Chapter 10
TEN
Ralph’s is empty for a Saturday afternoon. It’s the lull time—between lunch and dinner—which is exactly how I like it. I’m behind the bar, filling in, and I’m not the best bartender in the world. I can pour a beer like no other but ask me to make a margarita and that’s where I need help.
The barstool on the end is reserved for Mason, every day of the week. No one sits there. We’d come to Ralph’s as teens. He didn’t really care and would serve us if no one else was around. The stool is my way of sharing this bar with Mason.
Everything else has been updated. We installed new booths, new flooring, stripped and repainted the walls. We did keep the signs, posters, and other wall decals and put those back up.
Old Pete wraps his knuckles on the bar top, getting my attention. He sits in same spot—middle of the bar—right in line of the television. His wife passed in the spring, and he started spending more time here. I refill his coffee, which is always on the house.
“Glad to see you back in town,” he says.
I sigh heavily and rest my hands on the edge of the bar. “I’ll be here for a while.”
“Bad band break-up?”
“Nah.” I shake my head. “Hiatus. We need a break, physically.”
“Makes sense. I remember when you first started. My wife was a big fan.”
I beam and then remember she’s no longer with us and I think I should write a song or at least dedicate one to her, but then I’d have to perform, which isn’t the end of the world.
“I’ve been listening,” Pete says, pulling me from my internal brainstorming session. “You give out good advice. Do you have any for me?”
Pete catches me off guard. I open my mouth to say something but then realize I haven’t really done this in person, only behind a microphone.
He asked for advice, but not about something in particular.
The words finally come to me, “You’re a treasure to Beaumont,” I tell him.
“You always have family here and a spot at my bar. Keep your wife’s spirit alive by talking about her, making everyone around you feel her presence. ”
He stares at me for a long moment, picks his mug up and drinks. “Thanks,” he says hoarsely. “Like I said, you give good advice.”
For the next hour, I clean, restock, and refill his coffee until he switches over to a pint that he’ll end up nursing for an hour.
I start on inventory, working top shelf down.
Thanks to Elle, my inventory system is Liam-proof and there’s no way to mess it up.
Unlike the time I lost a case of bourbon.
I blamed the delivery driver, who was entirely too eager to show me that I signed for it.
He was right. I owned it and apologized, and realized I put the bourbon under the bar, where it didn’t need to go.
I’m halfway through inventory when the front door opens and Nick Ashford steps in. We glare at each other, long and hard, neither of us blinking.
Actually, I don’t know if he’s blinking because the motherfucker left the door open and he’s letting all the cool air outside.
“Huh,” he says.
“Ashford.” My voice is even.
“Didn’t figure I’d find you back there pouring,” he says as he sits down at the bar. He could’ve sat anywhere and had table service, but no, he has to sit here, where I’m working. He likes to remind me that he used to date Josie.
“I own the building. I own the beer. I can manage to pour one.” I set the clipboard down. “What’ll it be?”
“Whatever’s coldest.”
I pull him a draft, slide it down and go back to my inventory.
I’ve promised my family I’d be cordial to Nick, but that is as far as I’m willing to go.
The deep-seated anger I feel—while isn’t his fault—is his fault.
It doesn’t have to make sense to anyone but me.
Even though his son, Mack, moved in with Josie and me temporarily while his parents were in South Africa, sorting their shit out . . . Nick’s still my frenemy.
Nick pushes his empty to the edge. I fill him another pint and this time set it in front of him. “Want something to eat?”
He shakes his head. I groan because I know there’s something wrong.
“Aubrey still in South Africa?” I ask, because Mack hasn’t mentioned his mom in a while.
“Far as I know.” He turns the glass a quarter turn on the bar. “Amelie hears from her more than I do.”
“How does that go?”
Nick let’s out an exaggerated sigh. “I want to interrupt or listen in, but don’t.
Each time Amelie gets off the phone, she cries for an hour.
