Rum and Notes

by Elise Faber

  “What kind of work do you—”

  He stopped talking, probably because I pushed up the right sleeve of his shirt further when I realized what was there. It had the eagle, the globe, the anchor. It had Semper Fi. But that wasn’t what had made me reach out, what made my breath catch from more than his ridiculous good looks.

  There were tally marks below the image.

  Tally marks like my brother had inked on his arm below the same tattoo.

  Except this one had two additional marks that my brother hadn’t worn.

  Because my brother had been one of those two lines.

  He was a line.

  Hayden had been reduced to a line. My throat tightened, my scalp tingled, and I wavered on my feet.

  “No denying I like your hands on me, darlin’,” the man murmured. “But usually I like my women not passing out while they’re doing it.”

  My eyes flashed up, meeting his, finally understanding why my gut didn’t burn at his use of endearments, why I knew they were just cotton candy. Because I knew this man. It had been more than a decade since I’d seen him, but I knew him.

  “Brent,” I murmured, finally noticing the nametag, finally putting all the pieces together.

  Six months, and I’d missed it.

  Of course, I’d spent most of that time buried in my laptop and focused on Kace. But for six months, I’d missed that my brother’s team leader was working in this very bar, and—

  Brent froze, hands coming to my arms again and crouching a bit to look into my eyes. “Brooke?” he exclaimed. “Holy fucking shit. Brooke McAlister, is that you?”

  I nodded, my heart still absolutely aching at the reminder of my brother, and yet it was almost a pleasant ache because Brent was here, and he was okay. My brother wasn’t, but Brent was, and that was a really good thing. “It is.”

  “Holy shit, darlin’.”

  I smiled. “You said that already.”

  “Brookie girl, when did you grow up?”

  My smile slipped. “You know as well as I do the answer to that question.”

  His face sobered, and he cupped my cheek lightly. “Sorry, Brookie.”

  I placed my palm over his. “It’s fine.”

  “It’s not fine,” he said. “But I’ll leave it for now.” The teasing light slipped back into his expression as he pulled back, gaze tracing her from toes to top. “Well, ten years or not, darlin’, you’re going to let me take you to dinner.”

  And now his expression wasn’t light or teasing, and it definitely wasn’t brotherly like the last time I’d seen him before he and my brother had deployed, a deployment that had led to my twin’s death.

  Not during the mission.

  In the aftermath of returning to civilian life.

  “What are you doing on this coast?” I asked, shaking my head and shoving the memories down. It had taken a long time to lock those memories away, to live my life without shadows and pain, and to find enjoyment in the simple things.

  Losing Hayden had changed everything.

  “Looking for a good woman,” Brent said with a flash of white teeth. “Just didn’t expect I’d find one so easily.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Laying it on thick, aren’t you?”

  He grinned again. “I don’t think you’ve seen yourself, darlin’. Do you even look in the mirror because”—his eyes took on that look again, except this time, it was from top to toes—“luscious doesn’t begin to describe it.”

  “Yup,” I said, “Definitely laying it on thick.”

  Brent waggled his brows. “Thick is how many, many women have described it.”

  “Oh my God,” I muttered.

  “Yes?”

  I smacked him, but my lips were curved, and I don’t think I’d realized how much I’d missed him because having him there in that moment made something settle inside of me. A sharp stake removed, an ache fading away.

  Life moving on.

  Brent had moved on and so it was okay that I had, too.

  “Brent!”

  We both turned and saw Kace behind the bar. Even from thirty feet away with about a bajillion people between us, I could tell his blue eyes were flashing and his expression bordered on deadly.

  “Shit,” Brent muttered. “I’ve gotta get back to work.”

  “I won’t keep you,” I said softly. “He looks pissed.”

  “Kace may be an asshole, but he’s my asshole,” Brent said. “Plus, he always looks like that.”

  Not from what I’d seen, but I didn’t say that.

  “Grab your stool, pretty girl,” Brent said, brushing past me. “I’ll buy you a drink and maybe by the end of the night, you’ll let me buy you dinner, darlin’.”

