Mr. Jack Daniel.
He pushed his way into the tavern, noticing the wide-open space and interesting decor that had been added. The bar was still massive but crumbling from the foundation. He made a mental note to tell the owner it needed some refurbishing, then slid his ass onto the stool and waited for the bartender.
A woman in leather pants and a low-cut black top with fringes floated over to him. There was a detailed tat on her right shoulder, climbing down her arm, of a sword with droplets of scattered blood. Interesting. Her hair was long and wild and black as a raven’s. She screamed sex and fierceness, but there wasn’t even a stirring in his pants. Nope, give him his silvery-haired, petite, polite, sassy Southerner any day and his dick couldn’t be tamed. He was in a lot more trouble than he thought. “What can I get you?”
He slapped a few bills on the bar. “Bottle of Jack.”
Her brow climbed. She looked him over with a narrowed gaze, as if trying to decide if he was worth giving the bottle to. “Why?”
Cal snorted. “Because I said so. Do I have to talk to the owner to get my drink of choice?”
She crossed her arms in front of her chest and scowled. “I am the owner. I serve who I want, when I want. If you wanna get plastered and make a scene in my bar, I’ll make sure you can’t walk in the morning, and it won’t be from the alcohol.”
If he’d been in a better mood, he would’ve laughed. Right now he needed only one thing, and the fastest way to get it was honesty. Bartenders were like priests. They didn’t give a crap what you did and always took your apology. If he was sincere, she’d give him the bottle for his sins instead of a rosary. “I need to forget. Today is a bad day, and the only way to get to midnight is to be drunk enough where I don’t care.”
She jerked back, her dark eyes reflecting a shock of pure pain that stalled him. Then it was gone like a flash of light, and she nodded. “Give me your keys.”
He slid them to her, and they jangled as she dropped them into a large glass jar by the cash register. Then plucked a bottle of amber liquid and set it beside him with a shot glass. “Go slow and pace yourself. I agree with you.”
He poured two fingers into the glass. “About what?”
“Today is a shit day.”
She turned back to her customers. He stared at the liquid in the glass for a while. The memory came rushing back in all its violent, gory form.
Cal had taken the call.
He’d been in the kitchen cooking a late-night dinner and wondering why his mother wasn’t around. Cal had been working late at the job site and entered an empty house. She usually had a plate ready for him when he returned home, but lately he’d noticed she missed dinner a few times per week, citing mysterious errands.
The voice on the line iced his blood. They couldn’t reach his father. His mother had been involved in an accident. He needed to come now.
Fighting back panic, he’d driven frantically to the hospital, telling himself she would be okay, because shit like this only happened to other people or in the movies. He wasn’t going to lose his mother at twenty-six years old. He was going to marry Felicia, give his mom a bunch of grandchildren, and watch her grow old. That’s the way things were done. That’s the way life was supposed to be.
But Cal learned life made its own rules.
She died before she could get to the ICU. Limbs crushed from crumpled metal and skin peeled off from the fire. They tried to keep him away, but he went apeshit so they finally left him alone. Cal wept at her bedside before they could take her away and hide her under a sheet. He held her charred hand before they could stick her in a coffin and plaster makeup on her and pretend she was okay.
His father came, with Dalton and Tristan trailing behind. The horror hit full force when they all realized the fight was already over before it had even been fought. Mom was really gone.
When the police told them the driver had also been killed, Cal remembered the confusion that struck them all. When they discovered it was a man’s name they weren’t familiar with, even his father reacted with disgust and denial.
Until they learned it wasn’t a mistake.
That there were two fully packed suitcases in the trunk. And two tickets to Paris booked in his mother’s name and the stranger’s.
It was then that Cal learned life wasn’t done with them yet. Caught in a tangled soap opera, they found his mother’s closet halfway bare. The damning evidence kept building, but Cal knew the truth the moment they discovered the small shell-like box she’d always treasured, zipped up in a protective pink pouch in her suitcase.
Her sons’ baby teeth. She treasured each tooth fairy visit with an open joy that was part of who she was, collecting each one like gold on a pirate hunt. She labeled each one with their names and kept them all in a box Tristan had given her one Christmas. Cal used to tease her about the creep factor of keeping teeth, but she always insisted having a part of them with her all the time soothed her. It was a way she could let go as they grew up.