Chapter 2
Lola
July…
I stare at the dude, making sure my face stays passive. Unbothered. He looks like he might actually froth at the mouth, he’s so angry. “So your options are Coke, Sprite, Canada Dry, or water. And I’ll even give it to you on the house.”
“I said whiskey, double, neat,” he snarls back and slaps his palm on the bar. “Is English not your first language? Are you slow?”
“Nope,” I say, and lift a hand in the air and snap.
I know Todd has been watching the whole thing out of the corner of his eye since he told me to tell Drunky McDrunkerson he was cut off.
“I’m none of those things, but what I am is in charge, and you, sir, are cut off. So either take a soda or take a walk.”
Todd and his hulking six-foot-four frame are right behind me by the time the drunk jock calls me a cunt, so the decision is made for him.
Todd hops the bar like it’s as short as a blade of grass.
He takes the asshole by the arm, and when the asshole swings and misses, Todd puts him in a headlock and drags him out of the bar.
I turn to the guy who had the misfortune of standing beside that asshole. “What can I get you?”
“After that show of force, whatever you want.” He smiles. My eyes narrow skeptically, and he lifts his hands in the air. “I’m not with him. I swear. Just making jokes. That was… impressive. But also extreme.”
I decide to believe him because he has a nice smile and is way more sober-looking than the other guy.
If they were together, they’d likely be equal levels of drunk, and I don’t think I’ve served this guy before.
I would remember because he is hella cute.
Dark hair, hazel eyes, tall, dressed in a button-down with the sleeves rolled up, and thick, muscular arms on display. “What can I get you?”
“Just a lager. Light. Pint please…” He reads my name tag and smiles again. “Lola.”
I smile back and reach for a glass to pour his beer. A girl bounces up, probably my age, and wraps her arms around his shoulders. I feel the slight dip of disappointment, which is silly. “You are a lifesaver. I can’t thank you enough for finding my phone!”
“No worries, Lori.”
But then she says, “You’re the best boyfriend’s BF a girl can ask for!”
Ah, so not her boyfriend, my brain tracks, and then I shake the thought off because no. I do not need to pick this guy up tonight. Or any guy. Even though I’ve been in a dry spell since I moved to Portland in June and started my summer job here.
Bartending in Portland, Maine, is my reality because it’s not easy establishing yourself as a doula in a new city, fresh out of school.
Eventually, I want to open my own natural birthing center, but this is the “pay your dues” portion of my career plan.
I was registered with the Doula Coalition of Maine.
I had assisted with two births and had been hired for postpartum care with another person.
All had gone… okay. I wouldn’t say well.
I mean, it went fine for the mothers and the babies, and that’s what counted.
But for me, the experiences had been less fulfilling than I’d hoped.
I was left more frazzled and exhausted than elated and inspired.
I’m hoping it was just first-job jitters.
My doula work wasn’t sustaining me, and sure, I could ask my parents for help, but I didn’t want to so I’m working at Salty’s Bar and Billiards.
I live rent-free with my twin brother in a condo forty minutes away, near my other brother and his boyfriend.
Callan, my twin, had been drafted by the same NHL team that our older brother Landon played for—the Portland Riptide.
This job gives me extra cash and some time away from the family and their obsession—hockey.
In the fall, when Landon and Grady get back from summering in Silver Bay, a lakeside town Grady grew up in, a couple hours from Portland, I’ll have a new job—taking care of my niece Randie.
Landon and his boyfriend, Grady Garrison, the goalie for the Riptide, will need help when they have road trips and games.
I’m very excited about the job. I love kids, it’s one of the reasons I got into this field, and Randie is as close as I may ever get to kids of my own, so I’m going to relish every second I get with her.
I hand cute guy his beer, and he hands me his credit card. “Tab?”
“Sure.” I take his card.
“That way you have my name and also, I’ll get to come back and see you again,” he says, and his smile appears again.
He glances at me twice over his big, broad shoulder as he walks away to join his friends. Todd comes back behind the bar using the little gate this time instead of just hopping over it. He shoots me a wary look. “You okay? I got rid of the trash.”
“Thanks. All good,” I promise. “Mr. Belligerent Whiskey Neat was not even in the top five of douchebags I’ve dealt with at this place in the last two months.”
“That’s sad,” Todd replies and turns to a new customer who orders four pints of Sam Adams. Todd reaches for the glasses and pops the first under the draft nozzle. “I keep telling management if we’re going to hire female staff, we need to pay them more. You guys deal with way more than I do.”
I shoot him an appreciative smile and serve the next person. “That’s why women would pick you over the bear, Todd.”
Two hours later, Todd tells me to take my break.
It’s quieted down enough that he can spare me.
I argue it should be him because he’s working a double shift, but he insists.
I’m dying to get off my feet so I thank him, pour myself a soda, and do what I always do, head out the back to the alley by the dumpsters.
On my way through the bar, I take my phone out of my back pocket.
Landon has sent a new pic of Randie to our sibling group chat.
She’s in a bathing suit, a pink polka dot hat covering her almost bald head.
She’s blonde, like Landon, and her hair is taking its time growing in.
She’s grinning and lifting her pudgy arms as she sits in the grass at the edge of a lake.
She’s adorable, and every time I see her, my heart swells.
