It was a twenty-minute drive from Brent's north-central bungalow to Tyree's East Austin home in the Wilshire Wood neighborhood. But for the entire trek, neither Brent nor Reece said a word to each other. Instead, the only sound was a stream of music from KUTX, a local station owned by the University that aired an eclectic mix of music including local artists. Normally, Reece wouldn't mind—part of his job was bringing in local talent, and he'd found several bands for the club by tuning in.

This morning, however, the music-filled silence seemed heavy. And it wasn't until Brent had pulled up in front of the charming stone house and killed the engine that he turned to Reece and spoke.

"Be careful," he said, then opened the door and slipped out of the Volvo before Reece could ask what the hell he meant.

Except, of course, he didn't have to ask. Reece and Brent had been friends a long time, and he knew damn well that Brent wasn't a guy who missed much. It's one of the things that made him such a good father.

It was also damned annoying, and when Faith was a teenager, Reece was pretty sure she'd back him up on that.

"You're imagining things," he said as they walked up the sidewalk, the concrete uneven from years of tree roots pressing upward.

"Could be," Brent said easily, then rang the doorbell. "It's happened before." He stood back, leaning against the stone facade, his brown eyes fixed on Reece. "But in my imaginary world, you're not exactly Mr. Commitment. And Jenna needs a friend more than she needs another guy who disappears on her."

"You don't know what you're talking about," Reece protested, though it sounded hollow even to his own ears. "And anyway, if you think that I would ever hurt—"

The door flew open, cutting off his words, and Elijah Johnson stood there, tall and lanky in a suit and tie. Half-black and half-Japanese, his skin was a shade lighter than Tyree's, and he'd inherited his mother's eyes and his father's broad shoulders. In the last year, the kid had shot up, surpassing his father in height. And even though Reece had seen him only a few weeks ago, it seemed like the kid had grown another foot since then.

"Isn't it a school day?" Brent asked. "And why are you in a suit? You look snappy, by the way."

"Yeah? Is snappy professional? I need to look professional." He took a step back, then waved his hands to indicate the whole outfit as he looked between the two of them. "Would you hire me?"

"Hell, yeah," Reece said. "What am I hiring you for?"

"My boy's got an interview in about an hour over at Dell Children's Hospital." Tyree's deep voice came from the side of the house, and Reece turned to see his friend and boss come up the driveway in sweatpants and a white T-shirt that displayed bulging muscles and tattooed arms. His dark skin glistened, and he wore fingerless leather gloves. He'd obviously been working out in the makeshift gym that took up one half of the detached two-car garage.

"An interview?" Brent said. "Let me guess. Neurosurgeon."

Eli rolled his eyes, then stepped back, holding the door so that the two visitors could come in, followed by Tyree. "It's for a summer internship in the lab. And if I get it, then I'd work there first and second period my senior year."

Tyree practically beamed. "My boy's decided he wants to go to med school." His smooth baritone voice was usually laced with a hint of his Cajun background. Today, it was also filled with pride. "An internship like this could open some doors."

"I'm one of five candidates. There's only two slots, so we're down to the wire." The kid grimaced as he looked at Brent and Reece. "So, you think it's okay? Like, you're not just being nice? Dad says so, but he can be lame, and—"

"You'll knock it out of the park," Reece assured him.

"Thanks a lot," Tyree protested, cuffing his son's upper arm.

Eli exhaled loudly. "Okay. Right. Well, I'm going, then."

"Is this a bad time?" Brent asked Tyree. "If you need to drive him..."

"I'm walking," Eli said. "It's only a few blocks, and, you know, nerves."

"You sure?" Reece said, but no one was listening. Tyree was pulling his son into a bear hug.

"Just be yourself, my man. Your mom would be proud."

"I'll text you after," he said, then set off down the street, his headphones in and his feet moving in time with the music.

"Med school," Tyree said, shaking his head as his son disappeared. He ushered Reece and Brent in the rest of the way, then shut the door behind them. "Hard to believe. I mean, this is the same kid I was afraid was going to drop out of school or join a gang just a few years ago. And now he has his heart set on med school. Not to mention the grades to get him into a first-rate pre-med program."

"You've done a good job with him," Reece said. "Teiko would be proud." Elijah's mother had died from complications following a brutal car wreck, and the tragedy had taken a huge toll on the family. On Reece, too. Tyree and Teiko's marriage was one of the few functional marriages he'd ever witnessed, and the death of that sweet, stubborn woman had felt like a kick in the gut to Reece. He could only imagine how much pain Tyree had endured.

