Down On Me (Man of the Month Book 1)

by J. Kenner

  "We," she corrected, looking at Reece. "Right?"

  "Hell, yes," he said. No way in hell was he letting Tyree lose The Fix. Not if there was anything he could do about it. Seeing Jenna's pleased smile at his quick reply was just a bonus. "This is Tyree, after all."

  "I know," Brent said, his expression sober. He let out a frustrated sigh and sat back in his chair, his eyes on Reece. "He's like us. He's practically family."

  Reece swallowed, his throat thick as it always was when he thought of his Uncle Vincent, a solider who'd died in Afghanistan at thirty-one, leaving three-year-old Mike and a young wife behind. Vincent Walker was Reece's father's only brother, a surprise who'd been born when Reece's dad, Charlie Walker, was fifteen. Also a serviceman, Charlie had served in Desert Storm, where one of the men in his command had been a green eighteen-year-old named Tyree. Years later, Tyree took Vincent under his wing and stayed with the mortally wounded younger man in the field despite the danger to himself from continuing enemy fire.

  Reece had grown up knowing Tyree and thinking of him as family, which meant that he was family to Brent and Jenna, too. The three had urged him to take the plunge when he bought The Fix, and Reece and Jenna had been two of his first employees, with Jenna waiting tables and Reece tending bar before he worked his way up to manager.

  Brent was still a cop back then, but he worked security during his off-hours, ultimately quitting the force to work at The Fix full time.

  So, yeah. The Fix was home, and Tyree was family.

  Helping him was a no-brainer. The question was how.

  "Hard to say until we know exactly how much he owes," Brent said when Jenna voiced that very question. "But lending him the money seems like a good idea."

  "Which he wouldn't take," Reece said. "The man's got pride. And unless you have some gold in your backyard, I don't know where we'd find the money to make it happen anyway."

  "We could talk to Easton," Jenna said, referring to Amanda's former boyfriend who'd become a regular at the bar.

  "If he's got too much pride to borrow from one of us, he's not going to borrow from one of the regulars," Brent said.

  "Too bad," Reece said. "Some of our regulars have enough money they could just write a check. Hell, Cameron's sister won a Grammy, and she loves the place."

  "Tyree would never forgive us if we started asking the customers. Same goes for one of those online crowdfunding deals. Not his style, and you know it."

  "Yeah, I do," Reece admitted.

  "That's not what I meant, anyway," Jenna said. "It's just that Easton's a lawyer, so he'd know how to renegotiate the loan or get an extension or forgiveness, or whatever you call it. And he knows everyone, too. Maybe whatever bank holds the note is already a client."

  "Well, it's not going to do us any good to sit around making suggestions," Reece said. "We need to go talk to the man."

  "Be persuasive. You have to convince him to let you help." They rose, and Jenna took all their plates and carried them to the counter, then came back. "You guys will figure something out."

  She leaned in and kissed Brent's cheek, then turned to Reece. She hesitated for just a second, the pause so brief he barely noticed. Probably wouldn't have, except that he was hyperaware of her. And so he noticed the hint of a blush on her cheeks, too, when she brushed a feather-soft kiss across his cheek.

  "So," she said, then cleared her throat. "Right, well, I need to go get dressed. I've got that job interview. Wish me luck?"

  "Always," Reece said.

  "You don't need luck," Brent said. "You've got talent." He turned to Reece. "Ready?"

  "What? Ready to tell a man I've respected my whole life, who has more pride in his little finger than you and me put together, that I know he's hurting for money just a few years before his only son's about to go off to college? Why the hell would you think I'm not ready?"

  Brent met Jenna's eyes. "We'll be leaving now."

  "We'll call you later to see how your interview went," Reece said.

  She waved the words away. "Oh, please. Don't worry about me today. I'm just looking for a job. You guys are trying to help Tyree with his life."

  Chapter Seven

  It was a twenty-minute drive from Brent's north-central bungalow to Tyree's East Austin home in the Wilshire Wood neighborhood. But for the entire trek, neither Brent nor Reece said a word to each other. Instead, the only sound was a stream of music from KUTX, a local station owned by the University that aired an eclectic mix of music including local artists. Normally, Reece wouldn't mind—part of his job was bringing in local talent, and he'd found several bands for the club by tuning in.

