Superfan (Brooklyn #3)(71)

“Oh, I’m not,” I promise her. Although I’ve learned to pick my moments. “But I can’t go in with guns blazing. Last time I lost my cool at Ferris, it changed everything.”

“For the better, maybe,” Mom says. “You love hockey, and you love Brooklyn. Tennis was such a lonely sport. All that pressure and nobody at your back.”

“Who’s side are you on here?” I joke.

“Yours, baby boy.” She beams at me. “But you were born a goalie—always the responsible one, making sure everyone else is okay.” She gives the security-system pamphlet a shove. “You’re allowed to look out for your own needs, you know. Be selfish. Take more than your share. Your mother will be just fine. I still keep a baseball bat under my bed. And I’m not afraid to use it.”

The idea of my mom fighting off an attacker with a baseball bat makes me want to hurl. She and I are definitely going to talk about that security system again soon.

“Now go find your girl. Or go see Danny at the bar. He’s a co-owner of the place now. He and his dad are in business together.”

“That’s cool. I guess I could go see Danny. Maybe it will take my mind off everything.” I can’t deny that I’m drawn to the idea of visiting Roadie Joe’s again. It was in that bar that I fell in love for the first time, even if I never called it that.

My heart knew, though.

“You want a ride?” my mom asks. “I assume you’ll have a few beers. You could Uber home. It’s pricey.”

I’m sure I could afford it. But if my mom wants to give me a ride into Darlington Beach? I’m not turning that down. “You’re the best. Let me just change my shirt.”





By the time I order my mojito, it’s already nine thirty. The young stranger behind the bar reaches for the superfine sugar and the pile of mint leaves without looking at me.

“Sorry, man,” I say. “I know there are easier drinks to make. I used to have your job.”

He looks up. “Really? You don’t mean here.”

“That’s exactly what he means!” booms my friend Danny’s voice. He comes up behind me to clap me on the shoulder. “The famous one returns to visit the little people he left behind.”

“Oh, please.” I roll my eyes. But I don’t mind his humor. Walking in here tonight felt like walking into my past. I was so angry at the world last time I worked behind that bar.

My mom might be right about a couple of things. Hockey—after a rough start—has been good to me. And I need to lighten up a little.

“Tell me everything,” Danny says. “What was up with that first-round elimination? What was up with your patchy playoffs beard? I have so many questions.”

The kid behind the bar is looking at me differently now. I’m no longer the guy who ordered a time-consuming cocktail, but rather someone he ought to recognize.

Sorry, kid. I’m not really that interesting.

“Enough about me,” I say, patting the bar stool next to me. “I hear you’re a businessman now. Did drink prices go up? Do people have to kiss your ass now?”

The bartender snickers.

“Yes, and yes.” He sits down next to me. “Life is good, Ralph. But I never wanted out of Darlington Beach, like some people.” He nudges me in the elbow. “I like it here. My hours kind of suck, but it’s like hosting a party all year long. And I don’t have to cook my own food.”

“Unless the chef calls in sick, and then you have to cook everyone’s food,” says the kid. His name tag reads: Dick.

“Let me take a wild guess, here,” I say. “Your name isn’t really Dick.”

The kid grins as he squeezes limes into my drink. “So you really did work here.”

“Absolutely.”

“You’re the hockey player, right? I heard about you. Quit before the dinner rush one night because you got called up to play.”

I let out a bark of laughter. “That’s what I’m famous for? Leaving the bar unattended? I suppose it could be worse.”

“Yeah,” Danny agrees. “But we’re going to have to revisit that summer in a second, okay? Let me just make sure the kitchen is still on top of things, and I’ll be right back. Pour me a beer, Dickie.” He zips away, the way a restaurateur having a good night should do.

As my drink lands in front of me, I pull out my phone to check my email. There’s a new message from Carl waiting, so I open that sucker right up.

He’s a man who says a lot in few words.

Daddy is now a holy roller. Clean prison record the last ten years. Started their prayer group. Joined a megachurch in Florida the day he got out. Bags groceries for minimum wage. Living with his sister. That’s all we can learn from afar. I don’t rate him as a big threat.

But Brett is a mess. His business unit is failing. He’s in default on the loans he took out to partner with MetroPlex. His other artists aren’t bringing in cash. Delilah is all he’s got. The guy can’t afford to sit on D’s album. Don’t know why he’s still doing that, unless he thinks she’ll blink first.

I’m doing a little more digging. Hang tight for tonight.

“Hey.”

I look up as Danny sits down beside me again and takes a swig of beer. “Hey yourself. Crazy night? The music festival is kicking in already?”