Page 35 of Up in Smoke (The Bunkhouse #3)

TRIPP

Gage counts out a stack of cash from a silver money clip. The flashing neon lights cast a shadow under the sharp, square brim of his hat. I still catch his frown and have to chuckle because he looks so out of place in his high-dollar cowboy hat, jeans, and boots.

“Here you go, ladies.” He holds out a wad of money, and the two half-naked girls take it from him eagerly.

“Where do you want to go?” the raven-haired one asks. She’s bouncing on the balls of her high heels while the brunette next to her bites her lower lip and runs a finger down the center of her chest.

“What?” Gage shouts above the music.

The brunette in a glittery bikini chimes in with a raised voice this time. “She said, where are you going to take us?”

His hand covers his eyes, and I laugh hysterically. Warren, Heston, and I have our backs leaned against the bar, shoulder to shoulder, as we watch the scene unfold.

“You don’t understand,” Gage says with wide eyes and his hands out in front of him like he’s directing traffic. “I’m paying you to leave me the hell alone.”

The girls pout their lips out. “But your friend said?—”

“Which one?” he demands.

The one with black hair spins on her heel and points straight at me.

I wink and wave back with a smirk. We could have hit our usual spot in Westridge, but I’m glad Warren picked the run-down strip club thirty minutes away.

It’s in the middle of nowhere and smells like cheap perfume and sweat, but the dread in Gage’s eyes when we pulled up was so fucking worth it.

I wouldn’t have told the pair of dancers that he wanted an hour in the VIP room with them if I thought he’d ever say yes. He’s spent the entire night looking down every time we came within two feet of a girl with barely covered boobs.

“Here’s extra. Just—get lost.” He starts to stomp past them, but then turns back momentarily. “Respectfully.”

They roll their eyes but waste no time stuffing the money into their bras. They eventually slip behind a black curtain blocked by a man in a suit, who looks like he might be a bodybuilder on the side.

“You’re no fun,” I tease as Gage approaches.

“Eight shots,” he grumbles to the bartender, ignoring me. “I don’t care what kind they are.”

“Giving free rein to the bartenders now?” Heston says. “Your tax bracket is showing.”

We all turn to face the bar. When a tray is slapped down in front of us a minute later, we each take one and stare skeptically at the mysterious green liquid.

“Grumpy goblin shots,” the bartender explains with an annoyed flick of her hair.

“I don’t think they like us here,” Warren chuckles.

“One last drink,” I say with a slight wobble. “Er, two. Two.”

I may not be blitzed out of my mind, but I’m damn close. I know my friends are too, because they each raise their shots and circle up in the bromantic way we only do when we’ve been at it drinking for hours.

The truth is that this bachelor party couldn’t have come at a better time. I’ve never wanted to get drunk so bad in my life after not having the guts to tell Mesa about my dad showing up last night. Great first impression as a boyfriend of less than a week. Hiding shit.

Getting blindsided by my dad in the first place makes me want to drink even more.

I’m just glad she wasn’t there to meet him. She’d have turned to me and seen nothing but the giant red flag I am.

Heston doesn’t put up a fight as I slap my hand on his upper back. He bumps my drink as a result, making it spill over a tad. I turn my cap backward and lick up the side of the shot glass, wincing at the sour green apple taste.

Warren’s free arm loops around Gage to flick the back of his hat so that it drops down over his forehead to cover his eyes. Gage pushes it back and then jabs him in the arm with a laugh so loud I start to wonder if we all smoked a bowl at some point tonight and I just forgot about it.

There’s no telling what I’ve consumed or smoked since this night began. Since last night ended, actually. It’s been a complete bender already, and I’m not even done.

“Congrats on getting married to a woman so far out of your league, the first officiant canceled because he didn’t think she’d go through with it,” Warren says with a raised glass.

“Truth,” Gage agrees.

Heston and I both echo Gage’s statement in unison. “Truth.”

We throw back the shots and slam the empty glasses on the bar, instantly picking up the other four.

Heston looks at me, and I lift my glass to clink with his. Gage and Warren do the same.

I start up my toast and lock eyes with Gage. “Eat if you’re hungry. Drink if you’re dry. Fucking the best man’s sister is a dumb way to die.”

Now I know for sure they’re hammered. Because we each throw back the shots, and then Warren and Gage are shaking hands, nearly bent over with laughter.

“Dude,” Heston leans in, whispering to me.

I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and turn toward him. “What?”

