by Casey Winter
The place is busy, so I can just settle in at the end of the bar and mind my own business. I make sure to sit at a slight angle, though, so that nobody walking in and out of the kitchen can sneak up on me. Maybe that makes me paranoid.
Frogman.
I find myself, for some unknown reason, thinking about when Hannah called me that. It’s a SEAL nickname, since we’re soldiers of the sea, since we’re at home in water. How many times have I heard that nickname? But to hear it from Hannah, it sounded new, slightly teasing. When I realize I’m smiling, I kill it.
Remember Noah. Remember that she broke his heart.
I’ve just ordered my second beer when Jock Hanlon and a man I don’t recognize lean against next to me. Jock and I used to be on the wrestling team together back in high school. He was fit then, a solid unit in a letterman jacket. Now, he’s got a slight pudge and his blonde hair is receding. Over this past month, I’ve seen him around, but he’s always been frosty. Plus, I’ve been busy with the renovations. I guess liquor, or the man at his side, has made him confident.
The other man is younger and covered in tattoos from neck to knuckle, a flinty look in his eyes. His hair is light brown and wavy, almost scruffy as it falls across his forehead. Light grazes cover his tattooed fists, and his muscles are taut and well-defined. He has the capacity for violence, I can tell right away. My eyes are trained to notice things like that.
“As I live and breathe,” Jock says, grinning. “Luke Nelson, in the flesh. I haven’t had a chance to say hello yet. Back in Little Fall to lord it over us, eh?” He winks. “Just busting your balls, Lukey boy.”
I nod shortly. “Jock.”
“What? That’s all you got to say to your old wrestling buddy?” He goes on before I can reply, addressing the other man, “You remember Luke, don’t ya, Will?”
“The wrestling star,” the young man mutters, making it sound like an insult. He doesn’t take his eyes off me for a second. “I thought he’d look … different. He’s not like I remember from when I was a kid.”
“I know,” Jock snaps. He’s very drunk, I can tell. I sit up on my stool, getting ready for a sucker punch, preparing myself for violence. My sharp, honed instincts are telling me to be ready, and I’m not in the habit of ignoring them. “The way people talk about him round here, you’d think he had wings or something. Luke Nelson, the SEAL. Luke Nelson, works for Sun-Kissed Security, whatever the hell that means.”
“Sun-Kissed,” Will snorts.
I don’t bother telling them that Sun-Disk Security is named after a type of historical shield. I just watch them calmly, waiting to see what they’ll do.
“Nah, it’s all fun and games, Lukey boy,” Jock grins, making to put his arm around me.
“I wouldn’t do that, Jock,” I mutter, leaning back slightly.
He narrows his eyes at me. Beside him, Will bristles.
“What? Give my old wrestling pal a slap on the back for old time’s sake? What’s with the high-horse stuff, Luke? You better than me now?”
“No,” I say coolly. “But I don’t see why you need to put your hand on me. I can tell how happy you are just fine from here.”
“Funny guy, always was,” Jock grunts. Suddenly, his demeanor changes. He leans forward, grimacing darkly. “Just like your old man, Luke. He’s a funny bastard, too. Nelson’s Nails, ain’t that about the stupidest damn name for a hardware store you ever heard? What, he just sell nails, does he?”
“A name’s a name,” I say, not much caring for the glint in his eye. It takes a lot of self-control not to growl at him to take this outside. But this is my hometown. This is civilian life. I’m not on a job for Sun-Disk right now. And I’m not overseas. “Anything else?”
“Anything else, he says.” Jock shakes his head in disgust. “Your old man’s been undercutting my old man, Luke. You better tell him to cut that out, or things could get nasty.”
“My old man tells me you’ve got an online business as well as the store in town,” I say. Dad doesn’t speak much, but over this past month he’s told me all about this little war he and the Hanlons are waging. “The way I see it, he’s just holding on by a thread, but you’re thriving. It doesn’t seem like you’ve got much cause for complaint.”
Will is bristling even more now, puffing himself up. I glance at the younger man. “You okay there?”