"It was touch and go there for a while," Tyree said as they settled at the table, just like they always did to shoot the shit, play cards, or talk about work. "But I think the kid's turning out okay."

"Hell, yeah, he is," Brent added.

"But med school." Tyree whistled, then leaned back, his fingers interlaced behind his head. "That boy better hope he gets a scholarship."

Brent shot Reece a meaningful glance, which Tyree must have noticed because he sat up straighter. "All right," he said. "This obviously isn't a social call. What's this about?" The casual tone was gone, replaced by the no-nonsense voice of a business owner talking to his employees.

"You tell us," Brent said.

"Like that, is it?" He stood up, then crossed to the fridge and pulled out a protein shake. Tyree was a big man, all muscle, and he'd spent the better part of his life in the military. And a good portion of those years in command of other men. He could be damned intimidating when it suited him. Apparently, it suited him now, because Reece was beginning to feel like he was one of Tyree's troops getting dressed down for breaking formation.

"The way I see it, you either came to talk about something personal or about work. If it's personal, then you're going to have to tell me what's on your mind, because I don't have a clue. And if you came to talk about work—well, if that's the case, I might have some idea why you came. But I also know it's none of your damn business."

"Ty—"

The older man pointed a finger at Reece. "None of your damn business," he repeated. "Now I think you boys should go. I've got some things to do before opening The Fix at two."

Reece shot a look at Brent, who lifted a shoulder in a the hell with that kind of way.

"That might be true," Reece began, leaning back in his chair and stretching out his long legs, "if we were just your employees. But seems to me we're more like family. Or are you going to tell me I'm wrong?"

"What I should tell you is that your daddy raised you better than to stick your nose in where it's not welcome. This is my problem, not yours."

"It's our problem if The Fix goes out of business," Reece said.

"And it's our problem if a friend's in trouble," Brent added.

"Dammit, Ty, forget your pride. You don't have to handle every crisis on your own. Tell us what's going on and give us the chance to help you."

"Anyone ever tell you that you're an insolent son-of-a-bitch?"

"All the time." Reece punctuated his grin with a quick lift of his brows. "So?"

"Ah, hell." Tyree put the shake back in the fridge, then pulled out three beers. He glanced at the clock—just creeping up on eleven—and shrugged. "If we're going to do this, we're going to do it right."

He reached for the can opener he kept in a construction-paper and glitter-decorated coffee can that had a place of prominence in the middle of the table. The paper was pink, and the glitter was glued on in some approximation of bunny shapes. Possibly horses. But since Reece knew the artist personally and had a similar piece of artwork on his kitchen counter, his money was on bunnies. Last Christmas, Faith had been all about the bunnies.

"What do you think you know?" Tyree demanded, opening the three beers in turn.

"That you're staring down a barrel. The balance of a mortgage due at the end of the year. What I don't know is how much that loan is. But you've been acting off the last couple of days, so I'm thinking it's more than you've got tucked away in the cookie jar."

"You're thinking along the right lines," Tyree said, his voice gruff.

"How much?" Brent demanded boldly.

Tyree exhaled, then scrubbed his palms over his face. "Too fucking much," he said, and when he told them the actual number, Reece had to agree. From the way Brent sat up, his posture turning just a little too stiff, it looked like Brent thought so, too.

"Downtown Austin real estate ain't cheap," Tyree said, "and there was no way I wasn't going to get my place. You boys already know this, but that was always my dream. A bar. Maybe a food truck—you know me and my kitchen. But I wanted it to be more about the eats, even more about the drink. I wanted it to be a destination. I wanted a place that folks thought of almost like a home. Not like they were visiting, but like it was theirs, you know?"

"You know we do. And we've got some damn loyal customers who think just that way. They'd help you out, Ty." Brent tapped a knuckle on the tabletop. "You know they would."

Ty didn't even miss a beat, just kept on with the story. "Teiko's dying wish was for me to open my place. One that hit all my high points. A place that had at-mos-phere," he said, emphasizing each syllable just the way Teiko used to do when she wanted to make a point. Then he flashed a watery smile. "Took me a while to find the place but I think she'd approve."

"I told you back then she would," Reece said softly. "Go on. You borrowed money to buy it, obviously."

