Page 5

I stretch again, getting up to go and look in the mirror.

Do I look as tired as I feel?

There are slight bangs under my eyes.

“Not too bad,” I mumble to myself, smoothing back my hair and rubbing the stubble on my chin.

I’m in my hometown after a long time away, and everything in my mind feels muddled. I can’t focus. I keep wanting to think abouther.

The best way to cure that is probably to pour a little poison down my throat in the form of alcohol.

The only bar I know well is called Bennigan’s. From the name you’d think it’s an Irish pub, but instead, it’s just a real American dive.

I haven’t been there in years, and I guess I’m feeling a little nostalgic. I try hard not to think too much, try not to dwell on the past, but there are things I miss about this city.

I’m looking to expand my business in town, so I’ll be spending a lot of time here anyway.

Might as well check out my old haunts.

When I arrive at Bennigan’s, I’m not surprised that it’s packed–it is Friday at nine in the evening, after all.

What does surprise me is that other than adding a few new pool tables, the place is exactly the same as the last time I saw it.

Down to the bartender–a big guy named Fred who always kept an eye out for me and my friends when we were really too young to be in there.

“That can’t be Logan,” he drawls as I find an empty spot at the bar and slide onto a barstool.

“It can be. How you been, Fred?”

“Oh, you know, same shit, different day.”

I chuckle. “I hear that. Give me a beer, would you?”

“You’re finally old enough now.”

The grin that spreads across my face feels almost strange.

I’ve been so focused on building my business that I haven’t let myself relax in so long. It feels good.

I sip my beer, scanning the bar to see what kind of people are in here. I notice a few women at a table. Not that I’m looking for anything. Women are more trouble than they’re worth, and I stay as far from that particular species as I can.

Herface flashes in my mind’s eyes again.

Stop it!

Love is just a fairy tale, and I don’t have time for stories that won’t come true. Not for me, at least.

“Logan?”

The voice behind me is very familiar, and I swivel around on the barstool to spot Grayson Whitlock, my childhood best friend who I haven’t seen in way too long.

Shock rockets through me. “Grayson? You’re still living here?”

“Born and bred.” He grins, clapping me on the shoulder and pulling me into a hug. “It’s been a million years since I’ve seen you.”

“Been busy.” I keep looking at him. “What have you been up to?”

He shrugs, but his face looks ten years younger than it should. He looks happy. It almost makes me sad that I don’t feel that level of contentment.