“What?” he snarls. “You wanna make something of it?”
I grin. “Don’t bark, kid, unless you’re ready to bite. I’ll only tell you once.”
Jock glances around at The Jukebox, which is even busier than when I came in. Clearly, this is the Sunday evening place to be, which makes sense since it’s the only real bar in town.
“Take it easy, Will,” Jock mutters. “Dad will go nuts if you get in another street fight. You’ve got that fight at the end of the month, and the Sheriff is already pissed at you.” Jock turns to me, smirking. “He’s an MMA fighter. A cage fighter.”
“Good for him,” I say.
With a deep laugh, Jock turns away. “Tell your old man to get his act together, Nelson. We’ll be seeing you.”
Will backs away instead of turning, keeping his eyes on me. He has the arrogant look of a young man who’s used to folk being scared of him. I hold his gaze until he almost bumps into a table.
“Careful, tough guy,” I call over.
He flinches, and makes as if to walk back over here. But then Jock touches his arm and pulls his little brother away. I remember him now. Will Hanlon. Even if we weren’t overfriendly growing up, and even if we’re less friendly now on account of the Hardware Wars, I ate dinner at Jock’s a few times over the years. I remember Will from when we ended up wrestling in the garden on a couple of occasions. He would always beg us to let him join in and fight. It looks like he finally got his wish.
I sip my beer slowly. Anybody looking at me would never guess that I’m so angry right now I could throw my stool at the wall. I’ve got this rage in me, deep and hot and burning, but, over the years, I’ve learned to control it. But I’m blisteringly angry, make no mistake, and I’m glad that Jock and Will steer clear.
After about half an hour, the place is jam-packed. The air smells of beer and nachos and hot dogs and burger grease. I’m just getting ready to leave when, just across the bar, I see Hannah leaning forward. She’s got this frilly pink shirt on, a few buttons undone, showing a slice of chest. Her hair is done and her face is bright, vivacious, attractive.
I push that thought deep, deep down. I grab my beer and finish off the dregs, but, when I look up, Hannah is no longer there. I guess she was being served when I spotted her, and she’s just paid and disappeared. Then she appears beside me. At first, I think she came over here on purpose. But then I see she’s just as surprised as I am. She’s looking for a place to sit, I realize, the Box is so busy.
Is she here alone … or with a date?
Do I care?
“Oh,” she says. “Are you … using that chair? I just need one. My friend, Penny, she doesn’t like crowds, so I’m just gonna finish my drink quickly and—”
She catches herself, turning red slightly. She’s clearly annoyed at herself for oversharing. It’s cute as hell.
It pisses me off, how cute I find it.
“I’m just leaving,” I tell her.
“Okay …”
She opens her mouth, closes it. Opens it again. She’s so endearing when she’s flustered.
No, she’s not. She’s the dorky little girl who skated up and down the driveway with your little brother, who skated all over his heart.
“I just wanted to say,” she mutters after a long pause. “I’m really sorry, you know, about Evelyn … and Noah. Whatever else happened between us, I was sorry to hear about his passing. Evelyn’s accident hit me really hard, too. She was a big part of my childhood.”
“Thank you,” I mutter tersely.
She goes on. I think she might be a little tipsy. “Evelyn was an inspiration to me, frogman.” From
the way she giggles, I know I’m right. This isn’t her first drink. Not that I’m judging her, of course. It’s just making her more talkative that she would otherwise probably be. “Ever since her accident, I always say a little prayer to her before a competition.”
“That’s just fine,” I say, trying to move around her.
But she doesn’t take the hint.
“I really credit her with helping me get to where I am—”
“Are you done?” I snap. Because hearing her talk about how much Mom meant, it’s making me admire her too much, respect her. Like her. And that’s dangerous. “I’m trying to leave here, twinkle toes. You’re in my way.”
“Wow.” She scowls, tossing her head. “Why do you have to be such a jerk?”
“If you don’t move, I’ll be forced to move you,” I tell her.
