AFTER PARKING MY TRUCK IN the back of Grinders, I look at the clock on my dashboard and see that I’m late for my shift.
Shit.
Deacon’s probably going to be pissed, but maybe he’ll cool off once I tell him where I’ve been. It’s a long shot, I know, but at least I’m being proactive and trying to get something going for our business.
I run my fingers through my hair and pop a mint into my mouth to mask the Jack on my breath. I only had two drinks over the period of a couple of hours but I don’t want him to accuse me of being unprofessional. He’ll have plenty of ammo to use against me soon enough.
I hate feeling like I’m betraying my brother or keeping secrets from him but he can be so close-minded and judgey sometimes. That’s why I didn’t tell him about my meeting with Alex. Of course, my mama would argue that’s my guilty conscience talking and she may be right, but I’ll never admit it.
Strolling into the restaurant, I can tell things are going well. Almost all of the booths and tables are full and the patrons and waitstaff all seem to have genuine smiles on their faces. I can only hope things are running as smoothly in the back of the restaurant as they are in the front.
As I walk through the swinging door that leads to the kitchen, I’m hit with the incredible aromas coming from the down-home cooking we feature here and I remember I haven’t eaten anything since lunch, with the exception of a few peanuts at the bar with Alex.
“Hey, Joe, would you mind hookin’ me up with a burger, man?” I ask my favorite cook. After the fire at Pockets, we didn’t want our staff to be without jobs, so Deacon and I offered them jobs here at Grinders. Some accepted, some didn’t but, thankfully, our head cook, Joe, did. It just wouldn’t be the same in the kitchen without him.
He gives me a wink. “Sure thing, boss.” He knows I hate it when he calls me that. Even if it’s true, the guy is older than my parents and it just feels weird.
As I wait for my food, I look around the kitchen area to make sure everything is as it should be and give out a few reminders to some of the servers from Pockets. Grinders isn’t a fancy establishment by any means but it’s not as casual as Pockets was, so it’s been an adjustment to those who just transferred.
Joe hands me my burger and it’s nothing short of perfection. Big, juicy, and smothered with crisp bacon, my mouth waters just looking at it. Thank fuck he wrapped it in brown paper because we both know I’m about to make a mess of myself. The messier the burger, the better it tastes, I always say.
I’m just about to take my first bite when my brother busts through the door.
“It’s about fucking time you got here. Where the hell have you been? You couldn’t come tell me you were here before you filled your face, asshole?”
Turning to face Deacon, I hold my hands up in surrender, making my empty stomach sad that it’s dinner is so far away.
“Chill out, Deke. I’m hungry!”
“I really don’t give a shit, Micah. Get in the office. Now.”
I grab some napkins and storm out of the kitchen, walking down the hallway into the office we share. I fucking hate it when he treats me like a kid instead of his business partner, especially in front of our employees. It’s like there’s a lack of mutual respect. The high I was feeling earlier is officially gone, replaced with anger and stubbornness. It’s going to be a long, damn night.
As soon as Deacon walks into the office and slams the door behind him, I lay into him.
“What the fuck, Deke? You can’t talk to me like that in front of our staff! You have a beef with me, you save it until we’re alone. You’re not the boss of me, remember?”
“I know that, man, but you can’t be strollin’ in here when you’re over thirty minutes late like it’s no big deal. It’s unprofessional. I know you and I are pretty relaxed with our shifts but I’ve been here all day and I want to get home to my family. All you had to do was call or text me to let me know.”
I hate it when he’s right.
I sit at my desk and set my burger down, admitting defeat. “All right, I get it and I’m sorry. I should’ve let you know I was runnin’ late but I promise, it was worth it.”
Deacon crosses his arms and gives me a look that says he doesn’t believe me one bit. It’s time to bite the bullet and tell him about my deal with Alex.
Before speaking, I mentally do the sign of the cross, and pray he doesn’t lose his shit again.
“I had a meeting with Alex.” I spit the words out and let them hang in the air, watching his face for any kind of reaction. The only change in his demeanor is the flare of his nostrils. He’s giving me the same look he used to give our opponents on the football field in high school. The same look that would make lesser men run off crying to their mamas, no matter how old they are.
I’m so fucked.
“Please tell me you’re referring to Rush guitar wizard, Alex Lifeson. Alexander Hamilton is dead and Alex P. Keaton is a fictional character, and I can’t think of any other “Alex” that would be worth being late to work for.”
“Come on, Deke, you know who I mean. Just hear me out. It’s all good, I swear!”
He leans against the office door and narrows his eyes at me. “Enlighten me,” he demands.
“We’re going into business together and opening a restaurant in New Orleans. Right in the Quarter!” I can’t hide the excitement in my voice if I tried, I don’t care how pissed off Deacon is.
I watch as my brother’s shoulders begin to shake with laughter. To the untrained eye, it would appear to be a genuine reaction but I know better. This is bad—real bad.
Deacon wipes his eyes and clears his throat. “I’m sorry, man. I could’ve sworn you said we were going into business with Alex and I couldn’t help but laugh. I mean, the hilarity of that situation, you know? Us partnering up with her? I don’t care who you are, that’s just funny. Especially, since we’ve already had this conversation and I already said no.”
