Hold On (The 'Burg Series Book 6)

by Kristen Ashley

  Mom had loved me through it all, though. She’d been there for me, for Ethan, every step of the way.

  And she still was.

  Which meant she’d shown me the way. I might not have learned early, but the least I could give her was eventually getting there.

  “Got homework,” Ethan said, walking in and dumping his backpack on his gramma’s coffee table. “But it’ll take, like, ten seconds to do.”

  “We’ll see about that,” Mom murmured. “You do it, I check it.”

  “Jeez, Gram, I know the drill,” Ethan returned.

  “Just makin’ sure you don’t forget it,” she replied.

  Ethan did his favorite thing—rolled his eyes—then declared, “I’m gettin’ a pop. You need more iced tea?”

  The last was for his gramma.

  “I’m good, sugar,” Mom replied.

  Ethan took off to the kitchen.

  Mom looked to me.

  “You good, Cher?” she asked.

  “Good, Mom,” I answered, moving in and bending low to kiss her cheek.

  She had the softest skin imaginable. It was like she had a collagen facial first thing in the morning and the last thing at night every day of her life. Not many wrinkles, which boded well for me, but to top that, her skin had a softness that was surreal.

  I loved it.

  Always did.

  Even when I was young, stupid, and being an asshole.

  “Have a good day at work,” Mom told me as I straightened away.

  “Always do,” I replied, and she knew I did. Being a bartender might not be like being a jet-set supermodel, but it was a fuckuva lot better than being a stripper.

  “Kid! Your mom is hittin’ the road!” I shouted.

  Ethan came in with a can of Sprite in his hand, looking at me.

  “Later,” he said, mouth curved up.

  No hug. No kiss.

  I wasted several seconds of my life wishing I could turn back time, just a year, maybe two, when Ethan wouldn’t let me leave without both.

  When I didn’t get my wish, I said, “Later.”

  I grinned at him. I grinned at Mom.

  Then I took off.

  I hit the bar and saw that Morrie was the one in to start opening. This was good. Colt might have told Feb what had happened with Merry and me, and she’d hesitate half a nanosecond in getting up in my shit about it.

  “Yo,” I called to Morrie as I hit the bar.

  “Yo, babe,” Morrie returned, at the cash register, putting in our float.

  I went to the office to stow my purse and cardie, grabbing my cell to shove it in my back pocket, came out, and hit the back of the bar.

  “Just so you know, I owe you five hundred dollars, seein’ as me and Merry emptied that bottle of Talisker Friday night.”

  As I spoke, Morrie’s eyes on me grew huge.

  Now, Morrie Owens, he was cute. A big ole bear of a man with a protective streak, a great sense of humor, and a deep love of family.

  “Say the fuck what?” he asked.

  “Mia,” I answered quietly.

  His surprise left and he looked to the cash register, muttering, “Shit.” His eyes came back to me. “Shoulda known.”

  “Merry did the bottle some damage, but I kept him company after closing and we emptied it. Not his choice. He was up for calling a taxi. So I’ll catch you at end of shift with my tips and hit the ATM tomorrow before I come to work.”

  He shook his head, attention back to the register where he was closing the cash drawer. “That’ll be me and Feb’s contribution to the cause of Merry bein’ a dumb fuck and not claimin’ back his woman.”

  That pissed me off, and being me, I let it be known.

  “All was fair in life, Mia Merrick would waltz her round ass in here and pay you that five hundred for being an even dumber fuck and not claimin’ back her man.”

  Morrie looked back to me, and I might have worried about what he’d read in my words if I was the kind of woman everyone knew me not to be.

  “Wasn’t her whose mom was murdered in her own damned home when she was a kid,” I carried on. “Wasn’t her sister who was in that house and heard that shit go down. Wasn’t her who had to live with that, grief buried deep, none of that family havin’ the tools to sort out their heads. But it was her who had a man who lived that, and it was her who didn’t stand by that man. So, far’s I’m concerned, he’s good that he’s finally shot of her. Maybe next time, he’ll find a better one.”

