Quinn

I need next Friday off,” I tell Kade as I place my empty tray on the bar, the last of the lunch crowd finally gone.

“You already have the night off. You’re watching Lola. Remember?” He nods at my five-year-old niece, who’s sitting at the bar.

Chewing on the end of her blonde ponytail, Lola’s freckled nose scrunches up as she watches something on her iPad.

She glances over at the mention of her name, blue eyes sparking with mischief. “Can we watch Suicide Squad—”

“No,” Kade says, then pours a glass of chocolate milk and puts it in front of her. “I already told you, you’re too young.”

She pouts. “But Quinn let me—”

“Hey.” I give her a look of warning that tells her not to throw me under the bus, which I’m starting to think is becoming a favorite pastime of hers. I pull out some quarters from my apron pocket and place them in her palm, then nod at the old jukebox. “Why don’t you go put some music on, and we’ll talk about movie options later.”

“Sure, Aunt Q.” She gives me an over exaggerated wink before sliding off her stool, then whisper yells, “Suicide Squad.”

I groan, knowing the shit Kade is going to give me.

When I turn back, he’s glowering at me.

“What?” I lean over and pour a Diet Coke from the fountain machine.

“Told you I don’t want her watching that stuff. It’s too violent.” Kade places his palms on the counter, concern drawing his brows down when he glances over at Lola, who’s still squinting at the Jukebox titles like she can read them.

“You’re too overprotective.” I shove a straw in my Coke and take a sip.

“I have reason to be.” His lips twist in a frown.

I sigh, because I know he’s right.

God only knows what that kid went through the first year of her life, in the hands of her drug addicted mother, before the courts awarded Kade full custody. She’d been so underweight, her little body full of sores from not being changed and washed properly. It was hard not to cry the first time I’d seen her. Even now, my chest squeezes knowing the neglect she suffered. Maybe that’s why I want to spoil her rotten every chance I get.

“All right. No Suicide Squad. But can we change your man night”—I make quote marks in the air—“to Saturday?”

“No.” He turns his back and pulls out the cash tray from the till, then puts it on the counter and starts counting the money.

I open my mouth to argue, then clamp my lips shut. Once Kade has made up his mind about something, there’s no sense fighting him on it. He’s even more stubborn than Damon, and that’s saying something. Plus, taking care of Lola once a month is part of the deal of me getting the apartment above the bar practically rent free.

I only moved in a week ago. Boxes still line the walls, and other than the old couch and TV Kade left, I don’t have any furniture, only my Queen size mattress and old dresser.

Still, it’s a huge upgrade from my parent’s basement. Speaking of which, “What about Mom? She could—”

“Quinn.” Kade places his forearms on the bar and gives me one of his serious looks, the one that draws a deep line between his brows. “One night, that’s all.”

“Fine,” I say. “But I want tonight off. Jenny said she can cover for me. I need to unpack.”

He grunts. “You’re never going to pay off those credit card bills.”

“I’m chipping away at it. The last trip to Ireland just put me back a bit.”

I’d gone to visit my cousin Makena, who’d been living there since she fell madly in love with Wild Irish’s insanely hot guitarist, Shane Hayes. To say I’m jealous is an understatement. But if anyone deserves a happily ever after, it’s Makena.

“That and your Gucci addiction,” Kade teases, shaking his head. “Or is it Prada this month?”

“Hey, I’ve been better lately.” I grin and say with as much seriousness as I can muster when talking purses and shoes, “With the help of Dr. Phil, I’m learning to control my emotional shopping habits.”

“By replacing it with serial dating,” Abbott says behind me, chuckling.

“I don’t serial date.” I cross my arms over my chest and glare at Abbott as he takes the stool that Lola was sitting on.

He shakes his head and snickers. “Shit, Q, you’re almost as bad as I am.”

“Except I don’t sleep with every—” I stop myself when I see Lola crawl up on the stool next to Abbott.

She holds out her hand and smiles. “One dollar, please.”

“For what?” Abbott asks, his lips twisting in one of his crooked grins as he stares down at the kid. Yeah, she even has Abbott in the palm of her hands.

“The swear jar. You said shi—”

“Lola,” Kade warns.

“What? He did.”

Abbott laughs, “Jesus, it was fifty-cents last week. I think you’re scamming me.”

“Nope. Now it’s two dollars.” She smiles sweetly. “You shouldn’t say Jesus.”

With a sigh, Abbott pulls out his wallet and puts two bills in her hand then glares at Kade, who just chuckles and places a beer in front of him.

