Risk It All (MacAteer Brothers Book 4)

by ML Nystrom

  “This is the way it’s going to go.” Patrick stood tall and spoke loudly and clearly. “You’re going to stand up and apologize to the lady. Then you’re going to settle your tab and tip her a hundred bucks for the broken glasses and her trouble. Last, you’re going to leave peacefully. Anything you don’t understand?”

  The man’s two companions stood up from their table, and Angus moved to stand behind Patrick. Three soft-looking business suits and two tall, strong construction men faced off in the bar.

  One side of Patrick’s mouth raised. Not a bad start for a good joke. “What’s it gonna be, boy-o? If you need to fight someone, try me instead of a woman. It’s been a while since I had a decent scrap, and I’m not afraid to sit in a jail cell for breaking a jaw.” He looked at the other men. “Or two.”

  The tense moment passed as one of the men pulled out his card and handed it to Sloane. “Sorry for your trouble. Clint’s wife took him to the cleaners over the divorce, and…”

  “No one here gives a shit. There’s no excuse for being an asshole to a woman and putting hands on her. Now get the fuck out,” Angus added.

  Sloane ran the card and gave it back. The three men left. The jerk who assaulted Sloane had one parting shot. “Service in this place sucks! I’ll be posting a bad review!”

  Patrick raised a middle finger.

  Angus moved to sweep the broken glass. “You all right? That fucker didn’t hurt you, did he?”

  “I’ve been through worse.”

  Patrick still seethed with anger. He’d been in bar fights before and wished like hell one of those men had taken a swing at him. Just one. Then he could have wiped the floor with all of them. How dare he touch Sloane! She had to be less than half his weight and several inches shorter. Fucking son of a bitch. If he ever set foot in this bar again….

  “Yo, Patrick. Love you much, brother, but I’d also love to let Sloane close up and get the hell outta here.”

  Angus’s voice penetrated the raging fog, and Patrick inhaled as deeply as he could. He turned to his favorite bartender and almost lost it again when he saw her rub the spot on her arm where that bastard had gripped her. The obvious bruise made him want to chase down the bastard and pound his skull into the wall. “That shit happen a lot?”

  Sloane carried the last of the table debris to the big plastic trash can. “Not usually. Had a few incidents recently, but nothing I can’t handle.”

  “What kinds of incidents?”

  Sloane leaned over the bar and sighed. “Had a regular who loved to sing during karaoke nights, but sucked at it big time. He made trouble more than once by bothering women who didn’t want to be bothered. When he got nasty about it and I had to ban him, he tried to come back and throw his weight around, thinking I’d cave in to his demands because he’s a man and I’m a woman, but he forgot who he was talking to. I don’t put up with that kind of shit attitude at my bar. Garrett took care of that for me as the guy targeted Bertie for a bit.”

  Patrick’s rage bubbled back up. “Where is he now?”

  “Gone. From the bar talk, his mama got her church people to do some sort of intervention thing. A drive-out-the-demons party if you will. Now, he’s become a corner preacher raining hellfire and brimstone down off Patterson Street on the other side of town. He hasn’t been here in weeks.”

  “No way could you have handled that guy.”

  She shrugged and made one last swipe across the bar. “Like I said, I’ve dealt with worse.”

  Patrick decided he hated that statement. “Gordon working tomorrow night?”

  Sloane tossed the dishtowel into a basket near the office entrance and arched her back with a long groan. “No clue.”

  Patrick watched her body stretch and thought again about how fragile-looking her thin body appeared. He glanced around the place, thinking about the size of the normal Friday night crowd and the demands they made on weekends. Too much for her to run by herself. “I’ll be here.”

  Chapter Five

  I would never in a million years say it out loud, but having Patrick help me at the bar turned out to be a godsend in more ways than one. Cammie had more than a passing bug, and we got a crash course in a nasty disease called meningitis. She got sick enough her doctor admitted her to the hospital, and Gordon turned into a full-time Mr. Mom. He did what he could at work; however, his first priority was taking care of his family.

