I took a long pull of my beer, sidled up next to Sebastian, Presley’s boyfriend. Grant was on the other side of him, a crooked smile on his face and eyes soft as he watched and listened. Jo hadn’t broken eye contact with him yet. I wondered which blinked first and huffed a little chuckle.
When Sebastian elbowed me, I frowned. When I saw the direction he was looking and the grave expression on his face, I steeled myself and took a look of my own.
Marnie Mitchell had just walked in with a friend of hers from high school.
Mandy’s little sister had been difficult from the day she was born, so her family said. She came into this world screaming and pushed those lungs to their limit until she was in elementary school. When she mellowed, it was only by a degree, aligning herself with the bullies and mean girls, running her social circle with an iron fist. She’d dated Sebastian off and on through high school, and when his mother’s cancer returned, Marnie had been his life jacket. He’d made the mistake of marrying her, but it didn’t last. None of us were surprised, with the exception of Mitchell, who had adopted the two of us like the sons he never had. As such, Sebastian and I had suffered enough family functions and interventions to forge a steel bond, regardless of time or distance.
“Didn’t know she was back in town,” I said.
“Me neither.” Sebastian’s voice was filled more with concern than anything. His eyes cut to Presley, who then followed his previous gaze. She tightened, her brows drawing together just a little.
When we looked back to Marnie, she’d stopped, frozen in indecision, her face unreadable. After what had gone down between the three of them last year, it was no surprise. Marnie’s friend put on her beat-down face and was saying something to Marnie with emphatic rage. Marnie laid a hand on her arm and shook her head, reducing her friend’s fury to a simmering glare that she cast first in Presley’s direction, then Sebastian’s. Searching the crowd, Marnie found him too, raising her hand in a halfhearted hello before heading to the bar.
Sebastian let out a breath and brought the bottle in his hand to his lips. Grant was in his own little world, oblivious.
“Think she’ll start anything?” I asked.
“No. She’s not like that anymore.”
One of my brows rose.
“I mean it. We have an understanding.”
“How’d you manage that?”
“She figured out we were bad for each other. Wasn’t easy, but we got there. Though I haven’t seen her since she left to go back to nursing.”
I nodded and took a drink.
“Mitchell give you any shit for dating Daisy?”
“Only a little.”
“I’ve officially pissed him off the the point that I’m as good as dead to him after the whole Goody’s debacle. Being with Presley is the cherry on his shit sandwich.”
“We didn’t need that big-box store, not if we wanted to keep Main Street. Y’all did the right thing.”
“Well, so are you with the shelter,” he said. “Mitchell has good intentions, however misguided they are. Can’t say he isn’t passionate about what he wants.” After a beat, he said, “Remember that time at Thanksgiving when he went off about immigration during his prayer over the turkey?”
“Oh god,” I said, laughing. “I don’t know where his head was at. Did he just forget you’re Mexican or was he making a stand?”
“His head was in Jack Daniel’s ass, if I remember right.” Sebastian shook his head. “Point is, you can’t let him get to you, Keaton. No matter what he says. You deserve to be happy. Don’t let him throw Mandy at you in an attempt to take that away from you.”
I nodded again and turned, not wanting to say too much, not wanting to open a box I couldn’t put the lid back on.
“I need a beer. Y’all empty?” I asked.
They raised their bottles in the affirmative, and Sebastian and I shared a look of camaraderie and a nod of agreement before I headed for the bar where Marnie and her friend sat. I’d known the girl since high school and could never remember her name, never cared to find out as despicable as she was. But Marnie and I had kept in touch, occasionally reaching out to check in, but nothing more.
When she saw me she smiled, but the expression was weary. Like she’d run two emotional marathons without stopping and could fall down dead at any moment.
She slid off her barstool when I approached, opening her arms for a hug, which I granted.
“Hey, twerp,” I said.
“Hey, goon,” she answered, smiling.
That smile was an echo of Mandy’s, as was the shape of her face. But where Marnie had her father’s eyes, which could flip to cold and sharp in a heartbeat, Mandy had favored her mother. Marnie still looked like a kid to me, though life had worn down her sharp edges, softening her in a way I didn’t expect to ever see from her. She went through life with a baseball bat in hand, ready to destroy anything that got in her way. But not so much anymore.
“Buy y’all a drink?” I asked.
“Sure,” Marnie answered just as her friend said, “Fuck you.”
Marnie gave her a bored look and rolled her eyes. “Ignore Chantelle. Her thong’s too small. Can’t make peace with buying a bigger size.”
“Whatever.” Ignoring the jab, Chantelle said with a shitload of sass, “I don’t know why you’re talking to him, fucking traitor. A Blum? I mean, seriously, Keaton. First Sebastian, now you. And after everything Marnie’s been through—ow!” she squealed when Marnie pinched her arm. “What the hell?”
“Leave Keaton alone—he didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Yeah, but—”
“If I’m not mad, why should you be?”
With a spectacular roll of her eyes, she turned back to her drink. “I don’t know what happened to you, Marnie Mitchell. Five years ago, you woulda handed me your earrings the second we walked in.”
“Well, a lot happened in five years, didn’t it?”
Again she blessed us with an eye roll, followed by a dismissive hand gesture that only involved one finger. But she shut up, turning her attention to her phone.
With an apologetic look, Marnie changed the subject. “You doing okay?”
“I’m good. What about you? What are you doin’ in town?”
A long sigh. “Mama needed my help around here. She hasn’t been feeling well, said she missed me, guilt trip, blah blah blah. You know how it is with her.”
I nodded. “How long you here for?”
“Who knows. I took a leave from work in Austin, and I’m sure she’ll keep me here as long as she can. I don’t blame her for needing a buffer. It’s hard enough being stuck in the house with Dad on a regular day, but with your homeless project, he’s downright impossible to live with.”
My brow quirked. “Really? He’s stayed quiet about it for the most part. Just a little bit of inconvenience.”
“And you think that means he’s not working on getting his way?”
“I suppose he probably is,” I said, my stomach sinking.
On a glance to make sure Chantelle wasn’t listening—she was currently trying to hit on the poor guy who made the mistake of sitting next to her—she leaned in, hooking her finger for me to get closer.