Dylan was a pro at disappearing into the office whenever the bar was crowded. Tory was still off, and it felt as if I'd finished pouring enough drinks to keep the entire state of Texas drunk for a week. It was a week night, so the crowd was thinning as people willed themselves to go home and get a few decent hours of sleep before the morning alarm clocks started screaming. I had mentioned to Dylan that it was his turn to close, but he never gave me a definitive response.

I'd carried the load tonight, so I was going to remind him. That way, I could head out to the city and see Rebecca.

Dylan was just hanging up his phone when I walked into the office. "Well, Penny quit."

"And why is that?" I asked.

"I told you I didn't touch her. Her grades were slipping, so her mom said she had to quit. Satisfied?"

"Not really. We put time and valuable hours into training her for a two month stint. She was too young. That's on you." I wiped my hands on the towel hanging over my shoulder. "And so is closing. It's your turn. Besides, I ran that bar like a fucking gladiator tonight, and now I'm beat."

"But not too beat to drive miles to see Rebecca," he commented as I headed to the door.

I stopped and turned around. "We're work partners. What I do after hours is none of your business."

"Uh huh." He fingered the stack of bar receipts. "How is she doing, anyhow? Have you talked to her today?"

"Since when do you care?"

He looked up at me. "Why wouldn't I care? She grew up in the same house as me. Her dad was married to my mom."

"And you're stating things I already knew because . . . ?"

"Never mind. Do whatever you want. Becca was always flighty as hell, so it won't be long before she takes off to be with another guy. You don't know how wild she got as a teen, hanging out with all kinds of guys. Sneaking out of the house at night."

I stared at him for a long, tense minute. "Stop fucking there, Dylan. Not another fucking word out of your mouth or we can start dividing this place up right now."

He lifted his hands as if he'd said nothing wrong. "What? Just trying to warn you. Cuz I sure as fuck don't need you moping about here all brokenhearted and depressed because Rebecca dumped you."

"Go to hell." I walked out and stopped in the hallway to text Rebecca. "Hey, I'll be there in an hour."

She didn't respond right away, so I headed back to the bar to fill the last pitchers of beer. Ten minutes later my phone buzzed, and I glanced at it.

"Actually, I'm kind of tired tonight. I think I'll just go to bed."

I stared at the text. After the shitty conversation with Dylan, I hadn't been prepared for her to say no. "Anything wrong?"

"No, I kind of just want to be alone. Love you."

I shoved the phone back into my pocket. She wanted to be alone, which meant she didn't want to be with me.

I finished serving customers. Everything seemed heavier, the glasses, the pitchers, my arms. It was amazing what a mind fuck a simple innocent text could be.

Five minutes later my phone rang. I passed a beer over the counter and pulled out my phone.

"Hello." I headed to the stockroom to get away from the noise and out of ear shot of nosy business partners.

"I got fired." Rebecca's words sounded slow. "But I'm feeling pretty good about it because I really gave it to Cruella. Only now I'll lose the apartment and car and then there's this thing I like called food."

"Rebel, just how much did you drink?" The word apartment sounded like one long syllable. I couldn't fucking believe how relieved I was that she'd called me. She had wrapped herself around me good.

"I finished that bottle of wine. And in between I was eating some of those frozen cheese sticks that I think I bought back at the turn of the century. So I'm not feeling my best."

"Do you want me to bring you something?"

I heard movement, and I was fairly certain she was shaking her head, expecting me to see her response. "I look like something a cat puked up, and I feel even worse. Thanks though, you're a good friend."

"A friend? Have I been demoted to good friend?"

A sob splashed through the phone.

"Rebecca? Are you crying? Don't worry about the apartment. You can stay with me until you get your feet back under you."

A loud sniffled followed. "No, I can't. I can't go back to Camden Beach." She sniffled again. "What are we doing, Joshua? I shouldn't—We shouldn't—"

"Hey, listen to me, baby, you're drunk. You're upset about the job. Just get some sleep, and I'll find some time to come see you tomorrow."

"No," she said the word with a weak wavering voice, but she might as well have sent it through the phone with a knife. "Joshua, I think I need some time to sort stuff out. Don't be mad. I love you." She hung up.

I paced the stockroom floor for a few minutes, not wanting to go out and face the customers or Dylan or life in general. Why the hell did this have to be so damn twisted? I loved her. She loved me. But it was as if there was a big fucking canyon between us that just couldn't be crossed. I grabbed a whiskey bottle from the stock shelf for home. I needed to get sloshed enough that I couldn't feel a fucking thing. Maybe my old man had it right.