Her cheeks flush. Her eyes glint. With … desire? Excitement.
No, no, no.
“Just try it, frogman,” she says.
I sigh. “Just move, Hannah.”
She flinches at the use of her name. It’s the first time I’ve used it.
“Why?” she snaps. “What’ve I said that’s so fricking terrible, huh? I don’t have to like you, and you don’t have to like me. Obviously, there’s a lot of bad blood between our families or whatever. But I’m a grown up and, since we’re gonna be seeing each other around town, I don’t see why we can’t at least be civil.”
“Because Noah talked about you right up until the end,” I growl, struggling to keep my voice low. “He’d get drunk and call me up, talk about what might’ve been. You were the one that got away for him, always. You broke his heart into a million sniveling pieces, and now you wanna be buddies? I’m good.”
“You know what?” she hisses, stepping up to me. I feel her breasts brushing against my shirt. I swallow, almost painfully. She smells of perfume and beer. She’s beautiful. It’s undeniable how beautiful she is. “Your grand opening was a spectacular failure because of your grumpy-ass face. People don’t want to go to fricking Buzzkill Central to have a good time. Maybe work on your customer service skills, yeah? And, sure, maybe Noah did talk about me. But you clearly don’t have the whole story, so get lost, frogman.”
She spins, pacing away, basically skating across the bar in her six-inch heels, sliding between groups with impressive agility for somebody so tipsy. The most messed up part is, even with this cold fury moving through me, my eyes are drawn to her faded jeans hugging her muscled, lithe legs. I bite down, shaking my head, ignoring the smirks of those at the bar who witnessed the exchange.
I push through the crowd with much less grace than Hannah, and walk into the night. Outside, I put my hands on my hip, drinking in the warm night air, letting my beer- and anger-fuzzed head settle. Then I walk through the town, but my feet don’t take me through Memorial Park, which would lead home. Instead, I find myself walking to the other side of town, to the cemetery.
Some deep part of me must know that I’m having dangerously conflicted feelings about Hannah, because I end up at my brother’s memorial headstone. His body is buried in a military cemetery, but Dad shelled out some cash to have a gravestone put here, too. When I found out and called him to let him know I’d cover the cost, he was offended, so I never mentioned it again.
Now, I stuff my hands in my pockets and stare at the words: Beloved Son, Brother, Hero.
“Hey, little brother,” I mutter. “I’m sorry I didn’t come to the funeral. I’m sorry I … I’m sorry for some of these messed up thoughts I’ve been having about—about a girl you used to know.” For some reason, I can’t say her name, not here. “I’m sorry the grand opening was such an anticlimax, too. It looks like I’m messing everything up, eh?”
I sigh, feeling stupid. I’ve never done this before, not even at Mom’s grave.
And in the end, is saying sorry to Noah going to make any difference at all? The only thing I can do is kill these wayward thoughts stone-dead. But it’s surprisingly difficult, maybe because I never feel any sort of connection with women. I’m not a monk, and obviously I’m not a virgin, but when it comes to banter, to thinking about them when my mind should be on the task at hand, no. Never. Except, here I am, thinking about Hannah.
Walking up and down in front of my little brother’s gravestone, I shake my head. It’s not just because she’s forbidden. If that was the case, I would just go and screw Bella Hanlon, since Jock and Will’d wage war on me if I tried something like that with their sister. It’s more than that. It’s Hannah.
Frogman.
The way she says that, sassy and feisty and fierce …
“Hell.” I snarl, clenching my fists, interrupting my thoughts. “This is it. I’m done. It’s over. No more messed up fantasies.”
I can blot out the worst mission in our unit’s history, so surely I can stop thinking about one firecracker heartbreaker.
I’m about to turn away from Noah’s grave when my cellphone rings. I take it out, hoping that it’s Morgan. But, instead, it’s another Sun-Disk colleague. Well, technically he’s my boss, though it’s never felt that way and he’s never treated me like it. Maybe he knows that if he did, I’d be gone.
You are gone. Sun-Disk is over for you. You’re a roller-rink manager now.