He doesn’t verbally answer, just juts his chin in the direction of the stage. I follow his line of sight, confused. The base thumps hard enough to make my chest vibrate, and the strobe lights blur the flickering silhouettes on the dance floor. All I see is a group of?—

I freeze.

“Is that your dad?” he whispers.

I reach for a random bottle of beer on the bar and chug it down. “How the hell would you know if that’s my dad?”

“I wasn’t trying to overhear anything, but I was home last night. You sounded mad. I came down the hall to make sure something wasn’t going down.”

Oh.

The man in question is struggling to stay upright. Last night he was jittery, but sober and somewhat composed. Now his hair flops down in his face. His shirt’s untucked. He even grabs a passing woman’s hand and spills his entire drink down his shirt.

Looks about right to me. What a fucking bloodline. I shake my head and tip the bottle back again, even though it’s long gone.

I blink slowly three times and sway into Heston’s side. My mouth opens with a wide grin as I try to continue watching my dad out of the corner of my eye.

“Me in twenty years, am I right?” I joke with a cough as Heston pulls down my finger that’s pointing in Monty’s direction.

“Y’all ready?” Warren asks.

“No,” I blurt out. “I’ll be right back.”

I shuffle toward daddy dearest, and as soon as he spots me, he holds a hand over his belly and laughs. My boots scuff across the floor. He leans back to sit on a stool but misses, falling completely to the ground.

Something about the sight sobers me. Not much, but enough to make me crouch beside him where he hasn’t bothered moving since falling flat on his back.

“Rough night?”

“It’s not good, er, bad,” he slurs. “We’ll see if I find a be—better place to land.”

I stare at his drooping eyes and mouth. His head rolls back and forth while he laughs with a rasp, like he’d already polished off a few packs of smokes today.

“Whatcha doin’ here?” I ask.

“Getting ready fer bed.”

“Uh huh. Looks like it.”

“Fancy seein’ you here too, my boy.” He howls with laughter that ends in a series of deep coughs. “Just think if I’d come around sooner. Good times, we’da had. Just like this.”

God, he’s absolutely trashed.

“Sure, Pops.”

“I knew we’d run inna each other so soon. Shh.” He covers his mouth with a clumsy finger. “I won’t tell yer little girlfriend. Now go on and wrangle us up a few strippers. Father-son bonding, yeah? I need to borrow some cash, though.”

I grind my jaw. He winks at me, then closes his eyes and nods off. Two security guards come up on either side of me with their arms crossed.

I ignore them and lightly slap my hand on Monty’s cheek two times. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Want us to call him a cab again?” one of the security guards asks.

I look up. “Again?”

“Yeah, same as the other night? Two days ago, he passed out on the bench by the bathrooms. We found a recent receipt and a motel key card in his wallet. Called a cab and sent him there.”

I scoff, hardly believing what I’m hearing. I hit him hard on the chest to wake him up. He lifts his head enough for me to get a strong whiff of stale beer.

“Huh?” he says, wide-eyed now.

“Get up before I call the nearest rehab.”

He shoots up to a sitting position. I grab one of his hands when he starts swaying back and forth. I’m damn near drunk myself, so the attempt to heft us both to our feet doesn’t exactly work.

“Don’t bother,” he grumbles. “Accept yer fate now, son. Just lay down ‘n let tomorrow kick your ass when it gets here like me. Same as ev’ry damn day. Runs in the fa— hiccup —mily.”

He flops down to his back just as two arms link through each of my elbows.

Judging by their voices as they speak with the security guards, they’re Heston and Gage.

I don’t know why I do it—fight against them while they lift me to stand.

They don’t let go until I’m nearly shouting and pushing them clean away from my body in the parking lot.

Knowing we’d be drinking, Gage had a car service booked to take us here and drop us at home when the night is over. The four of us wait silently on the curb with no words to erase the rigid tension after they witnessed my run-in with my dad.

The night air is still muggy and hot despite the late hour.

An overcast sky blocks the moonlight, and every so often, spits of moisture fall in light patters against my skin.

Convinced I’m overheating, I grasp the front of my shirt and fan it away from my burning skin.

Warren’s back straightens, and he eyes the club door with a wrinkle in his forehead.

I turn to see what stole his attention. I wish I hadn’t.

“You’re going to have to wait here until the taxi arrives,” the security guard says.

His hand is hooked through my dad’s elbow—both to keep him upright and to prevent him from dashing back into the building for another round.

It’s a chilling sight, just after my friends did the same exact thing to me.