8. Oliver

Chapter 8

Oliver

A big part of me wanted to go by the Stop ‘n Go to see Lexie, to ask her why she'd run off the other night, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. It would just stir everything up all over again.

I didn't have much to do over the next week, since my latest oil rig had just struck oil. It was mostly paperwork and phone calls, which I could do from home. I kept Trent in summer camp, though, just in case I'd have to travel during the day.

I'd been thinking about buying a couple of local businesses for some extra income—maybe for Trent's trust fund. It wasn't that I didn't already have money in the bank. I just wanted Trent to have something of his own and giving him a business would teach him some life skills and the value of a dollar.

I'd grown up understanding the meaning of hard work, and I wanted Trent to as well, even if he decided not to go into the oil business.

The Pig in the Poke was a bar I was thinking about buying, mostly because I knew the owner, Clayton, and knew he was looking to sell. He was getting on in years and was tired of bartending and being an owner.

I walked into the establishment around three in the afternoon, when they functioned more like a diner-style restaurant. There was a good rush of people there. I wondered if I did end up taking it over whether I'd focus more on the restaurant and less on the bar.

I walked up to the bartender, a young girl with big brown eyes and facial piercings. She blinked as she looked up at me, blushing a bit, and I couldn't help but grin.

I might be older now, but it was still flattering to have young girls attracted to me.

"What's your name? Haven't seen you around here before."

"Krista," she answered. "I just started about a week ago."

"You seem like you're doing a great job. Listen, honey, is Clayton around?"

She flushed deeper when I called her honey. "I think he's out grabbing supplies. He should be back soon."

I nodded. "I'll wait for him," I said, knowing I could call Agnes and she would pick up Trent from camp and keep him for as long as I needed.

I ordered a beer, nursing it as I idly flirted with Krista. There wasn't anything behind it. I wasn't interested in another fling, not after what happened with Suzanne.

I'd slept with other women since, but I always kept it casual with no strings attached, and always with protection. It dawned on me that I didn't bother to use protection with Lexie, but surely she would have told me if she wasn't on birth control.

I didn't have too much time to think about it because soon I spotted another blast from the past—Tristan. My mouth twisted into a sneer as I watched him walk through the door, and I couldn't stop myself from getting up and bumping into his shoulder—hard.

"Hello, Ollie," Tristan said dryly, glaring at me.

"I thought I told you to stay out of here," I hissed. This place was the very place I'd seen him last, when my fist connected with his jaw.

"You really have to let it go, man."

"Let what go? I thought you said nothing happened?" I shot back.

"It didn't , Oliver."

I scoffed. I knew better. I'd seen it with my own eyes.

I figured that Tristan would walk away. I'd seen him in town before, and I had to admit I was constantly trying to start something, but he always just shook his head and walked away.

But this time, he didn't.

"Lexie's back in town, you know."

I narrowed my eyes, anger rising in me. "How the hell do you know that? Stay away from her."

"You don't get to tell me to do that. She's not yours anymore, Ollie. You threw that all away."

"You took her from me," I burst out. I considered hitting him, but I knew if I did, Clayton would never let me buy the bar.

"Oliver?" Krista, the young bartender, called.

I turned my head, taking in a deep breath.

"Clayton is waiting for you in his office."

Shit . That could mean that he'd seen the confrontation with Tristan.

I took in another breath before walking into Clayton's office. He sat behind the desk, looking at me with questioning eyes.

"You almost started a fight in my bar."

"Look, Clayton, it's?—"

"I know the story," he said gruffly. "I was here when it happened." He paused. "If I were you, I'd hit him, too."

I smiled a little at that, sitting down across from him. "I'd like to put down an offer on the Pig."

"I have a few conditions," Clayton said.

I tilted my head, curious. "Like what?"

"You don't change the name. And you don't fire my staff."

Clayton was serious about that, and I knew it. He picked his staff carefully, and almost everyone that worked at the Pig had been there five plus years. Most more than a decade. Krista was a new hire but that was rare.

"Wouldn't dream of it. The Pig is known all over for being the best diner/dive bar combo in Wagontown."

Clayton laughed. "The only diner/dive bar in Wagontown."

"Exactly. And you have a great staff and reputation."

He nodded. "Write up an offer, and email it to me, yeah?" He slid a business card across the desk and I took it, putting it in my wallet. "And Oliver?"

"Yeah?"

"You really should let it go. It's been, what, nearly ten years?"

I nodded, swallowing hard. He was right. I should let it go. Even Tristan was right—Lexie wasn't mine anymore. Heck, she really hadn't ever been mine.

I walked out of the bar, not spotting Tristan again. He'd always been a coward, never owning up to what he did.

I called Peter, my personal assistant, and he answered on the first ring.

"Hey, boss."