Tyree sighed. "This house is paid off, and no way was I going to mortgage it. Couldn't even if I wanted to. Eli's granddaddy left it to him. A couple of years and he can kick his old man out if he wants to, once he's eighteen and it comes out of trust. We emptied our savings and got incurred a shit-ton of debt for Teiko's medical bills, but after she passed—"

His voice hitched, and he took a long swallow of beer. "Well, after she passed there was the life insurance, and I paid off the debt and put the rest in the bank. My credit was still screwed, though. Medical bills can do you in. Then when I found the property, I used the left-over life insurance for a down payment on The Fix. Seven-year term, amortized over thirty, with a huge fucking balloon at the end. With my credit in such bad shape, that was the best deal I could get, and it wasn't even with a bank. Now I'm thinking I should have just kept on walking."

"Not with a bank?"

"Buddy of mine knows a guy who put me in touch with a private lender. Venture capitalist type. All on the up-and-up, but just because he's one guy doesn't mean he won't foreclose."

"You've asked."

"I practically begged. No dice. I pay off the loan by the end of the year, or I lose the property." He shook his head, then took another swallow, finishing off the beer. "It all seemed like a long way off when I signed the papers, but in the last four years, Austin's changed. Competition's fierce. Places like Bodacious move in, and they're all tits and ass and dollar drinks. That's hard shit to compete with."

"You're preaching to the choir," Reece said. As the manager, he knew just how hard it was to attract new customers, especially when the college students tended toward the chain bars with the all-night happy hours. "But we have something those dollar traps like Bodacious don't—a loyal customer base."

"That only goes so far," Ty said.

"Could go further," Brent put in, obviously following Reece's train of thought. "Let us talk to a few people. It might be possible for us to pull together enough money to pay off the original loan with a new one from one of the regulars. I can think of a few who could write a check today."

Tyree shook his head. "No. Teiko knew that The Fix was my dream, and she wanted me to have my shot. But she wouldn't want me throwing good money after bad. It's either working, or it's not. I'm not chasing loans for the rest of my life. And I'm sure as hell not borrowing from someone I may not be able to pay back."

"Then we ask for donations. A little bit from a lot of people. It can add up."

"I appreciate the ideas, I do. But one of those Internet campaigns? You two know that's not my style. My bar stays open because people come in for the drink and the music and the food or not at all. I didn't lose my business because of a hurricane or a fire—that's the kind of thing people donate for. To help someone hit by bad luck. But if The Fix goes under, it'll be because of good old-fashioned competition. And that's played inside the bar at the cash register, not on the Internet."

Reece met Brent's eyes. Truth was, he didn't disagree.

Slowly, Brent nodded. "Fair enough. Then we'll just have to kick it into high gear. Up the cover charge, maybe sneak up a few drink prices, but bring them in with dollar beers. And book a few A-listers. Kiki'd come play at the Fix, I'm sure," he added, referring to Cameron's sister. "We'll make it happen."

"It's a good pitch, but it's all talk," Tyree said. "You boys are just now diving into this mess. I've been living it for months. And trust me, I've done the math. To earn the money I need I'll have to charge prices that would drive away the customers. And then I can't earn the money."

"You're talking like it's over," Reece said.

"That's because it is," Ty said. "You know I'm right. I've got some feelers out for a buyer. With any luck, I'll be able to pay off the note and end up with a little cash in my pocket, too. More luck, and I'll find a buyer before the year's out who wants to keep The Fix as is. Hate to think I brought her to life, only to have her turned into the downtown Austin location of some restaurant conglomerate."

"Surely not," Brent said.

"Already got nibbles on that front. You heard of Booty Call?"

"Ah, hell no." Reece pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Same company that owns Bodacious," Tyree said, stating a truth that Reece already knew. "Figure they're trying to lock up the block."

Brent met his eyes. "Over my dead body."

"A little extreme, but I agree with the sentiment."

"Why a buyer?" Reece asked. "Why not look for a partner? Someone with the cash to pay off the loan and take some of the burden off you. In return, they get a piece of the business."

Tyree cocked his head, then shook it slowly. "I don't know about that."

"Are you telling me you'd rather go under than bring in someone else?"

"No." He stroked his chin. "It's not an entirely crazy idea. But I wouldn't be interested in a financial partner only. Someone who was just throwing money at me hoping for a payday, then showing up disappointed if they don't make a profit in the first two weeks."

