“If you’re going to bullshit me then yes, yes, you do.” He chuckles.

“I don’t know why the fuck I’m not going to see her tonight, but it feels like I need to wait. Is that good enough for you?”

“Why wait? A booty call is a booty call.”

“She’s more than—” Fuck. I catch myself but it’s too late, and Nix’s imagination is running wild.

“I see.” And his silence is deafening in this loud bar. But he doesn’t tease me, and he sure as fuck doesn’t dare question me. “Humph.”

“Humph?” I ask.

A slow smile crawls over his typically stiff upper lip. “My guess is the lights will be glowing tonight then?”

I slide a glance over to him, sigh, and shake my head. It’s a good thing to have someone know you as well as he does. And a bad thing. For both of us.

“Meaning?” I ask.

“Meaning, when you can’t sleep or you can’t figure shit out, that’s where you go.”

“And of course, your place has a bird’s-eye view of the lights.”

He brings his beer to his lips. “That it does.” But when he takes a sip, his eyes stay locked on mine.

Fuck.

“I already put in a call.”

And when Nix laughs, it drowns out everyone else in the whole fucking bar.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Gunner

7 Years Ago

“LOOK AT YOU,” BOONE SAYS and then hisses when the shot of whiskey hits the back of his throat. “You’re actually going to let him get away with that?”

I move my jaw from side to side and wince. By the way my cheek feels, the shiner that’s coming is going to be a fucking doozy.

“I’m not letting him get away with shit.”

“So you punched the fucker back?”

“Nah.” I take a sip straight from the bottle. “I just don’t fucking care anymore.”

“Shit,” he says drawing the word out, “you gotta show that bastard who’s boss.”

I lie back on the grass and stare up at the darkened sky overhead. If there were any stars to be seen, I’m certain they’d be spinning on me like the ground beneath feels like it’s doing.

“No one’s called, Boone.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“No one’s called. Coach sent out all those letters and emails and, other than that one prick who came asking for money, it’s been goddamn crickets.”

I sit up long enough to take another swig.

“You think it’s that bastard’s doing?” he asks.

“Coach’s?”

“Nah, your old man’s.”

“He’s not my old man. Let’s get that straight,” I snap.

“That’s right. I forgot your old man—”

“Died. Yes. Poor little orphan boy should be so fucking lucky his momma found another man to help support them.”