  This morning, however, the music-filled silence seemed heavy. And it wasn't until Brent had pulled up in front of the charming stone house and killed the engine that he turned to Reece and spoke.

  "Be careful," he said, then opened the door and slipped out of the Volvo before Reece could ask what the hell he meant.

  Except, of course, he didn't have to ask. Reece and Brent had been friends a long time, and he knew damn well that Brent wasn't a guy who missed much. It's one of the things that made him such a good father.

  It was also damned annoying, and when Faith was a teenager, Reece was pretty sure she'd back him up on that.

  "You're imagining things," he said as they walked up the sidewalk, the concrete uneven from years of tree roots pressing upward.

  "Could be," Brent said easily, then rang the doorbell. "It's happened before." He stood back, leaning against the stone facade, his brown eyes fixed on Reece. "But in my imaginary world, you're not exactly Mr. Commitment. And Jenna needs a friend more than she needs another guy who disappears on her."

  "You don't know what you're talking about," Reece protested, though it sounded hollow even to his own ears. "And anyway, if you think that I would ever hurt—"

  The door flew open, cutting off his words, and Elijah Johnson stood there, tall and lanky in a suit and tie. Half-black and half-Japanese, his skin was a shade lighter than Tyree's, and he'd inherited his mother's eyes and his father's broad shoulders. In the last year, the kid had shot up, surpassing his father in height. And even though Reece had seen him only a few weeks ago, it seemed like the kid had grown another foot since then.

  "Isn't it a school day?" Brent asked. "And why are you in a suit? You look snappy, by the way."

  "Yeah? Is snappy professional? I need to look professional." He took a step back, then waved his hands to indicate the whole outfit as he looked between the two of them. "Would you hire me?"

  "Hell, yeah," Reece said. "What am I hiring you for?"

  "My boy's got an interview in about an hour over at Dell Children's Hospital." Tyree's deep voice came from the side of the house, and Reece turned to see his friend and boss come up the driveway in sweatpants and a white T-shirt that displayed bulging muscles and tattooed arms. His dark skin glistened, and he wore fingerless leather gloves. He'd obviously been working out in the makeshift gym that took up one half of the detached two-car garage.

  "An interview?" Brent said. "Let me guess. Neurosurgeon."

  Eli rolled his eyes, then stepped back, holding the door so that the two visitors could come in, followed by Tyree. "It's for a summer internship in the lab. And if I get it, then I'd work there first and second period my senior year."

  Tyree practically beamed. "My boy's decided he wants to go to med school." His smooth baritone voice was usually laced with a hint of his Cajun background. Today, it was also filled with pride. "An internship like this could open some doors."

  "I'm one of five candidates. There's only two slots, so we're down to the wire." The kid grimaced as he looked at Brent and Reece. "So, you think it's okay? Like, you're not just being nice? Dad says so, but he can be lame, and—"

  "You'll knock it out of the park," Reece assured him.

  "Thanks a lot," Tyree protested, cuffing his son's upper arm.

  Eli exhaled loudly. "Okay. Right. Well, I'm going, then."

  "Is thi
s a bad time?" Brent asked Tyree. "If you need to drive him..."

  "I'm walking," Eli said. "It's only a few blocks, and, you know, nerves."

  "You sure?" Reece said, but no one was listening. Tyree was pulling his son into a bear hug.

  "Just be yourself, my man. Your mom would be proud."

  "I'll text you after," he said, then set off down the street, his headphones in and his feet moving in time with the music.

  "Med school," Tyree said, shaking his head as his son disappeared. He ushered Reece and Brent in the rest of the way, then shut the door behind them. "Hard to believe. I mean, this is the same kid I was afraid was going to drop out of school or join a gang just a few years ago. And now he has his heart set on med school. Not to mention the grades to get him into a first-rate pre-med program."

