“That’d be good, Zara.”
I nodded and asked, “Newcastle?”
“Yeah.”
I forced a smile, turned away, and moved toward the bar.
Ham moved toward me, his eyes sharp on my face.
“Newcastle,” I said the minute I hit the bar.
“Who’s that guy?” Ham asked a nanosecond after the final syllable left my mouth.
And again, Ham never missed anything.
I held his gaze. “My ex-husband.”
Ham’s jaw got tight and his eyes went to Greg
“Ham,” I called and his eyes came to me. “It’s cool. We’re cool. It wasn’t ugly.”
“Way I see it, babe, your house cleaned out, him leavin’ you stuck with a mortgage you couldn’t afford, that’s plain not true,” Ham returned.
I leaned into him. “I’ll explain later but, honestly, Ham. It’s cool. Seriously.”
“Right, you want me to believe that then you best stop lookin’ like takin’ a Newcastle to him is like walkin’ to the electric chair.”
Luckily, Greg didn’t have superhuman perceptive and deductive powers like Ham did so I was relatively certain I’d pulled the wool over his eyes.
I’d never been able to do that with Ham.
“I hurt him,” I said quietly.
“Shit happens. People deal. They don’t show where you work and make you look like you look right now, cookie.”
I couldn’t do this now so I asked, “Please, can you just get me his beer?”
Ham studied my face before he got me Greg’s Newcastle.
I took it to Greg and slid it in front of him. “There you go.”
“Should I open a tab or pay for this now?” Greg asked and that was so Greg. He didn’t know how to pay for a beer in a bar.
I tipped my head to the side and forced another smile. “You plannin’ on gettin’ hammered?”
Greg’s eyes moved over my hair before they came to mine and he answered, “No.”
“Then feel free to pay as they come, honey, but that one’s on me.”
He shook his head and straightened his back. “No, Zara. I’ll—”
I put my hand on his bicep. “Let me buy you a beer.”
I watched him pull in a breath and then he nodded.
“I’m gonna do a walk-through. Soon as I have everyone sorted, I’ll come back. Okay?”
“Sure, Zara.”
“Okay,” I said softly, then did as I said I would.
This took a while because I had a lot of customers. This was also not easy, knowing Greg was there and feeling Ham’s acute attention on me and my ex-husband the entire time.
When I was free for a few minutes, I took Greg a fresh Newcastle and put it in front of him, whisking away the empty.
“This one, I’m paying for,” Greg announced.
Again, I forced a smile. “I’ll allow that.”
“You got two seconds?” he asked.
Damn. Greg didn’t get out and about much so I had a feeling he was there for a reason and not just to see me. And I really didn’t have it in me with all that had been going on to deal with this if his need for two seconds was going to hit deep. He’d been really cool with me all along but I always worried one day, something would trip, he’d realize I did him wrong, and he’d stop being cool.
I worried these two seconds would show he was done with being cool.
I could give him that. He deserved it.
But not with no warning, at work, and with Ham watching.
“Yes,” I answered.
He looked to the beer, the wall, then twisted on his barstool so as better to face me.
“It’s public record but I didn’t find out that way. Guy at work’s wife works for a judge and she talks. She mentioned you. He knew about you and me, so he mentioned you so I know you changed your name back to Cinders.”
Of all the things I thought he might say, and truth be told, I had no idea what he was there to say, I just guessed he was there to say something, that wasn’t it.
“Yeah, I petitioned the judge a while ago. Why?”
“You took their name back.”
I pressed my lips together.
He knew about my parents. Then again, everyone in town did but Greg knew more than most because I told him.
He hated them. He didn’t hate anyone. He was a kind soul and didn’t have a judgmental bone in his body. But he hated my parents and he’d never even met them.
“You said you’d never take their name back,” he went on.
“Greg—”
“You asked for us to be over, Zara, and I didn’t like that but I left and the only thing I could think of to make me feel better, not having you, was that I gave you that. I took away their name and gave you mine. I thought you’d keep it.”
“Honey, we aren’t married anymore. It’s not mine to have.”
“That’s the only good thing I gave you.”
Oh God, now this was stinging.
“That’s not the only good thing you gave me, Greg,” I told him gently.
“It’s the only thing you let me leave with you. Made me clear everything of mine away. I thought you’d keep something.”
“I asked you to take your stuff because it’s your stuff. That’s fair. I wasn’t making you clear everything of yours away,” I corrected.
“Well, it felt like that,” he returned.
Man, oh man, that wasn’t what I intended. I was trying to do right.
“I didn’t mean it that way,” I replied carefully.
“You’ve got nothing of me. You even gave back the rings.”
“You bought those, too,” I reminded him. “That’s also fair, honey.”
Again, his back went straight but this time with a snap.
“You know, stuff like this, Zara, it isn’t about fair. That has nothing to do with it. It’s about a lot of other stuff but not about being fair. I didn’t want to leave you but you wanted that so I let you go. Then you made me leave you like I left you and I hated that but you wanted it so I did it. But what I wanted was some indication that maybe a day or an hour or a second of what we had meant something to you. Enough you’d want to keep it. And I could live with all that, thinking that the best thing I gave you, the most important thing I had to give outside my love, was my name. I thought at least you’d keep that. But you got rid of that, too.”
“Greg—”
He stood, pulled out his wallet, and threw a twenty down on the table.
“Don’t make change. I know that tip is above fair but at least let me give you that,” he said before he turned and walked away.
Yep. He was done being cool.
I stared at his back long after the door closed behind him.
Long enough for Ham to get to me, come close, for me to feel his warmth behind me, his bigness surrounding me, but nothing was going to take away this sting.
“You’re on break,” Ham growled above my head.
“I gotta do a sweep of the tables.”
“You go back to the office, sit down, pull your shit together, or I carry you back there and lock you in until your shit is together.”
I turned and looked up at him.
He was wearing his scary look.
“My shit is together,” I lied.
“Bullshit. Motherfucker gutted you. I watched,” Ham returned. “Go. Now. Break.”
I held his eyes.
Then I went back to the office, took a break, and got my shit together.
Or, more truthfully, I got myself to a place where I could pretend that it was.
I was right.
When the night was done and Ham took us home on his bike, I was so exhausted from work and dealing with Greg, I couldn’t even enjoy the ride.
But I’d made a shitload of tips.
I was in my bedroom, sitting on the side of my bed yanking off my boots, so ready to go to sleep it wasn’t funny.