“Right.” Because I was never leaving this little slice of anachronism. “Are you sure you can hang at the bar, Mr. Mayor?” I looked out from the corner and noted at least twenty people, all doing their best not to look like they were staring at us.

One of those people was Tim Hall, who didn’t bother hiding his glare. At least the jukebox blared a rotating selection of eighties rock, keeping the bar loud enough that our words weren’t fodder for gossip.

Xander laughed, drawing even more eyes. “It’s not like I’m the mayor of New York City. Besides, it makes me approachable. At least that’s what I tell myself.”

I shook my head. “Born politician.”

“I’ve been keeping the peace pretty much since you were born, so why not do it professionally?” He sipped at the bottle that held his microbrew. “You just waiting to get adjusted to the altitude?” He motioned at my water.

“Nope.” I watched the ice move as I swirled my glass. “I don’t drink anymore.”

Xander’s eyes widened. “Since when?”

“Since the day we buried Sullivan.”

He flinched and set the bottle on the table. “Because…”

“Because bad things happen when I drink, and to be honest, I’m too good at killing people to lose control. Look what I did to you.” I rubbed my eyebrow, and his mouth tightened. “I never told you how sorry I was. How sorry I am.” How fucking sick I felt every time I saw the scar.

“No. This was not your fault.” Xander shook his head and leaned forward, keeping our conversation private in the noisy bar. “I grabbed your shoulder. I knew how messed up you were from Afghanistan. I knew better. You reacted. That’s on me. Not you.”

“I was beating the shit out of Oscar Hudgens in the snack aisle of the gas station. You stopped me, and I threw you through a damned window.” My grip tightened on my glass. “Don’t excuse my fuckup.”

“Oscar deserved it.” He shrugged, dropping his voice low. “I heard what he said about moving in on Willow, since Sully was gone.”

Rage, as unsettling as it was comfortingly familiar, locked my jaw for a moment, and I sucked a breath in through my nose, noting that Oscar held down a seat at the bar. Even all these years later, I wanted to bash his head into the bar top. Unlike all those years ago, I’d learned how to control my temper…for the most part.

Willow was the only woman I’d ever gone to blows over. That night hadn’t been the first time, either.

“I don’t think I would have stopped,” I admitted and turned my baseball cap backward so he could see my eyes. See that I meant it.

“I know.” His thumbnail pushed under the beer’s label. “You know Charity owns this place now, right?”