Doing It Over (Most Likely To #1)(44)

Luke narrowed his eyes. “I’m not following you.”

“Maybe living alone is Zoe’s rebellion. To avoid falling into her mom’s life.” And since when did Wyatt become a family therapist? He tilted back his beer and glanced around the bar.

“You know somethin’, Wyatt . . . you might be right.”

“Or you might be drunk.”

Luke let his dimples show. “Oh, I’m wasted . . . but Zoe avoiding her mom’s life. That . . . that makes sense.”

“Considering how many of her friends are here, I’d think there has to be something equally powerful keeping her away. Doesn’t seem like her life in Texas sucks, but she didn’t exactly brag about it either.”

“No. She’s doing great. Really great.”

Even in Luke’s drunken self-pity, Wyatt could see the respect he had for the woman that drove him to the bar early on a Thursday night.

A loud noise interrupted their pause in conversation.

Apparently Luke wasn’t the only one in the bar overindulging. From the placating smile on Josie’s face as she passed the loud party next to the jukebox, she was earning her tips the hard way.

“There’s a weird vibe in here tonight.” Wyatt returned his attention to Luke.

Luke ignored his comment. “Ever been to Texas? With a name like Wyatt . . .”

He nodded. “It’s flat and hot.”

“Humid.”

“You’ve been?”

“Once,” Luke said, without elaborating. Lost in his thoughts, Luke finished his drink and looked around.

“How about the water? Save my truck.” Wyatt nudged his friend’s arm with his.

“Yeah.”

Luke drank the water slower. “Any word from Melanie’s ex?”

Wyatt shook his head. “Not that I’ve heard.”

“Not sure if that’s good.”

“You think he’s going to cause her trouble?”

“I think he’s already caused her trouble and I don’t think people change all that much.” Even drunk, Luke made sense.

The next track on the jukebox screamed off the walls of the bar. Someone had found the volume control and was doing their best to have a rock concert in the small space. When Luke caught his head in his hands Wyatt suggested they leave.

“You stay here, I’ll settle up with Josie.”

Luke pointed two fingers in the air and offered a drunken grin.

“You guys are leaving?” Josie asked instead of telling Wyatt what they owed.

“Gotta get him home before he passes out.”

Josie stood on her tiptoes and glanced around the bar. “Can you just give me like ten minutes? I think I’m gonna call Jo, have her swing by.”

“Any trouble?”

“No. Well . . . just a little crazy and not enough locals to keep it sane . . . ya know?”

“I hear ya. We’ll hang out until Jo gets here.”

“Thanks, Wyatt. Melanie’s a lucky girl.”

It took Wyatt a full second to move his feet. Where had that come from?

Small town, he reminded himself.

“Ready?” Luke asked when he returned to his side.

“Not yet.” Wyatt went on to explain Josie’s worry, which resulted in a bobblehead nod from Luke.

Luke attempted to hold in a burp and failed, then waved his thumb toward the bathroom. “I’m gonna . . .”

“You do that.”

Luke swiveled off the high stool, steadied himself, and then found his path to the john.

Wyatt turned back to his lone beer and played with the bottle.

Over the music he heard a shout, turned in time to see Luke stumble, then saw the first fist thrown.

Wyatt was out of his seat and across the room in two breaths, but not before Luke’s ass took out one of the tables.

Somewhere a woman screamed and several men started shouting. Wyatt pushed in between Luke and the stranger in an attempt to stop the fight.

Before he could, a hand gripped his shoulder, spun him around, and a fist connected with his jaw.

There weren’t too many things that shot his adrenaline through the roof, but a punch to the face did it every time. He saw red and came up swinging.

He punched and blocked and took a hit from the opposite side. A warm trickle of blood ran down his cheek, the feeling hardly registered.

Luke had managed to gain his feet and everything was a blur of fists, screams, and pain.

He couldn’t even calculate time until he spun toward another hand on his shoulder and damn near dislocated his shoulder to stop his punch from connecting with Jo’s face.

“What the f*ck, Wyatt?”

Someone had the good sense to unplug the jukebox, abruptly ending the majority of noise. A couple of men were still tossing punches and stopped only when Deputy Emery broke them up.

Wyatt wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, grimaced at the blood he found. That’s when he saw the destruction.

“What the hell is going on?” Jo twisted in a circle.

Wyatt couldn’t tell if it was the uniform or the woman under it that caused several grown men to study their shoes.

“Well?”

Josie tossed a towel on a broken stool.

Noise from outside told him a few of the bikers who managed to slip out were driving away. There were still three shaking out bruised fists and glaring at Wyatt and Luke.