Mack only talks to Aubrey for a minute, and then Aubrey whines to Amelie about how much she misses them and how Mack isn’t paying attention to her.
Amelie knows Aubrey’s new husband is bad news, but she still wants to be with her mom.
Talisa tries to comfort her. Nothing works.
It takes a week for Amelie to be herself again, and then boom, Aubrey’s on the phone. ”
“Shit.”
He nods and takes a long pull.
“When did Aubrey get married?”
“That’s the thing, she hasn’t told the kids she did. I only know because my health insurance sent a notice, asking if I was still covering her and her last name is different.”
“Shit,” I say again.” “They’re lucky to have you.”
Nick snorts into his beer. “They’re lucky to have Talisa, Elle, Josie,” he says. “Anyone but me. I pay the bills, set the rules, and I am the bad guy.”
I set a menu down in front of him. “Let me know when you’re ready to order.”
Nick says nothing. I leave him there and tend to the others at the bar, and I make sure the staff in back has everything they need.
I do whatever I can to keep busy because I don’t want to be that person for Nick—the one he leans on.
He had that kind of relationship with Mason, which is another reason I’m mad at Nick (and myself).
I’m not there though and I doubt I ever will be.
“Mack made the list for the recruiting camp at State,” Nick says as I walk by.
His voice full of pride. He should be proud.
Mack’s an outstanding athlete and great kid.
I’ll never forget the time when he was living with us and needed to talk to me about asking someone out.
Little did I know, I was giving the kid advice on how to ask Paige out.
I don’t regret letting him come live with us. It was the right thing to do. Nick was there for Noah, raising my boy because I was off playing rock star. There was no way I’d let Noah down by not opening the door for Mack. They’re close, like brothers.
“Which State we talking about?”
The grin on Nick’s face tells all.
“Shit, really?”
He nods. “Penn, Ohio, Florida, Louisiana.”
“Wow. What kind of film did he send it?”
“The kind a former NFL quarterback can make.”
Now I’m the one smiling. Of course, Noah made Mack’s recruiting films.
“He earned it. Mack’s got an arm.”
“He’s got a real shot,” Nick says. “Better than I ever was. Better than—” He stops himself.
“Better than—?” I raise an eyebrow and silently dare him to say Mack’s better than me.
He is, of course, but I like to point out to Nick that I was better than him, in everything we did.
Granted, Nick did pitch a stellar game, and we won a title in baseball.
Still, I was the standout back in our day.
Nick watches me for a minute, his eyes moving back and forth, and I imagine he’s wondering what I’m implying.
“I—”
I laugh, breaking the tension. “He’s better than Noah. You can say it. Noah’d say it himself. You’ve coached both of them, you should know better than anyone.”
Nick looks relieved. He takes a sip of beer and then says, “Noah was a different kind of player. He was a student of the game. He knew where everybody was going to be before they did. Mack’s got the arm, but if the receivers or backs break the play, Mack isn’t processing it fast enough to make a change. ”
“You’re his coach, talk to him. Hell, ask Peyton to break down film with him. You and I both know it’s the best way to learn.”
“Coach?” Nick scoffs. “As soon as I brought Noah on staff, I became the volunteer who runs conditioning and keeps the boosters smiling. Noah’s the one in his ear.
” He says it flat, no self-pity in it. Just the depth chart of his own kid’s life, laid out for the one man who’d know what it cost him to say.
“You want another?”
He glances at the clock over the door. “Water, please. I have to pick Amelie up from dance class in an hour.” I get him the water, put a bowl of popcorn in front of him, and then tend to the new people who sat down.
I spend longer at the other end of the bar than necessary and finally make my way back to Nick.
“All my staff listen to your radio show at night.”
I try not to smile but secretly love that his staff is listening. “What about you?”
Nick lifts his shoulder. “I’ve tuned in. I can’t believe these people call-in and talk about their lives like this. Air their dirty laundry to a complete stranger.”
