“Cool, but next time you get cut open, call me. Put the shop number in your phone so that you can get in touch with me during the day. I don’t answer my cell when I’m with clients. Cora can get me if you need me.”

I tapped the number in my phone and regarded my brother seriously.

“We good?”

His eyes were so much cooler than mine, so much more guarded, and I could tell he wasn’t a hundred percent on board with forgiving me just yet.

“For now we are.”

It didn’t sound like he had much hope for me being able to act right in the foreseeable future. I didn’t like that at all. He told me he needed to get to his client, so we said good-bye and I found myself looking back through the glass to get another glimpse of the intriguing blonde. Too bad she had her back to me and appeared to be deep in conversation with Nash about something. I turned and went back to where I left my bike on the street to head down to Brite’s bar.

I asked him the name of the place when I went to pick up my bike on the day after the Fourth, and he said it was called whatever I wanted to call it. The place had no official name, no signage, nothing. He told me most of the regulars just called it the Bar. That worked for me and it fit the simple, no-frills ambience of the place. So did the primarily classic rock that rattled off the old sound system Brite kept behind the bar. Plus he said that when most of the regulars grumbled to their pissed-off spouses that they were headed to the Bar, the vagueness of the name offered them a little breathing room while the angry wives called around town looking for which bar exactly.

When I got there, I was surprised that there was already a line of older guys seated at the bar top. I was having to work really hard at not disappearing into a bottle every night, and seeing them was a stark reminder that I could very well be them if I didn’t get it together sooner rather than later. I didn’t want to be the lonely guy at the bar before noon, no one wondering where I was, no one concerned about my well-being, no place better to be or nothing better to do, with the bottom of a glass offering my only absolution. It didn’t escape my notice that a lot of Brite’s regular clientele, the guys that had been in here steadily since I wandered in a few days ago, were ex-military. The last thing I wanted was to become just one more … of anything.

The big man caught my eye from behind the bar and waved me over. I tried not to cringe when I had to walk over the lovely rust-colored stain that spread across the old wooden floor, courtesy of yours truly. I whipped my hat off, because even though we were from two different branches, and I probably outranked him in the reality of things, there was just something about Brite that demanded you show respect. I don’t know if it was the eyes, so dark and serious, or that epic beard, but I had enough years in the service to know when to show proper regard for a fellow serviceman.

I leaned up against the end of the bar. I figured that kept me from looking like the sorry sacks that were posted up at it, already three or four rounds in.

“Thanks again for watching the bike, and the run to the ER. I really do appreciate it. I wish you would let me pay you for the damages.”

I had more money in savings than I knew what to do with. I wasn’t married, there wasn’t a girlfriend, I didn’t have kids, or a house and a dog, so while I was deployed, all I had to cover was the Harley and my truck. I wasn’t a millionaire by any stretch of the imagination, but until I figured out what in the hell I was going to do with myself for the foreseeable future, I most definitely had enough stockpiled to live on comfortably. I could clean up the mess I made in the Bar and not even notice it was gone. Only Brite just shook his shaggy head, and that rueful grin split his beard.

“I don’t need your money, son.”

I lifted the eyebrow that was under the scar, it was the only one I could arch independently, so I did it a lot.

“No? Well, what did you mean when you said we could work something out?”

I had to wait as he was called to the other end of the bar by one of the patrons. It startled me to realize the new customer was probably only five years older than me. I also recognized the Army Ranger insignia tattooed on his bicep and felt a shiver of apprehension slide down my spine. I didn’t want to see myself in these guys, in this place, but it was getting harder and harder not to.

By the time Brite made his way back to me, I had given up the fight and propped myself up on an empty stool. My thoughts had drifted down a rather dark path, and I was having to struggle really hard to stay in the present. I wondered briefly if it showed on my face. I used to think I was pretty good at hiding all the turmoil that was crawling, saturating, filling me up from the inside out. After the blowup with Rule, and the way Brite was looking at me as he lumbered in my direction, I wasn’t so sure that was the case. I cleared my throat and forced myself to meet that charcoal gaze as he leaned on heavy forearms across from me.

“How handy are you?”

I tilted my head to the side and considered him in puzzlement. “What exactly do you mean by ‘handy’?” I mean I could break down pretty much any weapon you put in my hand and have it back together and firing in seconds, I could field-dress any number of injuries, I could tinker with the motor on the Harley and probably troubleshoot the basics of anything thrown at me. I was a problem solver by nature, but I wasn’t going to go out and build a house from the ground up or anything crazy like that.

He gave me that grin that I was starting to think meant the guy had something up his sleeve.

“You’re a guy with plenty of time on his hands and I’m a guy with a bar in serious need of some TLC. I already spend too much time here and I have no desire to be stripping floors and refinishing this bar top at my age. You bled all over it, you can fix it.”

We stared at each other in a tense silence for a long time. I was trying to figure out if he was serious and I think he was waiting to see if I was going to waffle or not. Finally I had to blink, so I leaned back in the stool with a sigh.