I’ve always loved kids. I always thought I’d be engaged and pregnant before I turned thirty.
But what I want and what life is giving me aren’t the same thing lately.
My high school boyfriend, the one I followed to college like an idiot, who I thought I would marry, broke up with me junior year when he ditched college for the NHL.
Looking back, we should have broken up long before that.
Like, probably before we graduated high school.
I see him clearly now and know he was a gaslighting, passive-aggressive asshole.
The king of mind games. I dated a bit after him, anyone but a hockey player, but my confidence was rocky.
Nothing felt right. So I stopped dating to work on me.
I took myself on solo dates, picked up drawing and painting again, which is something I used to love.
I was lonely but fulfilled. I started dating again, and then…
I ended up at the urgent care clinic with abdominal pain so severe I thought I would pass out.
They were worried it was appendicitis, so they rushed me to the hospital.
It wasn’t. It was a fibroid on my uterus, and after an emergency surgery, I was left with no uterus.
At twenty-two. So my dreams of ever having my own kids were gone.
Forever. It’s a blow I’m still not entirely over.
I push the memory of that dark time, only eight months ago, out of my head and smile at Randie’s picture.
How my eldest brother ended up with a baby and a boyfriend is a plot twist I didn’t see coming.
Neither did he, to be fair. I wasn’t all that close to Landon growing up.
He’s eight years older than me, and he never seemed interested in what my twin and I were up to, even when Callan got into hockey.
But then Landon got leukemia and, thankfully, recovered.
He went back to hockey after he beat cancer, won a Cup with L.A.
, and then got traded to Portland. That’s when his whole world seemed to shift.
He started a group chat with Callan and me, which, because I truly am a pessimistic bitch, I almost left.
I didn’t want to give Landon a second chance to be the big brother I always wanted. But now, I’m so glad I did.
He’s funny and supportive and a bit of a mess.
I mean, he did knock up his ex-girlfriend.
Then he came out to the family as bisexual and told everyone he was in love with his team’s goalie.
All at the same time. But I loved it. He’s authentic and good-hearted, and I’m learning the hard way that isn’t easy to find in men. At least not the ones attracted to me.
“Are you looking at a picture of your boyfriend?”
I glance up and find the cute guy from earlier standing a few feet away. “No. My niece.”
He smiles. “Good. I like that better. Gives my delusional brain the thought that someone as awesome as you could be single.”
“I am,” I reply, turning my face back to the photo of my adorable niece. “But just because I’m single doesn’t mean I’m looking.”
“Trust me, I know.” He replies without even a second of being offended or stunned by my attitude. “And I really shouldn’t want a shot with a woman who is clearly out of my league, but watching you hand that drunk guy his ass earlier was… well, I swooned.”
Okay, now he has my attention. I look up from my phone again and take a quick sip of my ginger ale. He is just as cute as I originally clocked in the bar. And he’s got one hell of a smile, which he is flashing at me right now. “How is someone that looks like you, with such game, single?”
“I wasn’t,” he replies. “Until recently.”
“Oh.” I’m not against being someone’s rebound. In fact, it kind of works for me because I don’t want a relationship. “So you’re looking for a rebound?”
“Not necessarily.”
“What did you major in?” I have to ask because I have rules.
I don’t date finance guys, and I don’t date anyone in a sports program—whether it’s sports management, physical education teacher, or kinesiology.
The first is because they’re usually right-wing jackasses, and the other is because they freak out when they find out who my family is.
Especially in Maine, where hockey was a religion long before they got their own team.
And I have the misfortune of being from two hockey families.
My dad, Eli Casco, was a goalie who played for San Francisco with his brother Levi.
My mom’s brother, Jude Braddock, also played for San Fran, and she worked for the team.
“Marine biology,” he says and shrugs. “Grew up on the coast. Obsessed with the sea.”
“Maine?” A local boy is a bonus. I like Mainers. They’re down-to-earth and kind.
“Nova Scotia,” he says, then adds, “Canada. Came here on a scholarship, then snagged a job and am in grad school part-time.”
I smile before I can stop myself. A nerdy Canadian is even better than a Mainer. The Braddock side of my family is Canadian, but spend summers here in Maine. I have a soft spot for Canadians, too. They’re funny, and kind, authentic, and passionate. “Do you watch hockey?”
He laughs like I just asked him if water is wet. “I said I’m Canadian.”
Okay, so not long-term material, but that’s cool. I don’t think either of us is looking for that. “I’m from California originally, but I live here now.” That’s as much info as he needs from me. And my first name, which he has. But I don’t have his. “I didn’t catch your name.”
“Pete. Wallace. Guess my trick to get you to look at my credit card didn’t work.” He laughs.
“And you never ordered another beer.”
“I’m not much of a drinker.” Pete shrugs again, and damn… he has a dimple in his left cheek. Yeah, okay. I may need to go home with him.
I look at my phone again. My break is basically over.
“I have to go back to work.” I turn and reach for the door. “Don’t forget your credit card.”
“I was hoping to pick it up at the end of the night,” he says sheepishly as he adds, “and use it to get us an Uber back to your place.”
I stare at him, and he looks like he might apologize for that. I pull open the door, then turn and say, “Make it your place.”
And then I disappear inside.