Hannah’s still preoccupying me as I ride toward downtown. I’m half a block away from the Lion’s Tap when I see a thin, unsteady figure shambling around in front of the bar.

“Christ,” I mutter, but the word’s drowned out by the noise of my engine. Pulling into an empty parking space in front of the bar, I cut the motor and call out a name. “Lemmy!”

After a second, the figure slows and turns around to peer at me.

Lemmy’s not his real name. I’m not sure most people in Tanner Springs even know his real name anymore. Except for family, of which he has little. Once upon a time, he bore a fair resemblance to Lemmy Kilmister, the front man for Motörhead. He played up the similarity, letting his hair grow long like the rocker’s, and the nickname stuck. These days, about the only thing that’s left of that resemblance are the wispy gray muttonchops he still sports on his sunken cheeks.

I climb off the bike and stride toward him. I haven’t seen Lemmy in a while, but he looks even worse than usual. His eyes are bloodshot as hell, and a blood vessel has burst in one of them. His mud-colored T-shirt hasn’t been washed in several days, and he smells like whiskey and piss. He’s emaciated to the point of starvation. Inwardly, I wince.

“What?” Lemmy barks in confusion. “I just came out here for a smoke,” he slurs, pointing a gnarled finger toward the bar. “Have a smoke with me, Beast. Then come on inside and have a drink.”

“A little early for me, Lem.”

“Naaaahhh!” he wheezes, waving his hand in front of him to swat away the ridiculous idea. A haze of alcohol breath wafts toward me, and I take a step back. “Isss five a’clock, somewheres!” He starts to cackle uproariously at his own joke.

The door to the bar opens and Zeb comes out. “Hey, Beast. Gunner call you?”

“Yeah.” I watch as Zeb flashes Lemmy an irritated look. “How long’s he been here?” I ask.

“Long enough,” Zeb answers wryly.

The door’s opening seems to have made Lemmy forget about having a smoke. He lurches forward to catch it while it’s still open. “C’mon,” he wheezes. “Less have a drink. On me.”

Zeb snorts. “You ran out of money half an hour ago, old man.”

“Come on, Lemmy,” I say, catching him by the arm. “I got a better idea. Let’s go get something to eat. Sop up some of that alcohol.”

“Nawww…” he protests. Luckily, as bad a drunk as Lemmy is, he’s not a mean one, so he doesn’t get mad or try to take a swing at me. The last thing I want to do is hurt the poor fucker.

“Yeah. Come on. There’s plenty of time to get a drink later.” I tighten the grip on his skinny bicep and start to lead him away. “See ya, Zeb.”

“Thanks, Beast.” Zeb casts a glance at Lemmy that’s both sympathetic and exasperated. “Appreciate it.”

“No problem.”

I pull Lemmy down the street, barely listening to his drunken murmurs of objection. I’m on my bike, so I can’t drive him anywhere. He’s far too drunk to be able to balance on the back of it. I manage to keep him talking and take him in the direction of the Downtown Diner, just down the block.

I get him in the door, and settle him in at one of the faded leatherette booths. Once I’m sure he’s not gonna tip over, I go grab one of the waitresses, a middle-aged woman named Penny.

“Hey, Lemmy could use a good meal,” I tell her. I reach into my pocket and pull out a bill. “Grab him something with a shitload of carbs, and a pot of hot coffee, will ya?”

“You’re a good egg, Beast.”

“Don’t let it get around. I got my reputation to protect.”

She snorts. “Don’t worry. Your secret’s safe with me.”

I wait with Lemmy until Penny’s got a pot of joe in front of him. Then I go outside to call Gunner and let him know I’ve got his uncle in hand. He tells me he’ll be on his way over with a car to take Lemmy home just as soon as Alix’s appointment with the doc is finished.

When I come back into the diner, the owner, a fat fuck of a man named Dick Dawson, waddles toward me with anger in his beady, squinty little eyes.

“What in God’s name are you doing bringing a drunk in here?” he wheezes self-importantly. I flick my eyes over to Penny, who’s looking at me apologetically. I’m guessing she got an earful from this tub of shit about letting Lemmy sit down.

No good deed goes unpunished, I think to myself. For fuck’s sake.

I raise myself up to my full six feet and seven inches. “Would you care to repeat that?” I rumble.

Dickless blanches but doesn’t back down. “This is a private establishment,” he stammers. He tries to stand taller, too, but all it does is cause his gut to hang out further over his belt buckle. “As the owner, I reserve the right to refuse service to anyone I choose.”

“Fair enough,” I say easily. A couple of the other customers have turned to watch our conversation. “And as Lemmy’s friend and temporary guardian, I reserve the right to beat the shit out of anyone who denies him some fucking coffee and lunch.”

“I’ll have the cops called on you,” Dickless chokes out. All the color is draining from his fat face, but I have to give him points for trying.

I shrug. “Not fast enough. By the time they get here, you’ll already be picking your teeth up off the floor.”

“Let him have some goddamn coffee, Dick!” one of the other customers calls out.

“Nah! I wanna see a fight!” someone else replies.

“Not gonna be much of a fight, I don’t think,” a third one says. A wave of laughter flows through the diner.

