and worn-out cowboy hats, and the women wore skin-tight jeans, low-cut tops, and bejeweled boots. It was small-town Friday night in a bottle, poured neat.
A bar I used to shut down on a weekly basis.
Used to. Big difference.
Heads turned as I made my way across the room. Conversations paused. Gaze after gaze followed, whispers trailing behind me like smoke.
They watched you before the incident, Phoenix. You just didn’t notice.
Rose’s voice echoed in my ears.
But I wondered what they saw now? The old me? The new one? A ghost of both?
I shook it off and kept walking, weaving through the crowd like I still belonged here.
I ignored a few shoutouts—old friends, acquaintances, maybe ghosts from my wilder years—and slid onto the last stool at the bar. My spot.
At least, it used to be.
“Mr. Steele. I mean, Phoenix, well, I’ll be damned. Evening to ya.”
Frank, owner and retired Berry Springs police officer, wiped his hands on his apron as he walked over, his gaze assessing me with both surprise and caution.
“Long time no see.” He stretched out his tanned, leather hand. “How you doing?”
“Can’t complain. Good to see you.”
We shook hands. He stared at me for a moment. Expecting more from a man who’d been shot in the head months earlier?
“Well. Glad all is well. How’s the weather outside lookin’?” He grabbed a short glass from the rack and began filling it with ice.
“Cloudy.”
“Roads are already washed out and we’re supposed to get another round of storms tomorrow. Stan the Weatherman said even a chance of tornados.” His head tilted to the side. “You made it down your mountain alright?”
I didn’t think you were supposed to be driving, is what he meant. After all, the entire town had heard the details of my medical records thanks to Josh Davis—otherwise known as Rose’s ex.
“A little water on the roads is no match for Spirit,” I replied.
“Ah, yes. That’s good. She’s a good horse.” Seemingly relieved that I wasn’t behind a steering wheel, he grabbed a bottle of Johnnie Walker—my usual. He unscrewed the cap and began pouring two fingers—my usual.
I watched as the amber colored liquid filled the glass, and for the second time in a handful of minutes, Rose’s voice…
Lay off the booze until you’re healed.
My jaw clenched, my fingers curling to fists on the bar.
Lay off the booze...
“Just water tonight, Frank.”
He froze mid-pour, his eyebrows practically leaping off his forehead.
“I’m… I’m sorry, I don’t think I heard—”
“Water,” I said again, firmer this time.
A beat of silence passed between us. A long, heavy beat.
Because this—this—wasn’t just a drink.
It was habit. Identity. Comfort. Control.
It was what I reached for when the noise got too loud or the memories crawled too close.
Turning it down—turning her up—was a choice.
And for me?
It was monumental.
“With a lemon.” I added. “Two. Two lemons.”
This time a grin tugged at his lips. “You got it, Mr. Steele.” He slid the water in front of me. “Anything else?”
I shook my head.
“Okay, then. Enjoy.” He dipped his chin and moved onto the next patron.
I looked at my water—my water.
Water instead of whiskey.
Therapy instead of war.
Chains instead of freedom.
Submission to it all.
Submission to my circumstance, my weakness.
Submission to Rose.
My Rose Flower.
That kiss.
Kissing her had felt like the biggest release I’d had since waking up from the coma—and this coming from a guy who’d once punched a hole through a hospital wall just to feel something.
But Rose…
Kissing Rose was like taking a pill that made the whole world disappear. Like slipping into some alternate reality where pain didn’t exist and peace wasn’t just for other people. It swept me away—quieted the noise, shut off the static, and dragged me to the closest thing to heaven I’d ever get.
As I stared down at the two lemons, I found myself thinking about the future. Our future. A house. Kids. A white picket fence.
Did I want that?
Could I even have it?
“Brother.” Ax’s hand clamped down on my shoulder. That deep, ever-calming voice of my younger brother breaking the thoughts spinning inside me.
He eyed the water as he slid onto the barstool next to me. He didn’t say anything about it, didn’t address it. He simply accepted it, filed it away, and assessed this unexpected situation.
As was Ax.
“You’re here early.”
“Supposed to meet Jagg as soon as he gets off work.”