"That's not what I'm saying," Reece assured him, ignoring the way Brent was looking at him, his brow furrowed.

"If I'm in with someone, I'm in," Tyree continued. "And they need to be, too. Someone working behind the bar, in the trenches. Not on some damn pedestal looking down and counting his coins. And I sure as hell don't know where to find someone like that."

"I do," Reece said. "You're looking at him." Both men stared at him, and Reece held his breath, waiting for Tyree to shoot him down.

He didn't. Instead, all he said was, "Now why the hell would you want to go and do that for?"

Reece looked across the table at a man who was part friend, part boss, but definitely part of his extended family. "Do you honestly have to ask that? Don't you think I know you'd do the same for me? For him?" he added, nodding toward Brent.

"Reece, you can't—"

"There are a lot of things I've loved and lost," Reece interrupted, his voice firm. "Uncle Vincent. My mother. Both my stepmothers." Jenna, he thought, though he hadn't lost her. How could he when he'd never had her? And never would.

He pushed the thought away and met Tyree's eyes. "I don't want to add The Fix to that list. I want to do this," he added. "That place is my goddamn second home, and I am not going to watch it fail. We're getting it back in the black, and if kick-starting that plan means I toss in some cash, then that's just the way it's going to be. So don't you dare disrespect me and dismiss it out of hand."

"No," Tyree said. "I wouldn't. But I'm paying you way too much if you have that kind of money sitting around just waiting—"

He cut himself off, his head tilting in thought. And Reece knew that Tyree had figured out just where Reece would get that much cash.

"Oh, fuck no. Reece, your house? You've been saving your whole adult life to build that house. I can't ask you to do that."

"You're not asking. I'm telling. And it's not a house. It's only the dream of a house." A dream he'd had for years, ever since he managed to score a piece of lakefront property in a foreclosure sale when he was a sophomore in college. Even before that, he'd wanted to build his own home. Then once he had the land, he'd started saving in earnest, and collecting notes and sketches of just how he wanted the place to turn out.

"Sometimes it's harder to lose a dream than reality," Tyree said.

"You got that right," Brent said, with a bitter twist of his lips, and Reece would have bet the entire sum in question that Brent was thinking about Olivia, Faith's very out-of-the-picture mother.

"Brent," he began, but Brent held up a hand.

"I'm in, too," Brent said.

"You don't have to do that," Reece said.

"Oh, but I think I do." He shot a thin smile toward Tyree. "I know how much our boy here's got saved for that house, and it's not enough. Close, but not enough. Fifty-fifty," he said, then held out his hand for Reece to shake.

He didn't. Not yet. "Where are you getting the money?"

"Don't ask questions if you don't want to hear the answer."

"Dammit, Brent, you've got a little girl to look out for. You can't—"

"Can't what? Can't risk it? I don't think it's too much of a risk. Or was that impassioned speech you just made bullshit?"

"You're an asshole," Reece said, but he took Brent's still outstretched hand. "But then again, you always have been."

"Neither of you are risking anything," Tyree said, and both Reece and Brent started to volley protests. "We'll do this thing, but only on my terms, you understand? And I don't want the bar to be an albatross around either of your necks."

Reece glanced at Brent to see if his friend had a clue where Tyree was going with this, but Brent only shrugged.

"So our deadline is the end of this year. New Year's Eve. I need to see a steady profit and solid projections. Not just sufficient income to pay off the loan. I need to see real potential for growth."

"And if not?" Reece asked.

"That nibble from Booty Call's more than a nibble. It's a full-blown offer that expires the end of the year. We're not in a rock-solid position, then we accept the offer, you boys get your investments back plus a percentage, and we call it a good try and move on." He looked at both of them in turn, his arms crossed over his chest as he leaned back. "Those are my terms. Take 'em or leave 'em."

"That's not a lot of time for the kind of turn-around in income we're talking about," Reece said, thinking over inventory, personnel, the menu, and the current marketing plans. "It's already mid-April."

"We need to build buzz," Brent said. "Get the word out and get more customers in. Reece is right. That's not very long in the grand scheme of things."

"That's all the time there is," Tyree said, crossing his arms over his massive chest. "Deal's on the table. Ball's in your court."

"We're in," Reece said, shooting Brent a trust me look. "There's just one condition."

Tyree squinted suspiciously. "What's that?"

"We need to add one more partner to the mix."