Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 112850 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 564(@200wpm)___ 451(@250wpm)___ 376(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112850 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 564(@200wpm)___ 451(@250wpm)___ 376(@300wpm)
“Mom,” I began, tired of how she continued to have the same sorrowful look every time we met gazes. I felt her worry and concern, maybe even pity, and didn’t like any of it. “Let it go, Mom. I’ll do better.”
“You know I can’t. I love my boy. I hate seein’ you this way.” She did what she always did, walked into me, wrapping her arms around my chest. I participated, hugging her while my grandfather watched from his seat, his expression distorted, showing he didn’t agree with his daughter’s actions. He finally rolled his eyes, mashing his lips together. Man, the guy was tough. Gritty. Most would consider him mean, and he was, but he also loved his family.
“The boxes in the back of the truck aren’t gonna move themselves,” my father said dryly, passing by with two heavy boxes full of assorted liquor bottles. This was Friday morning, right before a long Fourth of July weekend. It was also Founder’s Day in my small town located close to Texas’s Hill Country. It was a party in a town full of revelers, and marked the exact time of year the bar became profitable. We had loads of red, white, and blue decorations with the town’s fireworks show nearby. They’d be all hands on deck for the next four days. My days were longer than theirs due to my position as barkeep.
“Mom, let me go,” I said, lifting my arms in the air, wiggling my body to shake her loose.
“I don’t want to.” She held on tight until I pried her arms away.
I glanced at the wall clock above the bar. It was later than I’d originally thought. We only had about ninety minutes before the café portion of the bar opened. The fold-out tables and chairs needed to be placed before breakfast and lunch were served.
We labeled those six hours as Silver Saloon Café. Breakfast and lunch consisted of different specials depending on the day, with the bar serving Bloody Mary’s and mimosas. First, I needed to help empty the truck. The longer left untended, the greater the risk of theft.
“You didn’t close the till last night,” Lori, my younger sister by eleven months, accused. She was six months pregnant with her first child, pushing through the door with a box of bottles in hand.
I didn’t intervene, not because I wasn’t taught to have manners, but because the doctors had told her to slow down and her frustratingly hard head refused to listen.
“I hadn’t gotten that far yet,” I said, edging around her toward the doors.
“You smell like stale beer. Gross.”
I pushed through the front door and let it swing shut, knowing all that rattling bothered her too.
The bright, warm Texas summer sun instantly beat down on me. My eyes shut against the assault as I came to a stop close to my father’s truck. I didn’t feel well. The city crews were hard at work tying up all the loose ends of the decorations on Main Street—the only street in town—before the twelve o’clock official start to the weekend. On the other end of the street was a carnival, set and ready to go.
I shook my head, trying to clear the lag.
At some point, this hollow feeling I carried had to ease. The idea that it wouldn’t was inconceivable.
“Hey, Mace.” Wayne, a guy I’d known my entire life, called from his truck slowly rolling to a halt. Like me, Wayne was a fixture to the area. He’d never left, neither had I.
“Hey,” I responded.
“Y’all havin’ a weekend happy hour?”
“Yeah.”
Wayne’s elbow went to the lowered window, apparently planning to stay for more than a word or two.
“Two to six every day. Half price beer and nachos. After six, four-dollar drafts. Stop by.”
“Plannin’ to be here tomorrow. Your dad’s gonna have to get me home.”
Those words drew a smile from me. So, different weekend, same Wayne.
“The smile looks good on you. You should wear it more often.”
What I genuinely gave turned forced again. I wondered if Wayne could tell the change.
“I’m out of here. Save me a spot at the end of the bar.”
I nodded, extending my fist for a bump, Wayne obliged. “There’s a permanent reserved seat with your name on it.”
“Sure is.” Wayne had already pushed the gas pedal, driving away.
“Mace, take these.” My father stood at the end of the truck’s bed, pushing the loaded boxes to the edge.
So it began. I never needed to spend time in the gym, because as the designated pack mule my workouts began early.
Chapter 1
Slade Whitaker
Present Day
Startled awake, I blinked my eyes open, listening to the lack of sound around me.
My brows crinkled together. The overabundance of peaceful silence was weird. Recognition took longer than it should to remember this comfortable mattress was my own. I reached for my cell phone on the nightstand to check the time. Damn, I’d slept a dozen or so hours. More sleep than I’d gotten over the previous week combined.