  And I hoped that to be true. It would kill, but I still hoped it would turn true. I’d be good with Merry happy. It would suck, but it’d still be good.

  And anyway, that was life.

  Or it was my life.

  “You know, didn’t think of it that way, but you’re far from wrong,” Morrie told me.

  “No shit?” I asked.

  He started chuckling.

  “We’ll share the load. I’ll give you two hundred and fifty,” I offered.

  He shook his head as we heard the back door open, which meant Ruthie was strolling in.

  “Glad you were there for him,” he said. “I shoulda been there for him. Colt, Mike, someone. But I ’spect, what you just said, it’s good it was you. Least I can do is cover the man’s whisky.”

  It was cool of him to offer, and before this degenerated into a battle I couldn’t win (because Morrie offering meant Morrie doing it), I decided to give in.

  Bonus to that coolness, I wasn’t out a wad of cash.

  “Hey,” Ruthie called.

  “Thanks,” I said to Morrie, then turned to Ruthie and called back, “Yo, bitch.”

  She grinned, shaking her head, and went to the office.

  Morrie headed to the front door to unlock it.

  Two minutes later, we had our first customer.

  * * * * *

  It got busy early. Once church was done and after-church big breakfasts at Frank’s or big lunches at home were consumed, games were on and people hauled their asses out to commune with their fellow citizens and throw back some beers.

  This was good for two reasons: more cash in my pocket, and being busy took my mind off the fact that at any second, Merry was going to walk in and deliver a blow he didn’t know he was delivering.

  I didn’t get jumpy waiting for it. I knew better than that. I was resigned to the way of the world.

  Jack came in, which meant me on the floor since he always worked back of the bar. I didn’t mind this. I had candy bars and Funyuns to work off my ass, and tips were just as steady at the tables.

  I was delivering some drafts when he came in. I felt him like a sixth sense, and this wasn’t a new ability he’d instilled in me after fucking me. The minute I’d laid eyes on him and the months it’d taken me to get to know him and fall in love was when I’d gained that talent.

  I looked his way, saw his eyes on me, face guarded, and I gave it to him right away. A big, cocky Cher smile.

  He grinned, not quite hiding the relief, then looked to the bar, giving chin lifts to Morrie and Jack while heading around to the opposite end where all the cops hung out.

  He did not take Colt’s stool, the last one around the far curve. If there wasn’t another choice, no one did. Colt’s stool was his should he decide to saunter in, Feb there or not. It was just the way it was.

  But Merry did take the stool next to it, one down from the hinge of the bar.

  I dropped the drafts, took an order at a table on the way back to the bar, and wedged into the space between Merry’s occupied stool and Colt’s unoccupied one.

  I’d bucked myself up before arriving so I was all good when I got there.

  “Hey,” I said to him.

  “Hey,” he said to me, eyes moving over my face, eyes that flashed in my head as a memory, heated and hooded, right before he came.

  Shit.

  “You get a break soon?” he asked.

  “We’re ordering in Shanghai Salon in a while,” I told him.

  “Let me take y
ou to Frank’s. I can call in our orders so they’ll have them ready and I can get you back to work on time,” he offered.

  So he didn’t intend to deliver the blow with me at work.

  That was Merry—meaning, that was nice.

  “Hang tight,” I replied and looked to Jack heading my way. “Two Bud Lights and a Coors, bottle.”

  “Got it,” Jack said, then looked to Merry. “Hey, son, you on?”

  “Yeah, Jack. Can you shoot me a Coke?”

  “Sure thing,” Jack replied.

  I got my bottles first and told Merry I’d be back as Jack was aiming the drink gun into a glass of ice.

  I dropped the beers, did a walk-through of my tables, got no orders, and headed back to the bar.

  I hit the opposite side of Merry this time, closer to the room and not the wall, and wedged in.

  “No orders, have a second now,” I told him.

