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“She could have.” Brad nodded along, looking very much like he wanted to believe this version of the events. Then, without warning, a shadow crossed on his face. Owen and Steve both leaned in, their elbows on knees, attentive. “She didn’t, though. She ‘went to her mom’s.’” Owen bit the inside of his lip at the air quotes Brad used. Yeah, that didn’t bode well.

“Did she, though?” he asked Brad.

Brad shook his head. “I honestly don’t know, and I really don’t know how I’d ever find that out. Do I ask her? Do I ask her mom? Won’t it look suspicious if I start poking around?”

“Not if she’s actually the one poking around,” Steve said, laughing at his own joke. Brad frowned. “What?” Steve asked, smiling again. “Too soon?”

“It won’t look like anything if you ask her about it the right way. Did you check her credit cards from that night?”

Brad looked up at him. “I hadn’t even thought of that.”

“It might be a good place to start. Even if she didn’t pay for dinner, maybe she bought something in Butte that could give you reason enough to ask her about that day, what she was doing there.”

Brad smiled, reaching for another of the extra shots Owen had ordered.

“Okay, so that’s the plan. I’ll see what I can find and then what she says. Thanks, guys. Sorry for dragging you through this.”

“No apologies,” Steve said, raising another shot. Owen reached for one, too. Why not? Being his own boss had its perks, chiefly that he didn’t have to show up for anyone the next day except himself. “Man, you got me through weeks of this shit with Katy. I still owe you a few for that.” Steve turned to Owen. “Katy’s the ex. Ran off on me and the business two years ago or so.”

“Sorry, man,” was all Owen could say. Did anything last anymore?

“Ah,” Steve said, “It’s nothing anymore. But man, that shit’ll fuck you up when it first happens. Make you rethink all the crap you think you know.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” Brad echoed.

Owen just nodded, deep in thought about Paige. He didn’t know her well, hadn’t been dating her for that long. But still, something about her, about what she did to him, made all those things Steve and Brad talked about ring true. Losing her was messing with him in a way no other breakup had.

“Shot for your thoughts?” Steve asked, handing him another whiskey. Owen sucked in a deep breath, feeling the alcohol already running through his system. Standing on a precipice that told him to go home now or go balls out, he took the shot and raised it. Brad had the last lemon drop and Steve the last whiskey. Owen just wasn’t ready to go home yet.

“Paige?” Brad asked.

Owen nodded, using the whiskey as an excuse for not answering right away.

“Is that weird for you?” he asked Brad.

“Not as weird as I thought it would be,” he said. “Actually, I’ve never seen her as happy, a cancer diagnosis notwithstanding. You’ve been good for her.”

“Not good enough for her to stay,” Owen mused. The server came by and started clearing what looked like a small frat party’s worth of glasses from the table.

“Another round, guys?” the server asked. She stared at Steve, a toothy grin on her face. Owen chuckled, forgetting his problems for a bit.

“Yes, please, sweetheart,” Steve said, matching her smile tooth for tooth. Owen choked back a laugh under the guise of a cough. Steve apparently didn’t miss a beat when it came to women, especially women in charge of his alcohol consumption. He knew she wanted him, played with that. “Can you join us for a round?” he asked her.

The server’s cheeks flushed and she bit her bottom lip like she considered quitting right then and there just to join them.

“Um, I can’t,” she said, regret caught in her throat, tangling the words. “Not right now, anyway. I’m off at midnight,” she told him, ignoring the way Brad’s jaw dropped and Owen’s face contorted into a smile that he tried and failed at hiding.

“Sounds good to me. Keep your night clear, sweetheart,” Steve said, adding an entirely unnecessary wink. There wasn’t a doubt in Owen’s mind she was going home with Steve come hell or high water. “But until then, we’d love another round.”

“The whiskeys or the lemon drops?” she asked, her voice sweeter than the latter and far more potent.

“Yes,” Steve answered. She giggled, a different server than she’d been half an hour earlier now that she’d gained the attention of Steve. Never mind that he had at least a decade on her.

Owen got it, though. Steve was built like a pro wrestler with the face of a Hollywood actor of an indiscernible age. Brad Pitt came to mind, as did George Clooney—men you couldn’t really pin down an age for, because their stupid good looks made it damn near impossible. Like them, Owen bet Steve could pull dates from college women to cougars if he wanted to. Poor sap.

She pranced away and Brad shook his head.

“Seriously, I don’t know how you do it.”