“Whatever, Deke. You know you heard me. Why are you bein’ such a dick about this? It’s a great opportunity for us.”
“No, it’s a great opportunity for you,” he argues.
“And why is that so bad? You have this place, why can’t I have something, too?”
“Grinders is for both of us and so was Pockets. We need to be focusing on rebuilding, not running off to New Orleans. Do you know how hard it is to open a new place in that city and keep it open? It’s nearly impossible and, yet, you want to take a risk like that with a troublemaker like Alex Collins. Unbelievable.”
“You know I love Grinders and Pockets but there’s nothing wrong with expanding. Opening in New Orleans has always been my dream. You’re just pissed she came to me and not you.”
“Ha! She came to you because she knows I won’t have anything to do with her. Plus, you two have a history that I’m sure she’s banking on using for her advantage.”
“Bullshit. She knows about me and Dani and she’s been nothing but professional with me. The deal is legit and I’m going to take it. It’s up to you whether or not you can let go of an immature grudge against Alex and join us.”
“Micah, please, tell me you’re not serious about this? We can do Nola another time, I promise. We need to stay close to home right now . . . I need to stay close to home.”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
Before he can answer, there’s a knock on the office door. Kara, one of our head servers, opens the door and sticks her head inside. “Sorry to interrupt but we’re having some issues with one of the credit card machines. Can you help, Deacon?”
“Sure, no problem,” he says to her. Turning to me, he points his finger. “This conversation isn’t over, got it? Don’t you fucking sign anything until we hash this out.” He storms out of the room without giving me a chance to reply.
Asshole.
Who the hell does Deacon think he is?
He may be my big brother but he sure as hell ain’t my daddy. I know he’s always looked out for me in the past but I can’t help but feel like he’s trying to hold me back for other reasons now. It pissed me off that he doesn’t trust my judgement or have enough faith in me to make the right decision. Maybe he’s jealous. Maybe he’s bitter. I don’t know. What I do know is I can’t live in his shadow for the rest of my life. I have to think about my future and my dreams and, if that means going against my brother, then that’s what I’ll do.
Deacon leaves early, leaving me to clean-up and close the place down. I spend the time stewing over our argument. I can probably count on one hand the times Deacon and I have really fought over something. Sure, we’ve had our fair share of disagreements. Starting restaurants from the ground up gave us a lot of opportunities to have differing opinions, but this is different. In all the times we argued over something with the restaurants, we were still on the same side, wanting the same things.
A tap on the wall of the office pulls me out of my thoughts and messes up my tally for the front register. I let out a frustrated sigh and look up to see an apologetic Kara standing in the doorway.
“Sorry, boss. Just wanted to let you know that everything is done and Joe and I are leaving.”
“Thanks, Kara.”
When I hear the back door close, I put everything on the desk into the safe and call it a night. I can’t count numbers or think about any of this shit anymore tonight.
I need a drink.
After shutting all the lights off and locking up, instead of going to my truck, I go to the bar across the street. Frank, my favorite bartender, is drying a few glasses and some stragglers are still hanging out at the bar. I sit down and nod to Frank, knowing he’ll know exactly what I’m here for.
“Jack on the rocks,” he says, sliding a glass of pale amber in front of me.
“Thanks, Frank.”
“Tough crowd tonight?” he asks.
“You could say that.” I pick up the glass and toss back the contents in one large gulp, sliding it back to him. “I’ll take another.”
“That bad, huh?”
“Yeah,” I reply, looking around the dimly lit bar. The guy at the end is half asleep, nodding off into his beer. There’s a couple over in the corner needing a room and a couple of frat boys shooting darts. Why am I here?
I should be home with Dani. She’s probably asleep already and if she’s not, she’s getting worried that I’m not back to the apartment yet.
Frank sets another drink down in front of me. “Wanna talk about it?”
Bartenders are basically underpaid therapists, so I decide to get a few things off my chest before going home to Dani. Maybe because I feel like if I tell her about mine and Deke’s fight she’ll worry, or maybe because I think she’ll take his side.
I tell Frank all about the restaurant opportunity and my disagreement with Deacon. Knowing both of us pretty well, Frank whistles and shakes his head. “You sure you wanna go into something like this without Deacon?” he asks.
“No,” I tell him truthfully, finally allowing myself to filter through my mixed emotions. “But if he’s not onboard, I don’t think I can pass it up, either.”
Frank nods and goes back to drying glasses that look like they were already dry to begin with. Maybe he does it out of habit or to give his hands something to do while he’s standing behind the bar giving advice.
“Well, I guess you gotta do what’s good for you, then.”
“That’s what I’m thinkin’.”
He walks away, checking on the snoozing guy at the end of the bar and I decide it’s time to head home. I take out a twenty and tuck it under my empty glass.
When I leave the bar, I don’t walk back across the street to get my truck, not because I’m drunk, but because I feel like the cool October night might help me clear my head a little before I get home to Dani.