Page 118 of Structure of Love

“I want to thank everyone for coming, but then yeah, we can go back.”

37

Gage

After the funeral, Logan dove into work. He decided to let his grandfather’s bar run, taking my advice to give it a year. He did go in and assure the employees they were fine, no one was getting fired, and to just keep doing their jobs. It relieved many, and while he was a tad busier, bouncing between both bars and all, it wasn’t anything he couldn’t handle. He was fortunate to have good managers at both locations.

It had been two weeks since the funeral, and things were, for once, going in a positive direction. Cooper was steadfast in his therapy and rehab, and he was even doing something like—le gasp—making goals! I drove him to rehab half the time, as obviously he couldn’t drive yet, and he Ubered the rest of the time on my dime. The extra expense was fine, so long as he went. I wished I could have afforded an inpatient rehab, but it was way too expensive. Literally ten times the cost and his insurance (he was still on Mom’s insurance) wouldn’t cover it. They’d covered the hospital bills but not this. So, we had to settle for an outpatient rehab. I’d been nervous about the chance for regression, but Cooper was adamant about turning his lifearound and he was really sticking with it. He seemed to be making physical progress, as the anxiety and jitteriness had died down, and he was able to sleep better as the injuries healed up.

Tonight, we had a family dinner at my house, as I’d offered to cook something for everyone. I expected people very soon, in fact.

Cooper wandered into the kitchen, phone in hand. “Hey, bro.”

“Hey. How was your therapy today?”

“Good? Overall? I get a lot of ‘What the fuck did you just say?’ faces from my therapist. I apparently am lucky to have survived all the shit I’ve done.” Cooper scratched his scalp. “I’m starting to realize I was stupidly reckless.”

“It’s called maturity. Glad it finally hit you.”

“Did you do stupid shit as a teen?”

“Bro, I ate crayons on a dare, okay?”

He snickered, grey eyes dancing. “Yeah, that makes me feel a little better.”

One of the things I was working on was tearing down this image in Cooper’s head that I was this oh-so-perfect child. Moments I could share where I did stupid shit seemed to help.

“Oh! Therapist wants you to join next session, if possible. She has questions for both of us.”

“Sure, just tell me the day and time.” I was more than happy to participate.

Not to mention it would give me some experience before I started my own therapy in about two weeks.

Logan showed up with Erin, and Cooper was happy to sit at the table and eat a homemade meal. It paused our conversation, but that was fine for now. I was happy with the update.

I dished up some Hawaiian Haystacks, as I called them—layers of rice, chicken in gravy, plus nuts and fruits as my whimssuited. It was a great thing to make for a crowd, and filling, plus usually there was enough left over for lunch tomorrow. Win-win.

People loaded their plates before I had a chance to catch up with Logan. I snuck in a kiss while the siblings were distracted. “Hi. Good day?”

“Pretty good.”

He certainly looked more relaxed, less the walking stack of pain he’d been last week. “Managing both bars still fine?”

“Yeah, fortunately. If anything, it’s getting easier as I figure out how they operate and introduce myself to all the staff. There’s just one thing.” Logan pursed his lips, looking a bit perplexed. “Never thought I’d say these words in my life but…I’ve got too much money.”

“Uh…okay?”

Cooper snorted. “How can you have too much money?”

“Crazy as it sounds, kinda the situation. So, along with the bar, I got the business account linked to the bar. Kinda have to, it’s part and parcel, right?”

Oh shit. I had a better idea of where he was going with this now.

“The thing is, Grandfather worked the bar for decades, and after Grandmother started cheating on him, that’s all he did. Work. No hobbies, no vacations, nothing. Just worked. He stopped paying for anything not directly household related, too, forcing his wife to pay for herself. So money just kept accruing, and the bar makes good money as it is.”

“I have no idea what a bar actually makes,” I admitted. Finances weren’t something we’d talked about before.

“Oh, well, after expenses and all, I make about two hundred thousand a year.”