After All (Cape Harbor #1)(24)
The Chamberlains owned the bar, and had for as long as anyone could remember. It had been passed down from previous generations, and it only made sense that Graham would run it when he returned from California after Austin’s funeral. What he and his parents hadn’t counted on was Grady becoming the town drunk.
Bowie walked toward the end of the bar and took the last stool available, resting his arms on top of the bar and slouching down, clearly defeated. He was so lost in his head that he hadn’t even bothered to look at the other patrons to see if any of his friends were there. Truth was, he wanted to drink. He wanted to celebrate the fact that his divorce would be final . . . a thought that gave him pause. He’d gotten so caught up in the inn he had forgotten to stop by the office and ask Marcia to file the divorce papers. Tomorrow, he told himself. First thing in the morning he’d drive over and file them. And while he wanted to rejoice, he also wanted to get so shit-faced drunk that the day would be nothing but a blur. He wanted to drown his sorrows and memories, erase everything from his mind. At this point, he’d really like to forget about the last twenty years of his life or so—go back to the moment when he met Brooklyn Hewett and look the other way.
“Surprised to see you here, Holmes. We have a dart competition going—want to join?” Deep in his funk, he hadn’t turned around to acknowledge the voice he recognized as one of his employees, knowing that it was Chris Johnson standing behind him with his hand on Bowie’s shoulder. Chris was the newest member of the work crew and would have been the first one Bowie laid off if he hadn’t taken the reno job at the inn. He felt stupid for even having considered passing up the work. At first, it was his feelings for being an inadequate friend to the Woodses, but then Carly went and dropped a bomb—not just any bomb, but the bomb of all bombs that would undoubtedly destroy Bowie . . . Brooklyn.
“Uh, not tonight, but thanks,” Bowie mumbled to Chris. Chances were, he couldn’t hear what his boss had said over the loud music and voices that filled the bar. Nonetheless, Chris stepped away, leaving Bowie to wallow in his self-pity. He was going to hell. In a handbasket or whatever the saying was. It honestly didn’t matter because Bowie had a one-way ticket, and there wasn’t anything that could be done to stop him.
As if by magic, a pint appeared in front of Bowie. He glanced up and saw his good friend Graham behind the bar, tending to another patron. Bowie sipped the cold beer slowly. As much as he wanted to drink until he passed out, he also wanted to keep his wits intact. Any minute, he expected Brooklyn to walk in and continue ruining his night. After she’d questioned him in front of Carly, he’d felt emasculated, worse than Rachel ever made him feel. He couldn’t deny that she knew her stuff, but to be showed up in front of others—that was a hard pill to swallow.
He had so many questions; mostly he wanted to know what was going on and why Brooklyn was back. Was she purely there to do the renovation and go back to wherever she came from? Or did Carly know something? Had she suspected all those years when she’d helped nurture Austin’s friends that he’d felt something for Brooklyn? No, he was sure there was no way Carly knew anything then, nor was she playing matchmaker now. Aside from him and Brooklyn, the only people who knew were Graham and Rachel. Actually, Rachel had found out by accident. That particular year, Bowie was struggling. He was missing his friend and told Rachel everything and then said he never wanted to speak about it again. A weight had been lifted off his shoulders, but it was short lived. Once the anniversary of Austin’s death rolled around, Bowie was back on edge, wondering if Brooklyn was going to storm into town, wrecking him. And she finally had.
Graham placed another beer in front of Bowie. He looked up and tried to smile. Graham set his hands on the edge of the bar and bent over until he was eye level with him. “Want to tell me what’s going on?” Graham asked. The man was a vault and would never share the stories people told him while sitting at his bar. Plus, since they had grown up together, there wasn’t much they didn’t know about each other.
Bowie shook his head slowly and picked up the next pint to take a drink, finishing it off without a pause and setting the glass down with a thud. It was going to be a long night, and he suspected Graham would supply him with plenty of booze to get him talking.
“I haven’t seen you like this in years. Not even when Rachel asked for a divorce. Is Luke okay?”
Luke? He turned cold at the mention of his dog’s name. Where was he? Bowie tried to recollect whether he drove him home or left him in the truck. There was no way he’d leave his faithful companion in the cab while he sat in the bar. He had never been that careless before and if Brooklyn’s return meant he was . . . well, that was unacceptable. Luke was his best friend, and he would never do anything to hurt him.
Bowie got up from the bar and went outside. There was a chill in the air, and he shivered, crossing his arms for comfort. He jogged down the block until he came to his truck. The cab was empty. His head rested against the window as he cursed before pushing himself away from his truck. He knew Luke was at home. He had dropped him off after he left Carly’s. After he’d fed Luke, they’d gone for a long walk along the beach, a place where Bowie always found a bit of calm amid the madness that was in his life. It hadn’t worked tonight, which was how he had ended up at the bar.
He was losing his mind, and for what? A woman? A former friend who had walked out on the people who loved and cared about her the most? Not worth it. “She’s not worth it,” he mumbled into the night sky.