“He may be right, Dick,” I murmur, taking a step forward. He instantly moves back, instinctively crossing his arms in front of him. “Not sure you’re gonna last very long against me. What’s it gonna be?”

Dickless purses his lips and shoots a quick glance toward Lemmy’s booth. “Just… make sure he doesn’t cause any trouble.” He turns on his heel and walks away, past Penny and into the kitchen. A chorus of hoots and catcalls follows him.

I walk up to Penny and hand her another bill. “This is for having to deal with that asshole,” I mutter.

She rolls her eyes. “You don’t know the half of it. Don’t worry. I’ll make sure Lemmy gets the works. Country omelet, bacon, and enough toast to sop up the sauce in his stomach.”

I nod. “Thanks. Bring me another cup for some coffee, will ya?”

Sliding into the booth seat facing Lemmy, I lean back and give him a look. He’s obediently conveying his steaming cup from the table to his mouth and back again. His eyes are unfocused, but when I say his name he does his best to look at me, squinting through his drunken haze.

“Zeb said you were causing a disturbance in the Lion’s Tap, Lem. What’s up with that?”

“Wasn’t causin’ no disturbance,” he mumbles. “I’se just talkin’, is all. Can’t a guy talk anymore?”

“What about?”

“Can’t remember…” he stares down into his cup. “Oh yeah! About how Zeb wouldn’t serve me no more.”

I let out a snort. “Is that all?”

“Yuh.” He takes another gulp. “Is that any way to treat a reg’lar?”

Just then, Penny comes up with Lemmy’s food, so I’m spared having to reply. Just as I’m pulling out my phone to text Gunner, it rings with an incoming call from Hawk.

“Where the fuck are you?” he barks without preamble. “I need you down here at the shop.”

“Sorry. Something came up. Gunner needed me to pick up Lemmy.”

At the sound of his name, Lemmy perks up and looks at me. I shake my head and point down at the food. Eat.

“Ah. Fuck. Okay,” Hawk says grudgingly. “So, when you coming in?”

“Soon. I was just about to get hold of Gunner to find out when he’s available to take over. He should be along as soon as he’s done taking Alix to the doctor.”

“Where you at?”

“Downtown Diner.”

“Yeah?” Hawk’s voice perks up. “Do me a favor and pick me up a burger and fries to go. I worked through lunch and I’m fuckin’ starving.”

“Doesn’t that old lady of yours fix you lunch?” I tease him.

“Sam?” he laughs. “Sure, if I asked her to, she would. But I’m not into fuckin’ salads. Or ants on a log, which is all Connor seems to want to eat right now.”

“What the fuck? Ants on a log?” I briefly wonder if Hawk’s lost his damn mind.

“Haven’t you ever seen that shit? It’s uh, celery with peanut butter in the middle, and raisins on top to look like ants sitting on it.”

“That’s fuckin’ weird, man.”

“Tell me about it. So yeah. Bring me a burger and fries. Extra ketchup.”

“What am I, your servant?” I complain.

“Do it because you love me, brother. Gotta go.”

Jesus. My brothers are all turning into a bunch of pussies with this family man garbage. I mean, don’t get me wrong. I like Hawk’s old lady Sam, and I’ll admit his kid Connor is pretty cute. And I’ve never seen Gunner happier than when Alix is in the same room.

But Christ, I can practically feel my balls shriveling up, just being around all this happy family domestic shit. For fuck’s sake, even Thorn’s been talking about starting a family with his old lady, Isabel. Thorn.

I call over to Penny and tell her I need a burger and fries to go, extra ketchup. Then I sit in silence for a few minutes, watching as Lemmy devours his food like a starving man, which he probably is. I shoot Gunner a text letting him know where we are. A few seconds later, he texts back and says he should be here to pick Lemmy up by the time he’s done with his food.

“I’ll be in Alix’s car,” he writes.

Penny comes out with Hawk’s order, which I pay for in cash. A few minutes later, just as Lem is finishing up his bacon, a late-model Kia pulls up next to my bike.

“Lemmy, your ride’s here,” I tell him.

Now that he’s full of food he’s pretty docile, and stands up without any prompting. “Can I take this with me?” he asks, holding up a piece of toast.

“Sure. Come on.” I swing out of the booth, say goodbye to Penny, and guide him toward the door. At the last second, I realize I’ve left the to-go bag on the table. I wave Lemmy out the door and go back for it. Through the window, I see Gunner climb out of the car and lead his uncle toward the passenger side. I lift my chin in greeting at him. He gives me a wave.

I’m still looking back, watching Gun help Lemmy into the car, as I start to pull open the front door of the diner. There’s resistance, so I pull harder, yanking on the handle.

A cry of alarm snaps me to attention. A chick with blond hair tumbles through the doorway. She pinwheels her arms forward in an attempt to regain her balance. In the process, she knock the to-go bag out of my hand and onto the floor, just before she falls right on top of it.

“Goddamn it!” I bark, more than anything pissed that I’m gonna have to order another burger for Hawk. “What the hell is wrong with —?”

And that’s where my words fucking die in my throat. Because as she twists herself onto her butt and looks up at me, I catch a glimpse of a jawline, and then a nose, and there’s something so unmistakably familiar about them both it’s like a gut punch out of nowhere.

Fuck. Me.

It can’t be. But it is.

Brooke fucking Brentano.