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Chapter One

Last call. It was both the favorite and the worst part of English Barlowe’s day.

When the bar was full of customers, when the conversations and music overlapped into a loud, indistinguishable din, English found peace. Surrounded by people, busy with filling drink and food orders, keeping any troublemakers under control, he could forget who he was and the demons that chased him. In those moments, he was only a bar owner. Nothing more, nothing less.

Tonight, most of his regulars had cleared out already. Those lagging behind were the ones not wanting to call it a night. They were looking to get drunk or laid or both, and English didn’t have the energy to kick them out.

The task was taken out of his hands when his son came through the swinging door leading from the kitchen.

“Last call, folks. Settle your tabs, call your Ubers and get the hell out.”

Jackson Moore — or Jacky as English always called him — was many things. Subtle wasn’t one of them. He could get away with his gruff attitude thanks to his sizeable build that was all bulk and muscle and height. At the Fire Bar and Grille, Jackson’s word was law, and everyone knew better than to resist.

Jackson’s brother, Easton Hargrove, chuckled as he dried the newly washed shot glasses and returned them to their spot behind the bar. “Hey, Jackson, why don’t you chase everyone out with a baseball bat? It would probably be nicer than yelling at them to go home.”

No one but Easton laughed at his joke, but he probably didn’t expect anything from this slim crowd. A couple of the women presented him with flirtatious smiles as they stumbled out the door on the arm of the first guy willing to take them home or to a motel for the night. Putting Easton behind the bar had been one of the best decisions English ever made. The boy — as English always thought of his sons no matter how old they were — was full of charm. He knew what to say, when to say it, and who to say it to, and the gift served him well in coaxing customers to happily spend more money. He drew women to the bar like a magnet, and the women brought the men. It made for a thriving business, even if English had to make sure Easton didn’t get carried away.

Polar opposites. That described Jackson and Easton as well as anything could, but it was their close bond which made them the perfect team to run the bar. He raised his sons to respect and be there for each other. It didn’t matter they weren’t related by blood. They were a family now.

And they were English’s salvation.

Jackson only glared at Easton’s teasing as he shuffled the last of the customers out the door. It was like this most evenings. English usually ignored their ball-busting, but tonight, he was ready for them to go home. The urge to be alone pulled at him like a strong riptide he was too tired to resist.

When the door slammed closed after the last customer, Jackson secured the lock and joined Easton in the clean-up. The ritual gave them time to wind down from the hectic night at the bar. English wanted to help, so the job would be done faster. But fatigue weighed on him, and he settled on a bar stool to watch his sons work. Easton shut off the music, leaving them in deafening silence. Jackson grabbed a broom from the supply closet to pull across the floor, the swish of the bristles grating on English’s nerves.

He was unsettled. Restless. He was familiar with the feeling and wished he could ignore it. It always meant trouble, and he was getting too old to deal with that kind of trouble. But he couldn’t let it go, not when it come mean problems for his boys.

“Anyone hear from Ben?” He hoped the question about another chosen son sounded like an afterthought. The last thing he wanted to do was alert the boys to his melancholy. They would refuse to go home, and he couldn’t have that. Not tonight.

“He called. About an hour ago.” Jackson never paused in his work, so he didn’t notice the breath of relief English released.

“All good?”

“He’ll be back tomorrow. He has it all taken care of.”

English nodded. He had no doubts that Ben had taken care of his job. His boys were solid, highly capable, and dependable. It wasn’t their work that had him on edge, not that he could put a finger on what did cause his unease. But his concern centered on his boys’ well-being, and it fueled his foreboding.

Having accounted for three of his four boys, he needed a reason to ask after Luke, who hadn’t made an appearance at the bar tonight. He didn’t have a habit of showing up every night, but English had hoped to see him to know he was okay. He couldn’t settle his unease until he did.

“Luke just texted. His date was a bust. He wants to know if we want to hang.” Easton called across the bar to Jackson, answering the question English didn’t know how to ask.

Jackson nodded. “I’m game if you are.”

“Sounds good to me,” Easton readily agreed.

“You boys go ahead and get out of here. Clean-up can wait until tomorrow.” English stood and rounded the bar to try and push Easton out the door. “It’s been a long evening. Go meet up with Luke.”

“We’re almost done here.” Jackson kept sweeping as if English hadn’t spoken.

“Yeah, I still have to take the trash to the dumpster.” Easton stepped toward the kitchen as if to do the task, but English blocked his path.

“I’m giving you guys a break. Take advantage of it. Who knows when I’ll be in a mood to do it again?”

His bark must have had some bite because his sons exchanged a look as if he wasn’t there to see it. Easton settled his gaze on English, his keen eyes assessing.

“You okay, Gish?”

The shortened version of his name had been coined by Ben when he came to stay with English and the other boys as a six-year-old with a speech impediment. Ben couldn’t say English, so he’d developed the nickname which was soon picked up by the others. Though his boys were adults, they still called him Gish and remained the only ones to do so.