  "You've done a good job with him," Reece said. "Teiko would be proud." Elijah's mother had died from complications following a brutal car wreck, and the tragedy had taken a huge toll on the family. On Reece, too. Tyree and Teiko's marriage was one of the few functional marriages he'd ever witnessed, and the death of that sweet, stubborn woman had felt like a kick in the gut to Reece. He could only imagine how much pain Tyree had endured.

  "It was touch and go there for a while," Tyree said as they settled at the table, just like they always did to shoot the shit, play cards, or talk about work. "But I think the kid's turning out okay."

  "Hell, yeah, he is," Brent added.

  "But med school." Tyree whistled, then leaned back, his fingers interlaced behind his head. "That boy better hope he gets a scholarship."

  Brent shot Reece a meaningful glance, which Tyree must have noticed because he sat up straighter. "All right," he said. "This obviously isn't a social call. What's this about?" The casual tone was gone, replaced by the no-nonsense voice of a business owner talking to his employees.

  "You tell us," Brent said.

  "Like that, is it?" He stood up, then crossed to the fridge and pulled out a protein shake. Tyree was a big man, all muscle, and he'd spent the better part of his life in the military. And a good portion of those years in command of other men. He could be damned intimidating when it suited him. Apparently, it suited him now, because Reece was beginning to feel like he was one of Tyree's troops getting dressed down for breaking formation.

  "The way I see it, you either came to talk about something personal or about work. If it's personal, then you're going to have to tell me what's on your mind, because I don't have a clue. And if you came to talk about work—well, if that's the case, I might have some idea why you came. But I also know it's none of your damn business."

  "Ty—"

  The older man pointed a finger at Reece. "None of your damn business," he repeated. "Now I think you boys should go. I've got some things to do before opening The Fix at two."

  Reece shot a look at Brent, who lifted a shoulder in a the hell with that kind of way.

  "That might be true," Reece began, leaning back in his chair and stretching out his long legs, "if we were just your employees. But seems to me we're more like family. Or are you going to tell me I'm wrong?"

  "What I should tell you is that your daddy raised you better than to stick your nose in where it's not welcome. This is my problem, not yours."

  "It's our problem if The Fix goes out of business," Reece said.

  "And it's our problem if a friend's in trouble," Brent added.

  "Dammit, Ty, forget your pride. You don't have to handle every crisis on your own. Tell us what's going on and give us the chance to help you."

  "Anyone ever tell you that you're an insolent son-of-a-bitch?"

  "All the time." Reece punctuated his grin with a quick lift of his brows. "So?"

  "Ah, hell." Tyree put the shake back in the fridge, then pulled out three beers. He glanced at the clock—just creeping up on eleven—and shrugged. "If we're going to do this, we're going to do it right."

  He reached for the can opener he kept in a construction-paper and glitter-decorated coffee can that had a place of prominence in the middle of the table. The paper was pink, and the glitter was glued on in some approximation of bunny shapes. Possibly horses. But since Reece knew the artist personally and had a similar piece of artwork on his kitchen counter, his money was on bunnies. Last Christmas, Faith had been all about the bunnies.

  "What do you think you know?" Tyree demanded, opening the three beers in turn.

  "That you're staring down a barrel. The balance of a mortgage due at the end of the year. What I don't know is how much that loan is. But you've been acting off the last couple of days, so I'm thinking it's more than you've got tucked away in the cookie jar."

  "You're thinking along the right lines," Tyree said, his voice gruff.

  "How much?" Brent demanded boldly.

  Tyree exhaled, then scrubbed his palms over his face. "Too fucking much," he said, and when he told them the actual number, Reece had to agree. From the way Brent sat up, his posture turning just a little too stiff, it looked like Brent thought so, too.

  "Downtown Austin real estate ain't cheap," Tyree said, "and there was no way I wasn't going to get my place. You boys already know this, but that was always my dream. A bar. Maybe a food truck—you know me and my kitchen. But I wanted it to be more about the eats, even more about the drink. I wanted it to be a destination. I wanted a place that folks thought of almost like a home. Not like they were visiting, but like it was theirs, you know?"