  “Then tell me what you want me to order you at Frank’s and ask for your break,” he replied.

  “You on lunch hour at four in the afternoon, or what?” I asked.

  “Things are slow, but yeah, Mike’s doin’ paperwork at the station, and shit goes down, I’ll have to head out. Either way, I need to get back, so I don’t got a lotta time.”

  That being the case, I moved into him, holding his gaze. “Right, then, do what you gotta do. Get Mike a sandwich and head back, because you know we’re—”

  I didn’t finish because Merry looked from me to over my shoulder. His brows drew slightly together and he straightened a bit on his stool, so I looked over my shoulder too.

  At what I saw, I fully straightened and mostly turned.

  This was because Trent’s wife, Peggy, was standing at the corner of the bar.

  She looked so out of place it wasn’t funny. Baggy, high-waisted mom jeans. A shapeless top that showed very little skin and attempted to hide the fact she hadn’t taken off her baby weight, which was somewhat substantial, laying evidence to the fact it wasn’t all baby weight. No muss, no fuss hairstyle for her brunette hair, which could have been Martha Stewart hair, in a good way, but she seemed allergic to a roller brush and teasing comb. No makeup at all. Sneakers that looked like they were Reebok aerobics shoes from the ’80s, not kickass Chucks or cool Vans or neon Nikes.

  And last, a pinched look on her face that said the last time she’d been in a bar was never and she wished she could have kept it that way.

  “Cheryl,” she said, and my name sounded forced out.

  “Peg,” I replied, turning fully her way even though I did not freaking want to, and not only because I did not want to be talking to Peg, but because Merry was right…freaking…there. Once turned, I greeted all friendly, “Hey.”

  She opened her massive purse, which looked like a diaper bag gone bad, and that was a feat since most of those things weren’t the height of fashion, not to mention it was an actual purse, not a diaper bag at all.

  Then she pulled out the envelope Trent had with him yesterday and slapped it on the bar.

  It took a lot, but I managed not to recoil from it like it was a rattler she’d wrangled out, pissing it off and setting it on a trajectory to strike me.

  I also could actually feel Merry’s eyes honing in on that envelope in a way it was a wonder it didn’t burst into flames from the laser beam precision.

  She kept her hand on the envelope as she spoke.

  “Trent made a mistake and took this with him after you guys talked yesterday,” she declared. “I thought it was important to get it back to you straight away.”

  “Peg—” I started but didn’t get any further.

  “Also, just so you know, the arrangements he told you we were going to make for you and Ethan will start this week. We’ll be mailing the first check on Friday.”

  I knew from her look and tone, which had always been friendly and now was not, that not only was Trent on her shit list for fucking up yesterday’s conversation, he’d shared what I’d said and she was not happy with me either.

  She also wasn’t wasting any time putting her plan into motion.

  That being they could share with a judge they’d scrimped, saved, and sacrificed to do right by me, but mostly Ethan, even after Trent had royally fucked things up, being a junkie loser who took off on his bitch and took her money with him.

  I really wanted to tell her to go fuck herself. That all this shit was total bullshit, but her play, coming to me at my place of work when I couldn’t make a return play, was jacked.

  I couldn’t do that. Too much was at stake. I had to be cool for Ethan but also because Merry was watching.

  “Babe, I think it might be a good idea if we all found a time to sit down and talk,” I suggested.

  She scooted the envelope closer to me, replying, “You’re at work, so I don’t want to take a lot of your time. I think Trent made things clear yesterday. Now, I need you to take this envelope, Cheryl. You know, so I know what’s in it is safe.”

  “Maybe—” I began, but she scooted the envelope sharply another inch my way and cut me off.

  “You’re at work and I have kids to get home to. If you’ll take this, I’ll know it’s good and I can get home to my family.”

  Her words giving me no other choice, I reached out, and as I did, she quickly removed her hand so I could curl my fingers around the envelope and we’d not touch.

