Chapter 10

Iwas feeling pretty good about myself, right up until Tommy walked into the brewery with his buddy Bill and a bouquet of red and blue flowers, same as we had at our wedding. He sidles up to the bar as casual as you please, as if Cole hadn’t told him that he’s not welcome at Ziggy’s anymore. No doubt one of his buddies found out that Cole’s out of town tonight, so he figured it was his chance to pull whatever bullshit he’s here to pull.

“These are for you, honey,” he says, pushing the bouquet over the counter. It’s pretty, not like the half-price, withered bouquets he’d gotten me before on half-forgotten birthdays and Valentine’s Days, so I give the flowers a condolence sniff before throwing them straight into the trash. He already smells of booze, so this wasn’t his first stop tonight.

“Ohhhh, she got you good,” Bill says. The two of them might as well be teenage boys. Drunk-as-a-skunk teenage boys. Bill’s always been bad news. Tommy too, of course, but he’s better at hiding it.

Tommy’s a good looking man—blond and pretty. A charming man, too. He knows how to talk a woman up when he feels inclined to bother, and when he saw fit to give me attention, I felt like the luckiest woman in the world. For a year or so, until his attention began to wander, and I realized his brain might as well be a bag of Cheetos, and he couldn’t keep a job to save his life because the only things he cared about were sports, women, and beer.

“Brittany,” Tommy says, his tone wheedling. “I only wanted to give you something beautiful.”

“And you did, so now you can piss off. You know Cole doesn”t want you here.”

He stiffens, and I remember how he always used to be jealous of Cole, as if there were a snowball’s chance in hell I’d sleep with my dead best friend’s husband, never mind that Tommy was sleeping with half the women in town and showing plenty of tourists a good time while he was at it. “Well, now. He doesn’t have any right to keep me out.”

“Seems to me he has every right in the world to decide who he’s going to serve, same as I do. And I won’t serve either of you. You’ve already been drinking, and we have a policy not to serve anyone who’s drunk.”

They wheedle; they complain; they don’t leave. I can’t make them go, physically, and we don’t have any big guys in the bar tonight. No one who could drag them out for me if they try to make a scene. My new friends, the Bingo buddies, are sitting in a little huddle at the end of the bar, playing a game of Bingo with a few friends they’ve made over the past few weeks, but they’re not exactly intimidating. It’s the time of year. Not many tourists, just after Christmas, and the weather’s cold enough that most folks would prefer to stay inside and drink their own hooch.

Logan’s not here.

He hasn’t been here.

Not since New Year’s.

I’ve tried not to notice and not to miss him, but that’s as good as trying to ignore the pile of shit that’s sitting at my bar and calling himself Thomas.

I consider calling the police but decide to hold that possibility in my back pocket. If I call the police and they come, everyone in town will be gumming about how I threw my ex-husband out of the brewery out of spite, when he wasn’t doing a thing to harm anyone.

Sighing, I go about my business, trying to ignore them. But I can’t keep ignoring them anymore once Bill starts raising his voice. No one’s allowed to fight in here. We can’t have it because drunk people tend to pile on.

While there’s no chance the Bingo buddies are going to get in on the action, their behavior gives me the excuse I want—and need—to interfere.

Still, just in case, I head over to the Bingo buddies first.

“You having some trouble here, Brittany?” asks Christopher, the one who reminds me of my grandpa. “You say the word, and we’ll see those scoundrels out.”

My heart swells because I know he’d try. They all would. They’ve been coming here loyally ever since I first set them up.

“Don’t you worry about me,” I say. “Worry about Ralph over there.” I point to Christopher’s friend, the sweet balding man who looks like one of those baby cherubs rich people have statues of. “He’s gonna hose you if you’re not careful. Bingo might be a game of chance, but where there’s a will there’s a way.”

Ralph gives a sound that’s half laugh, half grunt. “Damn right. Now what do you need from us?”

“I’m going to go talk to those gentlemen over there. And if they give me a hard time about leaving, I want you to call the police, okay? Don’t get involved, just call the police and make sure they head on over here to help.”

“What about Cole?” Christopher asks, his brow furrowed with worry lines eighty years in the making. “Should we call him?”

I consider this for a moment, then nod. “Yes, call him. He’s too far away to come himself, but he’ll help as much as he can.” Besides, it’s his brewery, and he’ll want to know what’s going on. He deserves to.

I’m about to turn when the older woman with them, Shirley, says, “Be careful, hon. I don’t like the look of those men.”

“Neither do I,” I say, grinning at her. “I had the misfortune of being married to the blond one for years.”

“Oh boy,” Ralph says with a deep laugh. “We’re in for it.”

I turn from them, take a long, slow breath, and head over to Bill and Tommy, who’re arguing more loudly now. I can’t even tell what in bejesus they’re arguing about, other than that they both seem to feel strongly about it, and the name of the star player for a college football team is being thrown around in the mix.

“Boys,” I say, sidling up close but not too close. “It’s time for you to leave. You’re upsetting the other guests. I’m asking you nicely, but if you don’t listen, I’ll start asking less nicely.”

“Your ex-husband over here is being a dumbass,” Bill says gruffly, giving Tommy a look that’s probably meant to kill.

“While I believe you, I don’t think that gives you any cause to yell and cause a disturbance.”

“Aw, I’m not disturbing anyone, am I?” he asks, raising his voice until he’s shouting. There’s a cruel smirk on his face that suggests he knows exactly what he’s doing. I give a sidelong look to the Bingo buddies and find them watching. At my nod, Ralph salutes me.

