My gaze flitted toward the sparkling bottles of bourbon behind the bar. I wanted to hurl my glass of club soda at the wall and throw back half a bottle of the first liquor I could get my hands on. Anything to drown out the words in Drea’s latest text message, which were playing on a loop in my sober brain. “Her doubts are taking root. If you don’t get back here soon, you’re going to lose her.”

The irony was that, during dark and desperate moments like these, this was when I wished I could call Laurel most. But I wasn’t ready. I didn’t deserve to hear her voice. Not yet.

And I was going to play this right. I was going to make sure Brandon paid for what he did to us. Only then would I deserve another chance with my pixie.

I sighed as I opened up my Facebook app and saw the same inane speculation in the Justice for Jack Stratton Jr. group. Laurel had deleted her social media accounts within a few weeks after the murders. I couldn’t even check up on her via ordinary Facebook stalking. Instead, I settled for looking through the albums in my Photos app.

I started with the honeymoon album. God, she was majestic in that wedding dress. But when we got on the private plane, and she pulled that white satin ribbon out of her hair, I was floored. Her blonde hair spilled over her shoulders in tousled waves, her full lips shimmering with the sheen of saliva as she got on her knees and began undoing my trousers.

I skipped past the photo album containing the pictures of the day we moved into our old house. I didn’t want to see how ecstatic and painfully oblivious we were. Instead, I opened up Junior’s birth album.

As I scrolled through the photos, an aching lump formed in my throat. I laughed to myself when I saw the picture of Laurel holding up her T-shirt to reveal the panda face she’d drawn on her pregnant belly. But my favorite was the picture I’d taken of Laurel and Junior on our first day back from the hospital.

Laurel still had a slight pooch on her belly—evidence that Junior did in fact exist. Her eyes were closed as she cradled Junior in her arms, her nose resting on his soft forehead. I imagined she was sniffing him. She loved the way he smelled.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

My gaze snapped up at the sound of my best friend Nate’s voice. “Hey, what’s up?” I said, clicking off my phone screen as I slid off the barstool to greet him with the usual handshake-slash-one-armed-hug. “Thanks for coming, man.”

He shook his head as he sat on the stool to my left. “Do I ever say no to you? Where’s Barry?”

I looked at the time on my phone screen. “Should be here soon,” I said, glancing over my shoulder. “There he is.”

Drea’s husband Barry walked in the restaurant and bypassed the hostess to join us at the bar. He nodded at us as he approached. “How’s it going, mate?”

“Could be better,” I replied as he took the stool on my right. “Did that board meeting happen yet?”

We shook hands and he passed me the USB drive I’d asked him to create with all of Jade’s and my work files. I was surprised at my own sleight of hand as I slid it into the sleeve of my button-up.

Barry let out a breath through pursed lips. “Not yet, but I’ve heard rumblings about a possible meeting next Monday. My educated guess is it’s just a formality. I saw Kent pulling Jade aside a couple of hours ago.”

I shook my head. “He really thinks Jade is going to choose to stay there? Man, I knew Kent was out of touch, but I didn’t know he was blind.”

Barry and Nate both ordered a beer. Nate tried to order me one, but I told the bartender not to bother.

“I’m trying to cut back,” I said when Nate shot me a look of disbelief.

He nodded. “Damn. You really are turning over a new leaf.”

I chuckled. “I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing, but I sure hope it works.”

“Now you’re sounding like me, every day at work,” Barry said, grabbing the pint of beer the bartender slid in front of him.

I shook my head. “You are aware that, until the board votes me out, I’m technically still your boss.”

Barry nodded. “Mm-hmm. Doesn’t change the fact that I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing half the time.”

I lifted my glass of club soda. “To being clueless.”

“Here-here,” Barry said, raising his pint and taking a few large gulps.

“How’s your brother doing?” I asked Nate.

Nate’s brother Matt had been working for me as a full-time bodyguard, up until a few weeks ago when Laurel’s bodyguard, Ace, and Isaac got in an altercation. I told Matt, and the other two men on our four-man security detail, to take a few weeks of paid time off while I figured things out.

“He’s having the time of his life, getting paid to play CoD.”

“Can you even call yourself a gamer if you only play one game?” I replied jokingly. “I guess I’m happy to enable his gaming addiction.”

“He’s just trying to lay low and be on standby in case you need him back.”

I nodded. “That’s good, because I do need him. I want him to come with me to Boise. I’ll give him a call when I leave here.”

Nate took a long pull on his beer and set it down gently on the mahogany bar top. “So, are you going to tell us what the fuck you’re doing over there?”

“I can’t. Not yet, anyway,” I replied, pushing my now-empty glass toward the bartender. “But I’m pretty sure it’s all coming to a head tomorrow night. That’s all I can say for now.”

Barry shook his head. “Well, I’ll tell you one thing, mate. According to Drea, if you don’t get your arse to Portland and get down on your knees to beg Laurel’s forgiveness sometime in the next, oh, five minutes, Laurel is going to start sticking her neighbor’s willy in every one of her orifices. Orifices…? Orifi? What’s the plural for orifice?”

“Did you just say willy? Actually, forget that. Did something happen between Laurel and her neighbor?” I demanded.

Barry scratched the scruff on his jaw. “I reckon you’d better ask Laurel that question. I’m just the messenger.”

I let out a sigh. “Sorry, man. Didn’t mean to get worked up. I’m just… I’m pumped to have this whole thing over with.”

“Well, you said it would be over tomorrow night, didn’t you? If I were you, I’d plan to be in Portland the next day.”

I didn’t like the way Barry was hammering this sense of urgency. It put a wild fear in me, like something had already happened between Laurel and Isaac, and no matter how fast I got to Portland, it wouldn’t be fast enough.

“Thanks for the heads up,” I said, grabbing my newly-filled glass of club soda. “But I need to trust that I’m making the right decision.”

I drained my glass and left Barry with my gratitude and a promise. I assured him that when I was inevitably bought out of Halo, he would have a home at whatever new venture I started down the road.

“Go do your thing, brother,” Nate said, as I got up to leave. “We’ll keep an eye on Laurel’s orifices.”

“Don’t make me knock you on your ass,” I warned him, unable to keep myself from smiling as I left the restaurant.

But as I got in my truck and headed away from Hood River toward the airport, I wondered how long it would be before my smile returned. If tomorrow night didn’t go as planned, I might not earn my way back into Laurel’s good graces. Actually, and possibly more importantly, if tomorrow night didn’t go as planned, I might not make it back to Portland alive.