Page 106 of The Wrong Game

I forced a breath, blinking until my vision cleared. “I… I don’t understand.”

“You love this bar,” Doc said. “You love it just as much as I do, and I know you would take care of it. I want to leave it to you.” He pushed off the edge of the bar and walked toward me, one hand finding my shoulder. He waited until I lifted my gaze to his. “Butonlyif this is what you want. If this bar makes you happy, if it’s where you see yourself in this life, then I will happily give it to you. I don’t need the money from selling it. I’ve been saving for this for my entire life, and the bar has never been a factor in my decision.”

He swallowed, his hand squeezing my shoulder.

“But, if there’s even a chance in hell that you want to do something else — anything else — coach, fly a plane, run a hotel, whatever, then I want to sell this bar and help you get started on that dream.”

I shook my head, blinking my eyes again and again, but somehow my vision was still blurred. “No, no you can’t do that. You can’t sell this bar. You can’t givemethe money from selling this bar.”

“I can,” he said, voice firm. “And I will, if that’s what you want.”

I was still shaking my head, and Doc sighed, walking me around the edge of the bar until I sat down on one of the barstoolbarstools. He sat with me, and for a moment, we just existed in silence.

“I know this is a lot,” he said. “But, I want this. Okay? I’ve been in Chicago my whole life, and I’m over the winters.” He laughed, his eyes growing brighter. “I want to open a little beachside bar that tourists can come to, or that locals can find a home in. I want to fall asleep on the beach and spend my afternoons reading in a hammock. I want to kiss the woman I’ve loved from afar any time I goddamn want to. I want to fish,” he said, throwing his hands up. “For fish I can actuallyeat, unlike these contaminated lake fish I’ve been catching in Lake Michigan my whole life.”

I chuckled, but my chest was still tight, throat thick.

“And I want to give this bar to you,” he said, his voice lower, eyes connecting with mine. “Ifit’s what you want. And if it’s not, then I want to sell it and help you get whatever it is that you do want.”

“But—”

“No, this is non-negotiable,” he said, brows furrowed. “I’m serious. You’re like a son to me, Zach.”

His voice cracked, eyes washing over with a gloss of tears, and I had to look up at the ceiling to hold my own tears at bay.

“You brought a light into my life when you walked into it, even though you were a giant pain in my ass.”

I laughed, and Doc did, too, his hand finding my shoulder again with a squeeze.

“You turned this bar around. You gave it life again, gavemelife again — purpose. And you have sacrificed everything for me, for your family.” He nodded at me like a proud dad, his eyes still glossy. “It’s time for us to give back to you. It’s time for you to start livingyourlife, Zach.”

I didn’t know what to say after that, and Doc didn’t want me to talk — not tonight. He made me promise to go home and think about it, to give it some serious consideration over the next couple of weeks and then give him my decision. Then, he sent me home early, saying he’d take care of the last items on our closing list.

I walked back to my car without shielding myself from the rain. I felt numb, and maybe part of me hoped the freezing rain would somehow wake me up, that it would somehow give me the answers to all the questions I had — some I hadn’t even found words to ask yet.

Doc was leaving. The man who was like a second father to me, who had taken me in when he couldn’t afford to, who had given me a place to work, a way to help my family — he was leaving.

My best friend was leaving.

And the bar was either mine, or it was going to be gone — sold to the highest bidder.

The decision was mine to make.

I sat in my car with my wet hands gripping the wheel for ten full minutes, trying to make sense of it all. And then, with nothing more than a blink and a sniff, I pulled my phone from my pocket and dialed her number, throwing my car into drive.

“Zach?” she asked, voice low and croaky. It was almost two in the morning now. “It’s late. Are you okay?”

“Come over.”

There was shuffling on the other end as I turned, pulling out of the parking lot and into the street.

“Now?” she asked. “Zach, it’s almost two. I was sleeping. I… I’m not dressed, I don’t have any makeup on—”

“Please.”

The word cracked out of me, louder than I expected, with a desperation I didn’t realize I felt until it was hanging there between us.

I forced a breath, closing my eyes before opening them wide and blinking away the fog. “Please, Gemma. I need you. Please.Pleasecome over. I… I can come get you. I’m driving now. I’m by my house but I can come your way and get you and—”