“Ah. Heard you’ve got the detective pulling some favors.”
“We’ll see if he delivers.”
Ax scanned the crowd, a habit from serving decades in the military.
“Spirit’s drawn quite the crowd outside.”
I blinked, began to surge off my chair.
“Don’t worry, she’s fine. You know she loves the attention.”
I sank back down into my chair as Ax flagged down Frank and ordered a Shiner. “What’s with the axe in the saddle bag?”
“Tree.”
“No. I think…” He tipped his head to the side. “Woman.”
I grunted.
Between Gunner and Jagg, I had no doubt Ax knew about my overnight security watch at Rose’s house.
“Missed you at dinner last night,” He said as Frank slid his beer down the bar. He sipped. “Celeste made pulled pork sandwiches. Well, not made so much as brought them home after a bad date.”
“Another one, huh?”
“Oh yeah.”
Celeste, former Marine and full-time badass, had recently been promoted from office manager of Steele Shadows Security to security detail. She’d become like a sister to us, and while the woman could outshoot anyone in town, her luck with men, however, was another story.
“By the way, Gunner asked me to tell you that our best friend, Josh Davis, has spent the last two evenings curled up with a wine cooler and remote control.”
“How does he know this?”
“Got friendly with Davis’s housekeeper.”
“Did she say if he left the house? Even for a bit?”
“Nope. Says he came home from work and was in for the night. Kid doesn’t like the rain, apparently.” He grinned.
“How is she certain he never left?”
“She’s a live-in housekeeper. Said aside from running a few errands at his request, she never left the house.”
“What errands?”
“Flower shop.”
I stilled, my mind turning. If Josh’s housekeeper had delivered the orchids to Rose’s front door and confirmed he’d been home, then that made him a lot less likely to be the one who broke in and left the creepy bear with the hidden recorder. Just like that, my prime suspect dropped down the list.
Ax narrowed his eyes. “Anything I need to know about here?”
“No.”
We sat in silence for a moment.
“Dr. Buckley dropped by this afternoon,” Ax said.
I frowned. “Everyone okay?”
He nodded. “He swung by on his way to his weekend cabin. Said ol’ Hoyt got himself a twelve point just off our property yesterday.”
Ah, Ax, and his ever clever ways to make his point. Dr. Robby Hoyt was the town’s pharmacist—the town’s pharmacist that I hadn’t seen since leaving the hospital. Which was exactly Ax’s point, and, if I had to guess, the purpose of Buckley’s visit to the house.
“I’m not taking the pills, Ax.”
“I know you aren’t. And so does Buckley and Hoyt. You haven’t filled a single prescription.”
Consider taking your meds, Phoenix, at least for the headaches… Rose’s voice, again.
A moment slid by.
“Tell me about her.” Ax said finally.
“About who?”
“The woman you just thought about.”
My hand squeezed around the water, the icy condensation sliding against my heated skin.
“Your therapist, Feen. Tell me about her.”
“Her name is Rose Floris.”
“And?”
“She’s… different.”
“Smart?” He grinned.
“Controlling.”
“Helpful?”
“Determined.”
“Compliant?”
“Pain in my ass.”
He grinned, sipped his beer, then looked at me. “Hot?”
“Stunning.”
“A smart, attractive, assertive, pain in your ass.” He chuckled. “Yep, definitely not the type of woman you’re used to.” He paused. “Heard you rearranged her desk.”
I looked at him. “Where’d you hear that?”
“The whole neighborhood heard it, including old man Jenkins at the bakeshop.”
“I don’t know how the man can be such a damn gossip.”
“So it is gossip, then?”
“Frustration.”
“And Dr. Floris accepted you back into her office after?”
“More or less.”
I could feel Ax’s grin more than I saw it. He knew me. He knew if I wanted something badly enough, nothing would stand in my way, even if I had to spend thousands of dollars on new computer equipment to get through the door.
“I like this one,” he said. “Listen to her, Phoenix. You won’t listen to us. You won’t listen to your doctors. But based on that ice water you’ve got in front of you, you’re listening to someone. Your therapist of all people. … I’m proud of you.”
I nodded, eyes locked on the water.
“Having a strong woman in your life isn’t all that bad you know.”