Page 110 of Structure of Love

I went in today to finish the usual paperwork and make sure we were well stocked after a busy weekend. Not that I didn’t trust my managers, but a business owner who didn’t keep his finger on the pulse of his business was one doomed to fail. I’d learned this lesson by observation. The first bar I’d bartended at had failed within a year in because the owner became obsessed with starting a restaurant and ignored the bar.

I wasn’t making the same mistake.

So here I was, doing inventory, as well as an overall sweep of the place to make sure nothing was broken or needed attention.I also made sure things had been cleaned up properly. Seemed like everything was in order—

My phone rang and I answered it absently. “Hello?”

“Hello, is this Logan McNair?”

This sounded like a professional call, which immediately put my guard up. “It is. Who’s this?”

“I’m Mark Hussle, at Anderson Law Firm. I’m calling on behalf of your grandfather’s estate.”

Several parts of his sentence made no sense to me. “I’m sorry, estate?”

There was a pregnant pause. “I’m confused. Did no one tell you your grandfather passed on Saturday?”

The world went strange and still and quiet. I stood in my bar, a territory I’d made solely mine, but for a moment the space felt incredibly foreign to me. Nothing seemed real, not even my own breathing, which sounded shaky. It felt like I was suddenly disconnected from reality.

Someone using my voice responded. “No. I hadn’t heard that.”

“I’m so sorry, I thought someone in the family had notified you. It must be horrible hearing it from me.”

Some instinct sent me into the nearest chair, which I practically collapsed into, as I just didn’t have the strength to stand. I felt like tears were coming, but they weren’t here yet, and I was left in this odd emotional limbo. My brain was still processing things, my mouth was still answering, but I had no emotional attachment to this moment.

Knowing me, the emotions would hit later, like a fucking freight train.

“I’m estranged from my family,” I said in a strangled voice, like he needed the explanation. “I hadn’t heard. How did he die?”

“Peacefully, from what I’m told. Passed away in his sleep.”

I was glad for that, fiercely glad. Also dismayed I hadn’t been able to say my goodbyes to a man who, for better or worse, had driven me to be the man I’d become. Anger built in me, too, at not being given the chance. I’d have dropped everything and gone straight there if someone had just told me he was on his deathbed. Rage, like quicksilver, flashed in my blood.

Bastards. All of them.

“Thank you. Has his funeral happened yet?”

Poor attorney sounded flustered, but he answered gamely. “It’s set for Friday. I can have my office email you the details, as we arranged part of the funeral on behalf of the client.”

“I’d appreciate that.”

“I, uh, actually called to tell you the contents of his will. He left a sizable inheritance for you.”

Was this a fever dream? Had I fallen somehow, hit my head, and this conversation was what my brain chose to torture me with? Because those words madezerosense.

“I’m sorry?”

“He left you his bar. Are you familiar with it?”

This had to be a dream. Nightmare. Something other than reality. After denying me the bar when I’d pleaded for it, after years of ignoring me since our argument, on his goddamn deathbed he chose to leave the bar to me?

What a sick joke.

“I don’t want it.”

There was another pause, like he didn’t know how to respond. “I can’t pretend to understand what you’re going through, Logan. By law, I have to transfer ownership of it over to you. If you don’t want to keep it, sell it or give it to another family member. But I have to initially give it to you, at least.”

Shit, did I really have to take it? I hated the very concept. Even I wasn’t quite sure why, my emotions were in such a jumbled mess. Might take my therapist to help me figure it out.