“Oliver?” I say, answering.
“Hey, Luke. Hope I’m not calling too late.”
“Nope,” I mutter. “What’s going on?”
“Straight to business, I like it.” He laughs strangely. I guess he’s been drinking tonight. Heavily. “Listen, I was contacted earlier by a man called Jimmy Delonge, you heard of him?”
“The arms dealer?” I murmur.
“That’s the one,” he cries. “Got a contract with the Army. This is big business, Luke. The thing is, they had a protection contract with Brigade, but it fell through since they couldn’t handle the long hours …”
That doesn’t make sense. Brigade is a well-respected and efficient security firm. I wonder if Oliver has a darker side to him. Perhaps he works behind the scenes, sabotaging other businesses somehow, winning us the bigger contracts. I know the work I do for Sun-Disk is a net positive. I know that for a fact. And I’ve been too busy dealing with real, life-threatening problems to properly think about this stuff before.
But now that I’ve seen the petty way Oliver reacted to my decision to return to Little Fall, I wouldn’t put it past him.
“So we’ve won the contract,” I say into the expectant silence.
“Yes,” Oliver yells. “This is a huge opportunity for us. We need you back, Luke. With the money we can bring in with this client, I can triple your pay, quadruple it even.”
“I’ve made a lot of money, Oliver,” I say. “It’s not about the money. Helping poor bastards in Mexico to fend off those Cartel assholes, that’s one thing. But protecting some arms dealer?” I sigh, looking at Noah’s gravestone.
Son.
Hero.
Brother
And I made a vow to him. To my little brother.
“I’m not done in Little Fall.”
“With the roller rink,” he says, barely able to hold back his derision.
“With the roller rink,” I confirm.
“But your brother asked you to renovate it and reopen it, right? Haven’t you done that already?”
“I’m not getting out of this on technicalities,” I snarl. “Noah didn’t mean for me to half-ass it. He wants me to make it what it was when Mom ran it.”
“There wasn’t Twitter and iPads and video games back then, though. There are so many distractions these days.”
I snort. “How old do you think we are? Mom was forced to sell the rink in two thousand and eight. There were plenty of distractions back then, too.”
He sighs, and I can tell he’s pissed. But he knows better than to push it. “You know I’m a phone call away when you change your mind, Luke.”
“Okay. Have a good night.”
I didn’t miss that ‘when’. Not, �
�if’ you change your mind. When.
But what I told him is true. I can’t half-ass this. I have to stay in Little Fall. Even if that means I might run into Hannah again. Even if some part of me wants to run into her again, to watch as she twinkles her toes in those yoga pants, dancing between those skating cones, her long obsidian-black hair flowing magically down her shoulders, my manhood flooding at the athletic twitching in her gorgeous legs.
Damn.
So I guess I’m not done with the fantasizing after all.
Chapter Four
Hannah
A few days after the opening of Family Roller, I’m sitting with Mom in the living room, reading my Kindle as Mom paints at her easel.
She keeps glancing at me, biting her bottom lip, but then turning back to her work when she sees me looking. I wonder if there’s something she wants to talk about. Outside, rain patters against the window, the first rain since I came back. It looks pretty, the rain mixed with the bright yellow sunshine on the glass, and I just know she’s painting that.
Penny called me Monday morning to apologize for disappearing in The Jukebox. I didn’t even realize I was alone until I reached the bar and turned around to ask her what she wanted.
“It all just got too much for me, Banana,” she said. “Doc Giger said I should at least tell people before I duck out like that, so … I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be silly,” I told her. “We’ve been friends way too long for you to worry about offending me.”
“How was it?” she asked. “I saw that Luke was there. Did you talk to him?”
I sighed, then I told her about our heated exchange, the jerkish way he’d acted, all high and mighty. Blaming me for Noah’s obsession with me, like it was my fault he couldn’t move on.
“But when he calls me twinkle toes …”
“No way.” Penny giggled. “You haven’t got a crush on Luke Nelson, have you?”