"I want to buy the Pig in the Poke," I told him. "Send over an email to Clayton Huggins. I'll send you his business card."

"Offer above asking price?"

"Always."

"All right. Anything else?"

I paused. "You want to go out for dinner?"

It was nearing six in the evening and I was starving. I hadn't eaten since breakfast.

"Sure," he said easily. "Where?"

"How about Hart's Cafe? They've got a great French dip."

"Meet you there," he said, and I headed to the cafe, thinking that Peter was probably the closest thing I had to a true friend these days.

Peter showed up just a few moments after I sat down and ordered my French dip. He sat across from me and ordered one for himself.

"You never invite me out," Peter said suspiciously. "What's going on with you?"

I shrugged. "Nothing. We're friends, aren't we?"

"Colleagues, at best," Peter said flatly.

I put a hand over my heart dramatically, as if I was hurt by his statement.

Peter laughed. "I've been working with you for what, eight years? And you've only asked me out to dinner maybe a handful of times. Mostly business related."

"Not tonight," I promised, dipping my sandwich after the server put it down on the table.

"So this is a friendly dinner?"

"Very friendly," I replied, pausing while I chewed, then letting out a breath through my nostrils. "Fine. I don't really have friends, and I needed to talk to someone. "

Peter raised his eyebrows. "And you chose me?"

"Why not?" There was an edge of defense to my voice.

"Well, because I'm your employee. You really don't have any friends? That seems unlikely."

"Not really," I admitted. "My best friend in high school... well, we had a big falling out. And things are starting to resurface."

"What happened?"

I sighed. "He tried to steal my girlfriend."

"And you can't forgive him?"

"Of course not."

"You were kids, right?"

"Eighteen, nineteen," I defended, as if that wasn't considered still a kid.

He snorted out a laugh. "I was an asshole when I was that young. Weren't you?"

"Well, yes, but..." I trailed off. Peter wouldn't understand. It wasn't like Lexie was some fling of the week for me back in high school. We started dating when we were sixteen, making future plans. Marriage. Kids. The whole nine yards.

I'd wanted forever with her. Tristan had tried to take her away. And she'd let him.

I remembered that night like it was yesterday.

I showed up at The Pig late, a little drunk from plundering my father's liquor cabinet. I'd heard the rumors about Tristan and Lexie, noticed the signs. We used to be like the three musketeers, all spending time together, but lately, they'd been going off on their own.

Then someone I trusted very much told me they were sleeping together.

I already knew something was wrong. I felt it.

So when I showed up at the Pig and saw them sitting next to each other, whispering like they had a secret, I just lost it.

I pulled Tristan off the bar stool, hitting him in the jaw as soon as he turned around, his face shocked and pale.

"Oliver, stop it!" Lexie screamed, but I could barely hear her over the blood pounding in my ears. I hit Tristan again, and again, until one of the bouncers pulled me off.

"I know your father, so I'm not going to call the sheriff," Clayton said later, when Tristan was spitting blood into the street and Lexie was comforting him.

My heart was shattered, and I didn't care if they put me in jail or not. But in the end, they let my dad come and get me.

I told Peter the whole story, his eyes wide.

"That sounds wild, man. But at the same time, it's been years. They didn't end up together. Why can't you forgive them?"

"They broke my heart, both of them, together," I muttered. "Yet I went and offered her my cabin to stay in. I can't let her go."

Peter hummed. "Maybe you should tell her that. Maybe it's fate that brought you back together."

I looked at him. "You believe in fate?"

"Kind of," he admitted, smiling sheepishly. "I feel like fate is what brought me and Carlos together."

Carlos was Peter's husband. They'd met in college, went their separate ways, then came back together later in life.

"I don't know if I do," I admitted.

Peter shrugged. "It believes in you," he said cryptically.

I rolled my eyes. "Gross," I said as I chewed my French dip slowly and then popped a fry into my mouth .

He grinned at me. "Romantic. Hopeful. Sweet. Those are the words you should have used."

I rolled my eyes again, but then I said, "So that's your advice? Talk to her?"

"Come clean about your cabin, at least."

"Absolutely not," I said, and Peter snorted out a laugh.

"Whatever you say, boss."

I left the cafe feeling a lot better about things, and that was all that mattered. Peter had served as my friend, not my assistant, and it felt good to get things off my chest.

It was probably for the best that Lexie had left the morning after we hooked up. I didn't want to get wrapped back up in her again. I couldn't for so many reasons, not least of which my child, who didn't deserve to have women coming and going from his life just like his own mother had done.

I thought about the day that he would ask about Suzanne and I grimaced. There were no easy ways to tell a child that his mother had simply dropped him off like the stork on his father's doorstep and then left forever.

"You're bad at women, man," I said to myself. "Really, really bad."