  “Maybe I’ll buy you dinner,” I said.

  He laughed, and I followed him to the bar, taking my stool as he paused at the pass-through that led behind it, and doing this while studiously avoiding Kace’s eyes. Brent would get the card for me. I had no doubt about that. I just had to hang out a bit, let him know, and then I could get back to my keyboard.

  Good plan, if I did say so myself.

  I snagged Brent’s hand as he started to move through, opening my mouth to ask about the credit card, but for some reason, the request didn’t come out. Instead, I nodded to the tattoo on his arm and murmured, “You added him.”

  Brown eyes softened. “He was my brother, too.”

  My heart clenched. “Thank you.”

  His hand turned over so that my fingers laced with his, and he gave them a light squeeze. “Nothing to thank.” A beat. “What are you drinking?”

  “I’ve got it.”

  Kace.

  I jumped when he plunked a glass down in front of me.

  “Your end of the bar is swamped,” he growled at Brent. “Get over there.”

  Brent didn’t seem to take it personal. In fact, he grinned, clapped his hand on Kace’s shoulder, and took off for his side. “On it, boss.”

  Kace rolled his eyes but didn’t comment as Brent picked up a shaker. “Kace!” he called as he filled it. “That pretty darlin’ down there is gonna buy me dinner. Make sure she has a full glass all night, ‘kay?”

  I started laughing. The man was ridiculous and had absolutely no shame. Absolutely none at—

  I caught the look on Kace’s face.

  All right then, maybe not so funny after all.

  Six

  Kace

  She let him call her darlin’.

  Darlin’.

  I couldn’t use sweetheart or baby or honey or sugar pie, but she’d let Brent call her darlin’.

  What the fuck?

  “Fucking hot,” Brent said when I moved to retrieve a fresh rack of glasses from the dishwasher. “I didn’t expect that she’d turn out like—”

  “Get on those drinks.” I glared at my friend. “Darlin’,” I muttered, shaking my head. “Fucking darlin’.”

  Brent grinned. “Should try it, bro. Brookie girl likes it. Might get you out of this pussy slump.”

  I set aside pussy slump for the moment and focused on Brookie.

  Gut seizing, I spun to face Brent. “Tell me you haven’t,” I gritted out, getting into my friend’s face and not giving one fuck.

  “Haven’t what?”

  “You better not have fucking touched her.”

  Look, Brent was a good guy. We’d been friends for close to five years, ever since we both got out of the military and our paths had crossed at a mutual friend’s wedding. But Brent was a player and—

  Brooke deserved more than a player.

  Also, no coincidence that the more-than-a-player was going to be me.

  “I’ve known Brookie for almost fifteen years, bud. Of course, I’ve touched her.”

  I growled.

  Brent’s eyes went serious. “Shit, man.”

  I shook my head, shoved a new rack of dirty glasses into the washer with more force than was warranted. I also very determinedly shrugged off Brent’s hand and glared up at him. “I�
��m not backing off.”

  A raised brow in response. “Not asking you to.”

  “Good,” I gritted. “Because I’m not.”

  I had just spun back to the bar when Brent clamped a hand down on my shoulder. “Bro.”

  “What?” I snapped, purposely not focusing on the fact that I was feeling pissed and possessive over a girl I’d known for all of fifteen minutes—because I didn’t think the six months of biding my time counted, even if it had clued me into what she preferred to drink and what she was actually working on.

  “I served with her brother,” Brent said. “Her twin.”

  Tension gathered between my shoulders, and I knew from the tone, from the look in Brent’s eyes when he glanced over at me. I knew.

  “He—” Brent shook his head roughly. “Fuck, I don’t know what to say. It’s not fair to tell you he couldn’t hang or take returning to civilian life because that’s not fair to him and all he went through. And we went through a lot of shit. Brookie, me, the guys, the doctors . . . he was sick, and we couldn’t find a way to help him.” He swallowed hard. “Fuck me, we couldn’t help him.”