  When I had it held safely in my hand, she nodded and declared, “We hope to see Ethan soon. Have a good day at work. See you.”

  With that, she turned on her aerobics shoes and walked out.

  I stared after her, belatedly regretting my play of the day before.

  I got pissed, which meant Trent got pissed and tipped his hand, which meant Peggy got pissed, and I wasn’t sure Peg pissed was a good thing.

  There was a reason Trent had come to heel. His kind of devotion to Peg could be won through reward or through punishment.

  I was getting the sense right then it was punishment.

  “You takin’ a payoff right in front of a cop?”

  Merry’s voice, being Merry’s voice (meaning Merry was there and had seen that, then said what he said, even though I knew it was a joke), tipped me over an edge I’d been riding for a long fucking time. But that weekend it was sharper, so it didn’t take much for me to tip over.

  Therefore I turned and snapped, “No it isn’t a fuckin’ payoff.”

  Merry’s chin jerked down and his eyes narrowed.

  “It was a joke, Cher,” he told me.

  “It wasn’t a funny one,” I told him, pressing the envelope to my stomach.

  He looked down to it and then up to me. “Who was that woman?”

  “No one.”

  At my answer, his ear dipped slowly to his shoulder before his head straightened and a look came over his face I’d never seen on him before.

  But it was scary.

  “What’s in the envelope, babe?” he asked, his tone forced to casual, which meant it wasn’t casual at all.

  “Nothing,” I answered. “Listen, I gotta—”

  “What’s in the envelope, Cher?”

  “Nothing,” I repeated. “Now, goin’ back to what we were talk—”

  He leaned an inch toward me and I was not a girl who was easily intimidated, but I had to admit, that inch was intimidating.

  “What’d she give you? Who was that woman? Who is Trent? And what do they gotta do with Ethan?”

  “Merry, straight up, this isn’t any of your business.”

  That was when he leaned two inches toward me, and if one inch was intimidating, two was a threat.

  This meant I should have known it was coming.

  But knowing Merry, or thinking I did, thus thinking he wouldn’t have what he was going to give me in him, I had no clue.

  “Made you come for me,” he whispered. “More than once. Straight up, Cher, it is. Who the fuck was that woman? Why is she passin’ off cash to you? And why’s it got you freaked way the fuck out?”

/>   His words exploded in my head along with the knowledge he wanted to take me to Frank’s to lower a boom he didn’t know he was lowering to share, even after what we had, that we were just friends.

  Therefore, so far beyond thinking about the right way to play it, I played it stupid, leaning forward and hissing, “Wouldn’t think I had to educate you, Merry, but seems I gotta educate you. Thrusting your cock in a woman like me doesn’t mean you own me.”

  He leaned back, which meant he straightened, and seeing as even sitting on a stool he was taller than me and I had to look up, that sucked.

  Looking up meant he was looking down. Not his chin dipped, but he was looking down his nose, superior as shit, which was infuriating, and hot as fuck, which was intensely annoying.

  His voice was a low, sexy as all hell drawl when he replied, “Wouldn’t think I had to educate you either, baby. You know the man I am. You laid that shit out for me Friday night. But straight up, I thrust my cock in you, it means when some mom bitch shows at your work and freaks you out, I do what I gotta do to take your back.”

  “I can take care of myself,” I snapped in another hiss.

  His brows went up. “So you do got somethin’ you gotta take care of.”

  Shit!

  “Merry—”

  I got no more out because his hand clamped on my upper arm and his head turned to the bar.

  “Cher’s on break,” he growled.

  “Uh…okay, dude,” Morrie replied.

  I got one look in to Morrie to see he looked as freaked as me, but for an entirely different reason, before Merry dragged me to the office.

  Once he had us in, he slammed the door.

  I yanked my arm from his hold, took two steps into the room, turned to him, and launched right in. “If it’s okay with you, I’d actually like to use my break to eat something, Merry, not do whatever this shit is with you.”

  Merry ignored me.

  “Who was that woman?”

  “Not your business.”