“Are you sure you don’t just want me to come regulate, like watch the door for you for a few weeks or something? Then no one would have to worry about bleeding on the floor in the first place.”

He barked out a laugh that made me cringe.

“No offense, son, but last time you were in a scuffle in here, you were the one that had to get dragged to the doc.”

I made a face and tried not to let the truth of it sting my already wounded pride. “I was drunk, and outnumbered.”

“It doesn’t matter. I don’t need a bouncer. I need a helping hand, someone I can trust, and someone that can be in here and not judge, because maybe, just maybe, he sees a little bit of himself in some of the regulars.”

It took every single fiber of self-control I had not to react to his dead-on assessment of how I was feeling. I had to fight not to fidget but to just sit still and try and think of any good excuse not to do what he was asking me to do. When nothing came to mind, it made that dark place I was hovering on get just a little bit wider.

Not even six months ago I was in charge of over a hundred men. I planned clandestine missions, I was the go-to guy for all the answers and solutions, and none of that translated to any kind of goddamn real-world job experience. I indeed had way too much free time on my hands and no end in sight for it. It made my head hurt and my heart speed up a little in my chest, so I cleared my throat and told Brite thanks when he set a glass of water down in front of me.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather me write you a check?”

He shook his head and that grin I was really starting to mistrust broke through once again.

“Nope. I don’t need your cash, I need you.”

Seeing that there really was no way around it if I wanted to be a man of my word, I nodded solemnly. I wanted to show this burly man who I respected without question, because I felt like we were kindred spirits, that I might not know where I was going or what I was doing but I still had more honor than one man needed in this lifetime.

“All right. I can do what you need me to do. How long do you think it’ll all take?”

He laughed long and hard, so hard that some of the other regulars looked our way in curiosity. I didn’t see why it was funny but I kept my mouth shut.

“As long as it takes, son.”

That seemed vague and open-ended, but before I could make him hammer down a more definitive time frame, he slapped his meaty hands down on the bar in front of me and leaned across the wooden expanse so that we were eye to eye. It was unnerving to have those dark eyes peer so intently into my own, but I immediately understood that whatever he was going to follow up with was to be taken seriously. This was without a doubt Brite’s I’m serious as hell face.

“No drinking while you’re working. I mean it.”

I frowned a little. “Okay.”

“I’m serious, Rome. I know firsthand how easy it can be to lose track of what it’s like trying to live outside the bottle. What you do in your free time is of no concern to me, you want to pickle your liver that’s your choice to make, but while you’re here, I won’t watch another good man go down.”

“Weren’t you the one pouring me endless shots of Wild Turkey the other night?” I would rather have all my teeth removed from my head by rusty pliers than admit how often a bottle of Belvedere was putting me to bed these days.

“It was the Fourth; every soldier should be allowed to celebrate what they have given up to support freedom, no matter how long ago that victory was.”

I considered him carefully, but couldn’t fault him his reasoning, so I just shrugged.

“All right, I don’t think that should be a problem.”

“It won’t be a problem.”

Jeez, this guy sounded like the very first drill sergeant I had when I enlisted.

“Okay, Brite, it won’t be a problem.”

His teeth appeared through the tangle of facial hair again and he smacked his palms flat on the bar.

“Excellent. You’ll meet the rest of the gang eventually as we go along. The Sons of Sorrow haven’t been back in, but if they come, I’ll have a talk with the chapter president and let him know he better rein his prospects in. I don’t mind a fistfight here or there, it gives the place character and keeps things interesting, but I have a hard-and-fast rule and no one, and I mean no one, touches servicemen or women when they’re in here. Everyone knows that.”

I laughed a little and climbed to my feet.

“It’s the American Legion.”

Brite laughed with me and picked up a bar towel. “Civilian life can be a real bitch to settle back into, sometimes it helps to have a place that feels more familiar. That’s what the Bar is all about, son.”

Since I was feeling so adrift myself, I had to admit what he was talking about sounded not only nice but also particularly necessary. I slapped my ball cap back on my head and shook Brite’s hand. I agreed that I would be back tomorrow when he opened the doors at ten in the morning. I wasn’t exactly excited about it, but it was the first time since I got back to the States that I actually had someplace to be. And that felt more right than anything had in a long time.

I would’ve gotten up early the next morning, but considering I was sleeping fitfully at best, I was wide-awake already when my alarm went off at eight. Since Nash normally didn’t have to go into work until noon, we usually tried to hit up the gym before he went in—that is, if he made it home from wherever he spent the night before. I think he felt bad for me, because while he and Rule had a pretty lax gym ritual they usually adhered to, I went every morning, and since I’d moved in he had managed to trudge along or at least made the effort to try. I needed the gym to work out the things chasing me in my subconscious, and even if I didn’t feel like a warrior anymore, at least I could still look like one. Besides, I was just too big; if I didn’t go to the gym, I would turn into a blob of a man in no time flat, especially since I was no longer out running PT and ops with kids ten years younger than me on the regular.