  "You know we do. And we've got some damn loyal customers who think just that way. They'd help you out, Ty." Brent tapped a knuckle on the tabletop. "You know they would."

  Ty didn't even miss a beat, just kept on with the story. "Teiko's dying wish was for me to open my place. One that hit all my high points. A place that had at-mos-phere," he said, emphasizing each syllable just the way Teiko used to do when she wanted to make a point. Then he flashed a watery smile. "Took me a while to find the place but I think she'd approve."

  "I told you back then she would," Reece said softly. "Go on. You borrowed money to buy it, obviously."

  Tyree sighed. "This house is paid off, and no way was I going to mortgage it. Couldn't even if I wanted to. Eli's granddaddy left it to him. A couple of years and he can kick his old man out if he wants to, once he's eighteen and it comes out of trust. We emptied our savings and got incurred a shit-ton of debt for Teiko's medical bills, but after she passed—"

  His voice hitched, and he took a long swallow of beer. "Well, after she passed there was the life insurance, and I paid off the debt and put the rest in the bank. My credit was still screwed, though. Medical bills can do you in. Then when I found the property, I used the left-over life insurance for a down payment on The Fix. Seven-year term, amortized over thirty, with a huge fucking balloon at the end. With my credit in such bad shape, that was the best deal I could get, and it wasn't even with a bank. Now I'm thinking I should have just kept on walking."

  "Not with a bank?"

  "Buddy of mine knows a guy who put me in touch with a private lender. Venture capitalist type. All on the up-and-up, but just because he's one guy doesn't mean he won't foreclose."

  "You've asked."

  "I practically begged. No dice. I pay off the loan by the end of the year, or I lose the property." He shook his head, then took another swallow, finishing off the beer. "It all seemed like a long way off when I signed the papers, but in the last four years, Austin's changed. Competition's fierce. Places like Bodacious move in, and they're all tits and ass and dollar drinks. That's hard shit to compete with."

  "You're preaching to the choir," Reece said. As the manager, he knew just how hard it was to attract new customers, especially when the college students tended toward the chain bars with the all-night happy hours. "But we have something those dollar traps like Bodacious don't—a loyal customer base."

  "That only goes so far," Ty said.

  "Could go further," Brent put in, obviously following Reece's train of thought. "Let us talk to a few people. I
t might be possible for us to pull together enough money to pay off the original loan with a new one from one of the regulars. I can think of a few who could write a check today."

  Tyree shook his head. "No. Teiko knew that The Fix was my dream, and she wanted me to have my shot. But she wouldn't want me throwing good money after bad. It's either working, or it's not. I'm not chasing loans for the rest of my life. And I'm sure as hell not borrowing from someone I may not be able to pay back."

  "Then we ask for donations. A little bit from a lot of people. It can add up."

  "I appreciate the ideas, I do. But one of those Internet campaigns? You two know that's not my style. My bar stays open because people come in for the drink and the music and the food or not at all. I didn't lose my business because of a hurricane or a fire—that's the kind of thing people donate for. To help someone hit by bad luck. But if The Fix goes under, it'll be because of good old-fashioned competition. And that's played inside the bar at the cash register, not on the Internet."

  Reece met Brent's eyes. Truth was, he didn't disagree.

  Slowly, Brent nodded. "Fair enough. Then we'll just have to kick it into high gear. Up the cover charge, maybe sneak up a few drink prices, but bring them in with dollar beers. And book a few A-listers. Kiki'd come play at the Fix, I'm sure," he added, referring to Cameron's sister. "We'll make it happen."

  "It's a good pitch, but it's all talk," Tyree said. "You boys are just now diving into this mess. I've been living it for months. And trust me, I've done the math. To earn the money I need I'll have to charge prices that would drive away the customers. And then I can't earn the money."

  "You're talking like it's over," Reece said.

  "That's because it is," Ty said. "You know I'm right. I've got some feelers out for a buyer. With any luck, I'll be able to pay off the note and end up with a little cash in my pocket, too. More luck, and I'll find a buyer before the year's out who wants to keep The Fix as is. Hate to think I brought her to life, only to have her turned into the downtown Austin location of some restaurant conglomerate."