“Every night,” I say and then shake my head. “Monday through Friday, but I need to change it because I don’t want to continue to miss Mack’s games.”
Nick nods. “How do you have the answers?”
I shrug. “They come naturally. A few, I’ve hesitated on. I speak from the heart though. Each time, I’m like what would I do.”
He laughs. “WWLD?”
“Something like that.” I can’t keep the grin off my face.
“Regardless, I tell them what they already know or feel. Most of them have the answer before they dial. They want someone they don’t know or who doesn’t know the other party to confirm what their heart feels.
” I cap the bottle in my hand. “Turns out that’s most of the job. Being the voice to the feeling.”
“Maybe I should call-in sometime,” he says. A joke, mostly. Neither of us laughs.
“Make sure you tell my producer your name so I can hang up on you.”
Nick scoffs. “As much as you hate me, you’d never do that.”
Unfortunately, he’s right. He’s important to my son, so I pretend. And I like his kid. Despite Mack dating my daughter.
Nick sets money down on the bar and stands. At the door he stops and turns around. “The amends one,” he says. “The guy trying to reach his son.” He takes an inhale of breath. “You gave him good advice. Don’t be afraid to take it yourself.”
Nick walks out the door, with those words lingering in the air, with his glass sweating a ring into the bar. Was Nick talking about us and our situation?
For as long as I can remember, Nick has been the enemy.
The man who was there, raising my son. The man who asked Josie to marry him first, who shared a house with her, a bed.
It took a long time for me to be able to stand in the same room with him, without wanting to put my fist through a wall.
I did that for Noah and continue to do so because mine and Nick’s lives are intertwined.
It’s not even small-town shit. It’s family.
As much as I hate to admit it, Nick Ashford has become a part of my family.
I shiver at the thought.
But it’s hard to deny when he stopped by here, to tell me about Mack’s invites, and that says something about where his head is at.
The door opens, pulling me from my reverie. I nod toward the people who came in, and get back to work, pushing all thoughts of Nick from my mind until a song about finding love comes on the jukebox and there’s my wife’s voice, asking me find someone for Nick. As if I’m some holly jolly matchmaker.
I’m a businessman. A rock star who is moonlighting as the male version of Dear Abby. I’m not the Tinder, Bumble, or Hinge of Beaumont. Besides, I have standards, and Nick knows everyone I know.
He can do it himself.
It’s a bad idea for me to get involved in Nick’s romantic life.
Very, very bad.
He’ll want to double date, go to the movies, and have intimate dinners at some five-star restaurant where my name gets us a view of skyline.
Ugh.
The door opens and a woman pulls the stool Nick vacated. I set a coaster down in front of her. “What can I get for you?”
“I hear this is the best place in town for a beer.”
“Whoever said that I’m honored.”
She extends her hand across the bartop. “I’m Teagan Lowery.”
Her name rings a bell. “Ah, you know my wife, Josie. I’m Liam. Our daughter is Paige Westbury.”
“Yes, I know who you are,” she says. “Oddly, the school committee used you in my interview, saying you were a massive donor and anything I needed for the school, I’d have.”
“They aren’t wrong. Is there something you need?”
She shakes her head. “No, but I guess I know where to find you.”
“That you do. Paige tells me you have a son?”
She nods. “Tristin. They’re the same age.”
“Is your husband working in town or does he commute?”
“No husband,” she says quietly. “He passed away two years ago. Beaumont is,” she pauses and looks around. “Our fresh start.”
“Welcome,” I say. “If you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask me or my wife, Josie. She owns Whimsicality on Main Street.”
Teagan smiles, orders her beer, and I give her a menu to peruse while I pour her draft. After setting it in front of her and taking her order, a thought—one I don’t want to have—occurs to me. I groan deeply and pull my phone out to text Josie.
Jojo
Okay, I’m in. I’ll find someone for Nick.
I regret it immediately even though I know it’ll make my wife happy.