Eli eyes me warily as he pulls on the plug in his ear. Still, the man has that grin he uses to try to convince people he’s easygoing. But I don’t buy it. Not even God could count all the demons dancing in his soul.
To be fair, Eli used to be one of my favorite people, but he and I haven’t gotten along very well since my father’s death. In fact, I haven’t gotten along with anyone associated with the Terror since Dad died a year ago.
“Hi, Violet.”
“Brandon was going to buy his own ticket.” I work hard to keep my voice steady. “You can’t keep swooping in and doing things for him. He’s got to learn how to fend for himself.”
“It’s good to see you, too,” Eli says like I never spoke. “I’m glad you brought Stone. I know how much that kid loves to see Chevy play.”
“Maybe you didn’t hear me, so I’ll try to be a little more direct,” I say. “Stop butting in with my brother. You don’t help. None of you help.”
“How’s your mom?” Eli continues, once again like the conversation on my end isn’t happening.
“Moping around like always. Know what would help her? A job or a hobby or a purpose. None of which she will get as long as you guys keep popping in and taking care of her.” I’m sensing the theme, but doubt Eli will. Logic complicates his thinking process.
The glint of frustration in Eli’s eyes gives away that he hears me, yet he keeps up the charade. “Tell your mom me and some of the guys from the club will be over to help with the house. Mow the yard. Pay the bills.”
A dangerous anger curls within me. “I’m tired of explaining to you we don’t need the Reign of Terror’s help. In fact, we’d be better off without any of you.”
“Is it impossible for us to talk without fighting?” Eli snaps.
And there it is. Eli finally showing his true colors. “This isn’t a fight. My voice hasn’t risen high enough to draw a crowd, and I have yet to say fuck, so we’re still in the land of civil.”
Eli opens his mouth to respond when his cell buzzes. He reaches for his phone, checks the text, and a shadow falls over his face. I’ve seen that look hundreds of times growing up and that expression means whatever is going on in his precious club is more important than me, more important than staying.
It’s the look my father had right before he left me for the last time.
Why don’t I want the club involved in my life or Brandon’s? Because Brandon doesn’t need people who promise they’re going to stick around to take care of him but then abandon him the moment their cell pings. My brother deserves better than that. I deserve better now, and I deserved better when Dad was alive.
“Gotta go?” The bitterness drips in the singsong sway of my voice.
The black gaze Eli shoots me is his confirmation. “This conversation isn’t over.”
Yes, it is. “I’ve got to take care of my brother while you guys go off and play.”
I walk away from Eli because someone in Brandon’s life has to be responsible. Someone has to be the grown-up, and considering the other people in Brandon’s life are determined to stay irresponsible, the burden falls to me.
CHEVY
DAMN IF I understand why girls like getting flowers, but their faces light up, their lips will tilt upward and their eyes will glow as if you handed them the world. Hell, maybe it’s only the girls I’ve been around who react this way. Maybe their lives are so messed up that the idea of any guy offering them anything without expectation of payment blows their mind.
It’s sad, but it’s true, and I don’t mind being the person who can bring them one second of happiness.
Shamrock’s newest employee accepts the two daisies I “magically” made appear. I stole them—two tables down from a bouquet an army boy’s holding. Guess he plans on giving it to one of the cocktail waitresses. He didn’t notice I swiped the flowers and neither did anyone else. Fast hands, a distraction, and the world belongs to me.
“Thank you.” She glances away and my heart drops for her. She’s pretty. Early twenties. Could do well working here at the bar, but with that attitude, she won’t make it through the night. There’s no room for modesty or shyness or emotion in order to make money at this joint.
“Pretty girl like you,” I say with a wink, “will knock ’em dead.”
“Do you work here?” she asks.
The bar’s manager and Mom’s best friend smacks me on the back of the head before I can answer no. “Stop flirting with my girls.” Brandy gestures at me while looking at the new girl. “Watch out for him, he thinks he can con anyone into loving him.”
“You love me,” I say.
“And I regret it most days.” But she says it with a smile. Brandy then offers her hand to her newest employee. “Come on, let me show you where the real magic happens.”
“My magic’s real,” I call out, and Brandy’s only response is a loud laugh. I can’t help but chuckle with her because she’s going to be pissed in a few minutes when she realizes I lifted her watch...again.
The new girl waves as she glances at me over her shoulder. I nod in response. The twenty in my pocket says she won’t be here when I pick Mom up later. Being a waitress here requires an iron shell.
With a thud, Mom props her overly large purse on the bar, slides off my leather jacket and hands it to me, revealing her low-cut tank and what she refers to as her jeans-that-make-her-money. She asked me to drop her off early, since the other bartender called in sick.