Help is coming, but it might be a long time coming.

“Why don’t I get y’all some water?”

“Oh, so you’ll serve us water, huh, but not what we ordered?”

Tommy frowns and gives his buddy’s shoulder a shove. “Take it easy on Brittany.”

“And why would I want do that?” Bill asks. “She doesn’t see fit to take it easy on me.”

“Two waters on the house,” I say, clapping a hand on the bar. I fill the glasses and place them on the bar in front of them.

I figure out what Bill intends to do before he does it, but not in time to stop him. He picks up the water, all dramatic like, and spills it out on the bar.

“You clean that up,” Tommy says, sounding pissed.

His friend laughs, his cheeks red. “It’ll be a cold day in hell before I do that.”

I can see that it will be, and while I’d like nothing better than to tell this asshole where to stick it, I don’t want this scene to get any uglier. So I retreat to grab a towel from the back of the bar.

“You clean that up,” Tommy repeats to his friend.

“You do it,” Bill snarls. Then he picks up a napkin dispenser and, before I can say or do anything, throws it at Tommy. Only he’s still drunk as a skunk, and it flies right past Tommy and hits me in the forehead.

Tears instantly spring to my eyes as it collides with my forehead and then falls to my feet, and then Tommy’s bellowing and tackling Bill. “You fucking hurt my wife, you piece of shit. Fucker. I’m gonna kill you.” There are shouts and cries all across the taproom floor, and I stagger back, trying to think, struggling because my face hurts like hell.

“She’s not your wife anymore, you dumb shit,” Bill yells back. They’re both on their feet now, Bill with a bruised face that’ll lead to a black eye. “Did you miss the part where she threw your flowers in the trash?”

“I’m gonna kill you,” Tommy repeats, the two of them going round and round like a pair of fool boxers. I can’t let them do this. I can’t. They’re not just in danger of hurting each other. Someone else could wander into the mix and try to stop them—one of my dear, sweet Bingo buddies or someone else. A tourist. Or…

My heart hammering in my chest, I grab up the soda fountain snake, which is always getting jammed, and spray them with Sprite.

“What the fuck?” Bill yells, turning toward me with gleaming eyes, like he plans on punching me in the face for giving him a free drink. Crap.

But Tommy takes advantage of his distraction and deals him a blow that should crumple him but doesn’t because Bill’s built like a brick house and was on the football team for all five years he went to high school. Within seconds, they’re at it again. My face still feels like it’s on fire, and my big plan didn’t work worth shit. I’ve got pepper spray in my bag, but I left my bag in Cole’s office, and I don’t dare try to get to it. I’d have to leave them alone out here, and even though I don’t have a real prayer of stopping them, I want to at least keep an eye on them.

I dart a wild look at the Bingo buddies. Shirley’s watching the mess with judging eyes, but when Ralph catches me looking, he gives me a thumbs up. Sure enough, Christopher’s on his phone. So the cops will be here soon. Hopefully, it’s soon enough, because Bill just got in another good one on Tommy, and one of them knocked a chair over.

A table gets turned over next, and my eyes bulge because a glass is shattered and pieces fly across the floor like shrapnel. The people who’re still at the brewery have gathered around the outskirts of the tasting room floor in a distant circle, several of them with their phones out.

“Leave!” I shout to them, to Tommy and Bill. No one seems to listen.

I can’t let this keep going on. I can’t.

I grab my phone from behind the bar to call the police—my friends have already done it, but it can’t hurt for the cops to understand the urgency of the situation.

Bill hits Tommy, and the two of them topple another chair.

No one’s answered the phone, but I don’t let that stop me. “I’m on the phone with the police, you assholes. You’re going to regret you were ever born.”

It’s then the door bursts open.

Shock roils through me, making my knees weak.

It’s him. It’s Logan, wearing a long sleeve shirt and no coat. He rushes through the opening, and my heart swells as if it’s stupid enough to believe in Prince Charming again, because he’s clearly full of righteous indignation on my behalf. Our eyes meet, and I feel myself leaning over the bar. But then his gaze lifts to my forehead and everything inside of him stiffens, his hands curling into fists of rage.

“Who the fuck did that to her?” he bellows. He starts charging toward Tommy and Bill with purpose, not even flinching, although he must be stomping over the broken glass.

My next reaction is one of fear, because I can see what’s going to happen—I can see it. He’s going to bust in there and join the fight, and he’ll get hurt or killed, and it’ll all be my fault. Even if he’s not hurt, he’ll be arrested, and I can’t let that happen. I—

A piercing noise fills the air, and my gaze shifts past Logan to the couple I was too wrapped up in him to notice—Ivy Mayberry and her father’s lodger, Lou. And Lou’s holding her rape whistle.

Ivy grabs Logan’s arm and whispers something to him, her expression urgent. His face is still furious, but he’s listening. Thank God, he’s listening.

Save him, Ivy. Make him see sense…

Tommy and Bill have stopped swinging at each other, for the moment, but I know it won’t last long.

Then Logan starts charging forward again. My heart lodges in my chest—I don’t want him to get hurt, I couldn’t bear it, I couldn’t—

But then he circles the guys and the bar, and without a word sweeps me up off my feet and into his arms, picking me up as if I weigh nothing. As if I”m something precious. My first, stupid, thought, is that I’ve finally come home.