  Now I found myself grabbing Brent’s shoulder. “It’s not your fault.”

  Silence. My friend’s frame remained tense. But after a long moment, Brent sighed and nodded. “Gotta get those girls their daiquiris.” He grabbed a clean blender jar. “Fucking daiquiris are such a pain in the ass to make.”

  “Brent.”

  He stopped, eyes on the floor. “I know, Kace.” A beat. “Thanks.”

  I sighed, nodded when he glanced up at me, then got back to work filling orders. But I wasn’t really there. My mind was on what Brent had said, what I’d now realized about Brooke.

  Had she always been shy and hiding? Or had losing her twin done that to her?

  And why did he want to be the one to coax her out of her shell?

  Seven

  Brooke

  For the first time in Bobby’s Bar, my glass was empty.

  I’d like to think that it was because it was Friday night and the restaurant was busy (it was). I’d even prefer to think it was because the bar was five-deep with customers and every single table on the floor was stuffed with patrons (this was also true). I’d also really like to pretend it was because of that extreme crowding (I even had people in my personal bubble, unfortunately).

  But I knew it wasn’t.

  I just couldn’t figure out if Kace was avoiding me because he was pissed or if it was because he was trying to stop me from getting my card back.

  Based on the blue glare he kept tossing my way, I was hazarding that it was the first.

  I just didn’t understand why.

  As in, why he was the least bit interested in a boring, mom-jean-wearing author whose idea of a great Friday night involved Netflix, copious amounts of popcorn and cheap wine, and . . . no one else around. And if it did involve going out in public—because of a noisy chainsaw-imitating neighbor—then it involved my laptop and my fictional worlds.

  Except, I hadn’t brought my laptop tonight, and so aside from spending some time plotting something that I would probably forget since I was without pens and notebooks and typing something that made sense on my phone was a lost cause I’d learned years ago, I was twiddling my thumbs.

  And people watching.

  Or rather, Kace watching.

  He really was liquid in motion, beautiful and smooth as he moved behind the bar, reaching onto the shelves for a bottle, pouring from it into a shaker in a perfect, steady stream, then capping it and mixing the ingredients together.

  I knew from experience that he mixed a good drink, that he didn’t just drop a dollop on top of a drink or slosh it into the bottom so your sips wound up inconsistent—either all booze or none at all. They flowed down, and way too easily for a lightweight such as herself, but they were damned good.

  And I could use another one right at that moment.

  My personal bubble had been more than invaded. It had been thoroughly popped by the girl next to me.

  She was beautiful, blonde to my red, long and tall and lithe to my short curves, dressed provocatively in a short, skintight dress that put my T-shirt, jeans, and hoodie to shame.

  But we were both doing the same thing.

  Staring at Kace. As though our gazes might hook into his skin and draw him near.

  Pathetic.

  Especially considering I’d been fishing a number of times in my thirty-something years and I never—and I mean never—caught anything. In fact, it was so bad that my twin had banned me from even being on the boat with him after the one time I’d managed to hook something. I’d been so engrossed in the book I’d brought with me that I hadn’t seen.

  Hayden’s nine-hundred-dollar pole had been launched into the river and never seen again.

  I hadn’t missed the raw worms or the casting for hours, but I had missed Hayden’s soft chuckles as he’d watched me struggle and reel in nothing over and over, the warm sunshine on my face, the damp smell of the river, the sound of the water flowing.

  And I’d missed those hours with my twin.

  Even more so now.

  Swallowing hard, I blinked my eyes rapidly. Usually I was good at compartmentalizing, and I hadn’t broken out into tears in public over my twin in years, but seeing Brent made it seem fresh once again.

  He wouldn’t want me crying over him.

  So I didn’t, but just as I grabbed my glass, wanting to suck back a few of the remaining droplets in order to distract myself from my tight throat, I suddenly found myself almost launched off my stool. My glass slipped, dumping ice and the remnants of my rum and coke into my lap. Luckily, there wasn’t much of it left, but I still managed to gain a lovely wet spot right between my thighs.