  This put me in the position of working bell to bells every day for the past two weeks. I opened. I closed. I did the books. I cleaned. I served. I took inventory. I made up the calendar of events. I posted ads on social media and the website. From the moment my feet hit the floor in the morning to when I could finally go to sleep, I worked. Without Patrick’s assistance, I wouldn’t have made it.

  He showed up every night for a few hours after working a full day himself to pull beers and pour shots. His stamina impressed me, along with his interest in bartending. He learned a few of the more popular mixed drinks, like margaritas, Long Islands, and our own Irish coffee recipe. He’d saved my ass four nights already this week by staying until closing. This would be his second Friday night behind the bar instead of in front of it.

  Madhouse described the place tonight. Some conference for a college sorority was in town, and they stuffed my place to capacity. Red and white were their colors, and they were there to drink, party, and hook up. I had Jeannie and Shelley to serve the floor, and Pete, one of my regulars, was nice enough to man the karaoke machine. It was all I could do to keep up.

  I mixed up three more pitchers of mojitos and stored them in the back fridge. The ones I made earlier were disappearing like crazy, and it was only seven o’clock. I sent up a prayer for whatever god was on call that night to get someone to start ordering beer when Patrick sauntered in. He launched his hands in the air and made his usual weekend announcement.

  “Bow down, mere mortals! Patrick MacAteer is in the hoooooouuuuuuse!”

  The out-of-town women had no idea who he was, but they whooped and clapped anyway.

  He came behind the bar, and I spared him a brief glance as I fired up the blender for another round of daiquiris.

  “Hello, my beautiful Sloane. You can use me anywhere tonight.” He waggled his eyebrows and bent to kiss me on the cheek.

  My stomach turned over as his lips touched me. His spicy scent wafted over me, and I felt scummy compared to his fresh, clean appearance. He hadn’t kissed me before and the sudden heaviness in my gut shook me. I tamped it down firmly. I didn’t have time for any distractions, tonight or any night, and frankly, crushing on the new town playboy was a great way to get my heart broken. Not going there.

  “Your hair looks great, love.” He grinned at me as he washed his hands. “Dark brown or black? Hard to tell, but it’s nice.”

  I had it tied back under a wide blue bandana, hippie style. “Black, like my mood.”

  “Aw, now, luv. Don’t go sour on me. Take a break for a bit while I feed the masses, yeah?”

  He turned to face the sea of estrogen surrounding the bar. “Who wants a penis colossus?”

  His yell turned the noise volume to a decibel only dogs should be able to hear. I groaned as I poured the daiquiris and added them to a tab. Last week, Patrick found a stash of plastic test tube shot glasses and their serving racks in the back storeroom and came up with the idea of his “signature” drink. The penis colossus was nothing more than a version of a creamsicle shot. Pineapple Jell-O and coconut milk mixed with rum and a squirt of whipped cream on top served in the six-inch tube. It took him minutes to mix his concoction and pour with the stack shaker trick. The whole time he talked and flirted and entertained. The ladies went crazy. What red-blooded heterosexual female wouldn’t go a little nuts over getting a “penis colossus” from an enticing man like Patrick?

  Still, penis colossus? I supposed I shouldn’t complain as the drinks were disappearing and the register kept ringing up sales.

  Somewhere around eleven, I slapped down a coaster
in front of a new patron without looking to see who it was. “What will it be tonight?”

  “Guinness on tap.”

  Electricity shot down my spine as my brain short-circuited. I froze and raised my gaze to the rich voice I knew so well. One I hadn’t heard in years.

  Dark brown eyes met mine. His black hair was longer now and hung to his shoulders in waves. Short stubble crossed his upper lip and lower jaw, where he used to shave daily. His Italian heritage showed in his long patrician nose and olive complexion. This face I woke up to daily for three years. This face I kissed at night when the owner moved inside me. This face abandoned me when I’d needed it the most.

  Fuck. I forced my mouth into a semi-smile and stuffed my emotions into a remote corner of my mind. “Hello, Claudio. Thought you never drank beer.”

  His beautiful mouth smiled. “I’m in an Irish pub. I expect the beer is better than the Chianti.”

