Page 31 of Hard Bargain

He just stared at her, exhausted in ways he couldn’t explain.

“Shit,” she said.

“I just…” He scrubbed his face. “I don’t know how to go home right now and act like everything’s normal.”

Tara nodded slowly. “So you texted me.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m glad.”

* * *

That evening they ended up at O’Malley’s without ever really deciding to. It was muscle memory at this point. Whenever life got too loud, too boring, or someone got dumped, fired, punched, or just needed an excuse to drink, the four of them always ended up here.

It smelled like fryer oil and old wood soaked with a thousand spilled beers. The lights were low enough to hide the cracks in the booths and the bartenders had stopped checking IDs years ago. It was a dive, but it was theirs.

Logan and Miguel were already there when they walked in, halfway through a basket of fries and arguing about something sports-related.

“Tell him he’s an idiot,” Logan said the second he spotted them. Logan was blond, solidly built, with a crooked nose and the kind of voice that never seemed capable of indoor volume.

Miguel sat beside him, leaner and quieter, dark-haired, sharp features. His attention was fixed on the TV over the bar like the game actually mattered.

Tara slid into the booth and stole a fry. “What are we pretending to care about tonight?”

“Football,” Miguel said.

“Then I definitely don’t care,” Tara laughed.

Knox shrugged off his jacket and slid in beside her, some of the tension draining from his shoulders.

Miguel glanced over. “You look tired,” he said.

“Wow,” Knox muttered. “Everyone’s really committed to making me feel beautiful tonight.”

Logan grinned. “Don’t listen to him. You always look tired.”

Tara reached for another fry. “Did you guys already order actual food?”

“Some,” Logan said. “Not enough for everyone.”

Knox grabbed a menu. “Rude.”

They ordered another round of food and settled into the kind of conversation that never really had a beginning or end. They drifted into stories about high school, about Tara’s disastrous attempt to bartend one summer, about the time Logan tried to beat the out-of-towners at pool and ended up owing half the bar a drink. They bickered about wings versus nachos and argued which song to play on the jukebox. The same familiar arguments looping around until it became its own kind of comfort.

They’d all grown up together—same schools, same neighborhood, enough shared trouble to fill a lifetime.

Tara was the only one who’d made it to college, grinding through classes in Stockton with the same stubborn determination she brought to everything else.

Knox should have been there too. People had assumed he’d figure something out. That intelligence would somehow outweigh everything else. Then life happened. And somehow one year became two, then more, until college became one of those things people stopped mentioning.

“So,” Logan drawled, nudging Knox with an elbow, “you really quit the graveyard shift? Who’s gonna sell me Red Bulls at three a.m. now?”

Knox made a face. “You’ll live. Maybe even sleep for once.”

He relaxed back into the seat, and for a while, everything was almost normal. He liked these moments, the ones that didn’t demand anything from him. The laughter came easier than he expected, and for a little while, he forgot to stay tense.

Tara nudged his thigh under the table in a silent check-in. “You okay?” she mouthed.