  Cute, that.

  I turned to my right, saw the slender blonde glaring down at me, and parted my lips to say . . . something—demand an apology, blurt a ‘What the hell?’ tell her to back out of my bubble. But I didn’t get the chance.

  “Watch it, bitch,” she snapped at me, glaring down her nose like I was the one who’d run into her.

  Seriously.

  What. The. Fuck?

  Now, my lips parted further and the words I readied to loose were much, much more R-rated.

  Kace got there first.

  He leaned over the bar, handed me a towel, then moved through the pass-through and shoved between us. He put his back right in the girl’s face, bumping her without apparent concern.

  That was because all his concern was pointed in my direction.

  “You okay, babe?” he murmured, bending over me to grab the glass from where it had fallen between my legs.

  Yes. Between my legs.

  Kace Last-Name-Unknown was between my legs.

  Take that Blondie.

  “Babe?” he asked again. “You okay?”

  I nodded, began dabbing at my thighs with the towel. “I’m good. Thanks.”

  “Another drink?”

  I nodded again. “Please.”

  One half of his mouth curved up, and he rested his palm on my arm. Sparks. Heat. A shiver that skated down my spine. The man was a fucking drug. “On it, babe,” he murmured, fingers tracing over my bare skin and ramping up the sparks and heat. He started to move back behind the bar, but Blondie stopped him by grabbing his shoulder.

  “Hey,” she said, all sultry and hateable. “I—”

  “Why are you still here?” Kace growled.

  Her—and petty of me to think this, even though it was probably true—collagen-filled lips parted in outrage. “Excuse me?”

  Kace rounded the bar, grabbed me a clean glass, and began mixing my drink. “You heard me.” He plunked the cup in front of me. “There you go, babe.”

  Blondie was glancing between us, mouth still agape, outrage manifesting in a bright—and still petty of me, but I was all in on the petty train, so I was going with it—blush on her cheeks that was very unflattering with her complexion. Finally, Blond
ie’s gaze rested on me, and her nose wrinkled. “You like that?” she said with a sniff.

  I gasped.

  Seriously? Times two.

  I couldn’t have written a better bitchy villain than this woman in front of me.

  And I couldn’t have written a better hero than Kace to step in and save the day. Not that I needed him to save the day. But I wouldn’t lie and pretend it wasn’t nice to have someone at my back.

  I hadn’t had that since Hayden.

  “Right,” Kace snapped, and all thoughts of my twin faded. He gestured toward the far corner of the floor, and my gaze followed the movement, watching as a burly man pushed off the wall and headed our way. “So, you can get the fuck out of here on your slutty ass stripper heels and never come back in or you can make our bouncer’s night.”

  Blondie seemed to finally realize that Kace was pissed.

  Slow but . . . insert terrible blonde joke here.

  “I—” she began, throat working hard. “I just—”

  “Tommy’s bored, aren’t you?” Kace asked, gaze directed over Blondie’s shoulder. I glanced over and saw Tommy nod. “It’s been a really slow night, and Tommy is more of a man of action rather than a man who waits and sees. Am I right?”

  “As always, boss,” Tommy said in an icy voice that frankly scared the shit out of me.

  I’d written big guys plenty of times, but my descriptions didn’t do the badassness of Tommy justice. He was huge, he looked tough, and I just knew that he would relish handling whatever brand of B.S. that Blondie would dish out in his own special way.

  “You leaving?” Kace asked. “Or getting hauled out?”

  Blondie swallowed, eyes flashing between Kace and Tommy for several heartbeats. Then her chin came up and she pushed off the stool. “This place is a dump anyway,” she snapped. “Enjoy your”—her nose wrinkled again when her stare traced over me—“eighties reject. I’m gone.”

  Yup. Bitchy.

  I wrinkled my nose back then just before she turned away, I gave her a sweet smile and a finger wave. “Buh-bye now.”

  A huff, a flick of blonde, blonde hair, and she was stomping away on her heels, Tommy trailing her into the hall.