  The noise faded a bit as I pulled the Guinness and waited for the settle. I could hear Patrick amusing the crowd by singing Def Leppard’s “Pour Some Sugar on Me” along with the women who were up on the stage. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see him gyrating as he mixed his shots. He turned and twerked his butt at the women at the bar. Total chaos, but he loved every minute. He raised his green eyes from his bent-over position, gave me his best what-can-I-do smile, and winked. I rolled mine back at him. Cliché much?

  “The new guy looks happy.”

  I finished the pour and set the glass in front of him, willing my hands to be steady. “How do you know he’s new?”

  He took a sip of the beer head and licked the foam that decorated his lips. “I moved back a few weeks ago and found him and his brother renovating the deck at my parents’ place. I overheard him say something about how much he liked helping out a cute bartender at his favorite Irish pub. It didn’t take long for me to figure out which one and who he talked about. You look good, Sloane.”

  A spring inside my chest ratcheted tighter at his words. “You look good, Sloane.”

  They were just words. They meant nothing. My heart jumped anyway at the crumb. Wait, Patrick called me cute? The same man that badgered me into eating almost every night? “You look good too. Nice beard.”

  A lopsided smile broke across his face at my return compliment. Questions crowded my head, and I didn’t know what to ask.

  Still a freelance photographer? Gallery shows now or still working the wedding circuit? Feel like shit because of what you did to me?

  Patrick rescued me again without knowing it. He came up behind him, slung an arm around my shoulders, and pulled me in close. “Hey, it’s my buddy Clyde! How’s it hanging?”

  Claudio’s smile collapsed a little, and he sat up straighter. “It’s Claudio.”

  “Cool.” He yelled behind him with his other arm overhead and pointing at my ex, “Hey, Rachel and Marnie, come meet my pal, Claudio. He’s drinking by himself and could use some company.”

  Two giggling women came over. “It’s Jill and Gloria, silly!”

  Patrick grinned and put a hand over his heart. “I’m so sorry, my beauties. I got so dazzled when you spoke to me, I lost all brain function.”

  His over-acting choked me a little and I covered it up with a cough. Seriously, do women really fall for that shit? Apparently they did as the duo tittered and cuddled up on either side of a miffed-looking Claudio.

  “Sloane, I need four Singapore slings and an old fashioned. We’re getting low on rum. I’m gonna run to the back to reload. Can you handle this for a minute?” he whispered in my ear.

  That was all I needed to snap back into work mode. “Yeah, and grab a couple of vodkas too while you’re at it. Please and thank you.”

  He smacked a quick kiss on my forehead, and I stiffened as he lifted the bar leaf. It’s nothing, Sloane. Don’t insert your head into your ass over this man.

  By the time I made last call, I was ready to drop. The red and white female brigade had consumed more than their fair share of booze and had moved on to whatever activities awaited them for the rest of the night. A few of my regulars stayed after to enjoy a few quiet minutes without the blare of the karaoke machine. Jeannie and Shelley helped clean up the floor before they left, but the majority still fell on my shoulder. Patrick leaned over the bar, talking with a superbly drunk woman while I ran the last load of glasses in the washer. I didn’t see Claudio leave or if he had dual company. The place emptied to the point where it was only me, Patrick, and the one drunk woman. I finished wiping down when I saw him walking out the front door. His arm sat cozily around her waist, and her hand palmed his butt.

  A sting smacked me between the eyes like a dart from the games in the back of the room. I had no reason or no expectations for anything else, but I still had the urge to cry. Exhaustion could be part of the reason, but I knew it wasn’t the only factor.

  Alone. I was alone and the weight of the silent bar crushed into me. The crowd of women had left either to go back to the hotel with roommates and friends or temporary hookups. Most of my regulars had gone home to be with partners or spouses. I imagined Claudio slept somewhere sandwiched between the two women Patrick sicced on him. Now he had found a willing partner for the night and left me by myself, without a backward glance.

  It hurt. I didn’t know why and it shouldn’t have, but it did.

  I tossed my towel into the laundry basket and pulled out the push broom. As tired as I was, I needed to finish sweeping up before falling into bed. Some people found it amazing at what the human body was capable of enduring. I found it amazing that we had to endure it in the first place. Physical tolls could drive a person to the point of becoming a health hazard, whereas the mental tolls made it much worse.