“I picked up the mock-ups of the new menus for you.” Abbott reaches into his bag and pulls out a manila folder, then places it on the bar, shoving it towards Kade. “New logo looks good.”

Kade pulls it out and gives a satisfied noise in the back of his throat before handing it to me.

The logo is a heart with wings and a devil’s tail and horns with Savages and Saints printed in the middle.

“Not sure why you still keep the Saint part,” I mutter, handing it back.

“Because Savages doesn’t have the same ring to it. Plus, Zee still owns half of this place.”

“It’s not like he’s coming back.” My voice holds more bitterness than I intended. But there’s still a broken-hearted eighteen-year-old girl inside me who resents him for leaving town the way he did. And for rejecting me.

“Who’s Zee?” Lola bounces on her knees on the stool beside Abbott.

“Careful,” Kade warns, grabbing her arm when she almost falls off. “He’s an old friend.”

“Some friend,” I mutter. “He took off without even a goodbye.”

“He was hurting,” Kade says on a sigh, always quick to defend the man.

“So was Liam, but he didn’t cut out on the people who needed him.”

“And who needed him?” Abbott asks, one brow raised.

“Liam,” I say quickly. “And Kade. The business—”

“I run the place fine on my own. And Liam knows Zee needs time—”

“Six years?” I shake my head, knowing it’s an argument I’ll never win. Kade will defend the man with his last breath. But then my brother got the occasional call from the man. Me, I got nothing but an empty hole in my chest that would always belong to Zee.

“This town’s better off without him anyway,” Abbott says, shrugging when Kade narrows his eyes at him.

Kade’s jaw clenches, and I see a flash of guilt in his eyes, regret that’s always there whenever Zee’s name is mentioned, which is bullshit, because my brother’s never done anything but defend him.

“He’s right,” I say, hearing the lie in my voice. Because there isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t wish to see his face in person — not just pictures of him captured by a crazed fan or the paparazzi.

Yes, Zee St. James has his own damn entourage of screaming girls throwing themselves all over him nightly.

Where the hell is the fairness in that?

Playing bass guitar for the popular grunge band AutoCorrect, the world knew his face, just not his real name. The only reason I know his secret is because of my addiction to trashy gossip magazines.

AutoCorrect’s bass guitarist ZZ James checked into rehab.

Two pictures were posted beneath the headline: One of him on stage with his shirt off, sweat dripping down tightly coiled abs, the other of a man I barely recognized, with dark circles under his haunted green eyes.

That was a year ago. Since then, it was difficult to find anything online about him. And I’d checked. Whenever I felt the need for inflicting torture on myself, I just googled ZZ James.

When I’d told Kade about Zee’s alter ego, he’d just shrugged it off, like he’d already known, which just pissed me off more.

“The least he could do is send us concert tickets,” I’d grumbled.

I slide off my stool now, when I see a group of four sit down at one of the patio tables outside, thankful for the diversion from anymore talk of Zee.

Six years and the mention of his name still affects me.

Time to move on. I always think I have, and then it hits me, hard, how much of a void he left.

Before I head outside to wait on the new customers, I pull out my phone, and scroll through my contacts.

I’ll admit I’ve pretty much exhausted my list of men to date in this pathetic excuse for a town. In fact, I’ve started to recycle a few of them. Mr. Sexy Arms and Chick-Flick-Guy are my usual go-to’s for when I just need a night out. But there’s no chemistry there, and the last time Chick Flick Guy tried to kiss me, I’m pretty sure we both heard crickets. He hadn’t texted since, and I was kind of glad, even if it meant no more cheap night movie dates.

It’s not that I’m picky. Well, maybe a little. I just know what I want.

Zee St. James, that pesky voice inside my head whispers.

I sigh. No one will ever live up to that standard. Not even the real Zee.

And maybe my Prince Charming doesn’t exist. Or if he does, I highly doubt he has any immediate plans of riding into Port Clover and rescuing me from this monotonous life.

Or worse, maybe I’ve already met him, and I’ve had Zee St. James blinders on for far too long.

I scroll through my phone, until I come to Last-Wednesday-Night-Guy.

He was cute. Tall. Nice features. Goofy grin. Even if he has a few IQ points less than the typical guys I go out with, he’d been able to hold a conversation without mentioning his high school glory days. That was a plus. And, he’s one of Abbott’s friends, so bonus points for getting under my brother’s skin. I’d crossed him off for a second date. But after all the talk about Zee St. James, I’m not in the mood to go home after my shift.

And if the guy’s lucky, I may just break my five-date rule tonight.