I lifted my glass in the air. “I’ll drink to that.”
Brody pressed his lips together in a tight smile, and we touched glasses.
“Is this the cool kids’ table?” a booming, deep voice called out. Brody and I both looked up as Justin Sutter walked over to our table.
“There he is!” Brody whooped, jumping up to greet our friend.
“What’s up, buddy?” Justin wrapped his arms around Brody.
“Long time no see!” Brody hugged him right back.
“And this guy.” Justin looked over at me. “I thought you fell off the face of the earth. Where the hell have you been? I only ever talk to you through e-mail these days . . . or to your assistant. You’re starting to give me a complex.”
“I’m sorry, man.” I shook his hand, feeling deflated that I’d let another client, but more importantly a friend, down. “Life has been so damn chaotic; most days I don’t even remember my own name.”
Justin held his hands up, stopping me. “Don’t apologize. I totally get it. I was just giving you shit.”
“Savannah, can we get another beer over here, please?” Brody called toward the bar before he motioned toward the booth. “Here, let’s sit.”
“This is one hell of a man cave you’ve got here,” Justin said incredulously as he stared wide-eyed at all of the cool sports memorabilia that covered the walls. “And this is obviously the best.” He waved above the booth we were sitting in. On the wall was a framed place setting with a sign under it that read HEAD OF OUR TABLE—MIKE ASHER #88.
Mike had also been a member of the Wild with Brody and Viper. He had passed away a couple of years earlier after a freak hockey accident that involved Viper.
“Thanks.” Brody lifted his chin proudly. “We’re happy with the way it all came together.”
“And Viper’s still doing okay?” Justin asked carefully, looking back and forth from me to Brody. “We used to talk about it, but not so much lately.”
I stayed quiet and let Brody answer, since he was much closer with Viper than I was.
Brody tilted his head back and forth. “He has his days. If you ask him, he’ll say he’s fine, but I know that there are times when the guilt still owns him for a day or so. Both the guilt for the accident and for ending up with Mike’s widow.”
Justin stared down at the table and nodded. “I’m sure it does.”
“But everything happens the way it’s supposed to, right?” Brody added.
“It sure does,” Justin agreed.
“And I’m glad you were able to come check out our place while you’re in town,” Brody changed the subject.
Savannah came over, set a beer down in front of Justin, and hustled back to the bar. “Me too,” he answered. His eyes were staring down at his glass, but his mind seemed somewhere far away, and I was pretty sure I knew right where it was. “Things have been chaotic for me, too, but a different kind of chaotic. Learning how to live all over again.”
I watched as Brody reached over and patted Justin’s shoulder.
“Anyway.” Justin cleared his throat and came back to life, looking up at us with red-rimmed eyes. “Here I am, and here you are, and this beer needs drinking.”
“That’s what I like to hear!” Viper blurted as he returned from the kitchen, catching Justin’s beer comment. Justin jumped up and they bear-hugged, swaying back and forth. A comfortable silence loomed over the table as we all thought about how our lives had changed in the last few years, each of us shooting out in very different directions. Viper and Justin had definitely bonded over the last year. Grief had a way of doing that to people.
After Viper and Justin sat back down, Brody picked his glass up and smiled somberly. “To my brothers.”
I nodded once and lifted my glass into the middle, with Viper and Justin following suit. We were all quiet for a second, only for the silence to be broken by Justin’s chuckle. “While we should be celebrating the fact that there’s a woman on this planet willing to put up with Viper’s shit forever, right now we’re simply celebrating . . . life . . . and how damn fast it can be stolen from us.”
The clink of our glasses was like a gun at the starting line, and just like that, our night took off.
CHAPTER 8
Danicka
“Shit!” Sadie squealed as she grabbed my arm, nearly pulling me all the way down to the sidewalk.
I looked down toward her feet. “What the hell are you doing?”
She hopped on one foot, still squeezing my shoulder for stability. “My damn foot keeps slipping out of my stupid shoe. Heels are not made for drunk people,” she slurred, laughing hysterically at herself.