  No matter. I had a job to do and a bar to keep up. Instead of wallowing in a “poor me” attitude, I mentally listed the good stuff in my life.

  I had a brother who loved me.

  I had a precious little niece who grinned every time she saw me.

  I had friends.

  I had a successful business.

  I had a decent place to live.

  I had my life.

  I was so lost in my thoughts that I jumped when the broom was pulled from my hands. Patrick had returned.

  “Oy, darlin’, you really need to slow down. I’ll finish this up.”

  “What happened to your… uh… date? I thought you’d gone for the night.”

  He looked perplexed. “What’s her name? Way too hammered to get back to her hotel by herself. I put her in an Uber and tipped the driver to make sure she got in the building.”

  “Oh.”

  He smirked at me as he brushed a pile into the dustpan. “You thought I’d try to hit that, didn’t you?”

  A blush heated up my cheeks. “Yeah, well, it’s not like you haven’t tried with three out of the four single females that walk in the door. I guess I made a wrong assumption.”

  Patrick dumped the full dustpan and leaned on the broom handle. “If she’d been more sober, then yeah, I might have tried, but she was too wasted to make that call. I like sex. Uncomplicated and uncommitted, but fucking a woman who can’t even form a coherent thought? It’s not right.”

  He put the broom and dustpan back in its customary spot and gazed at me with an intensity I didn’t expect. “Do you really think I’m that much of a bastard?”

  I swallowed the big lump of crow pie that lodged in my throat. “I’m sorry, Patrick. I shouldn’t have gone there. You’ve been such a big help to me. I had no right to make that judgment call.”

  He stared a moment more, then grinned. He held his hands in front of his chest as if cupping two large melons. “She did have some nice big knockers, eh? Maybe if she would do all the work….”

  I laughed and shook my head, not wanting to show any other reaction. Inside, something died. “You are such a horn dog.”

  “Hello, Pot, I’m Kettle. Don’t try to deny it, love. I saw you teasing a man or two tonight. Calvin kept his eyes
on you even with Rona sticking her tongue in his ear.”

  “It’s Claudio, and I could have died happy without that visual. I know him from a long time ago. We… we used to date.”

  Patrick stopped and his face grew mildly serious. “Is he tryin’ to start up again?”

  “I don’t know, but it’s not happening. I have too much on my plate to consider it or anything else.”

  He dropped his eyes back to his task, and I swore I heard him mutter, “Good.”

  Chapter Six

  Patrick pulled his truck into one of the reserved spots in the alley at the back of the building. Sloane’s ancient Corolla and Gordon’s Honda minivan sat side by side, leaving just enough room for him to park there. It was nice not to have to search for a place on the street or wrestle his large vehicle in a miniscule parking deck spot.

  The noise from the pub bled out onto the sidewalk as he entered. May celebrated two bar parties back-to-back. Star Wars Day on the fourth and Cinco de Mayo on the fifth. Both happened on a Monday and Tuesday respectively, and people packed the place both nights it seemed from the volume.

  He spotted Sloane behind the bar, smiling, mixing, and serving. He liked watching her work. Her hands were in constant motion keeping up with orders. Small bartender tricks like pop-and-catch for bottle tops, shallow spins of glasses around her thumb, and bumping an empty off her elbow into the recycle bin. He’d love to learn how to do more of that shit. A sheen of sweat covered her face, and tonight her hair color was stripes of bright pink, yellow, and green. Last night it had been chocolate brown and styled like the latest female Star Wars character, Rae.

  Colored tips, full dye jobs, up-dos, braids, she kept him guessing as to what her hair would look like from night to night. Her clothes were always the same. Black T-shirt with the business logo across the front, torn sleeveless at the shoulders, faded jeans, and sneakers. Her physique showed cut muscles on a tiny body. He sighed. I bet she didn’t eat tonight. Again.

  Gordon also worked the bar tonight. Cammie was home from the hospital, and since then, he tried to help out for part of the night when able. He still had to watch after his baby girl while Cammie was on the mend, she was still very weak and tired easily.