Page 76 of Second Chance Saloon

His phone vibrated again with a string of text messages coming through. A small smile spread over his lips as he read through Hunter’s words.

HUNTER: Are you OK? Caroline showed me all those online articles. I’m sorry, man. You didn’t need any of this shit.

HUNTER: Also, who the fuck leaked all this info to the press?! If I knew, I’d make them sorry … Dicks.

HUNTER: Jackie van Moetlier, huh? What are the chances. I know how you felt about her. I also know that despite what you’ve told me over the years, and probably yourself too, you’ve never gotten over her.

Mitch gulped down a steadying breath, the letters on the screen blurring. Hunter knew all about Jackie. Well, as much as Mitch had been able to share with him. Many of the memories had been too painful after what happened. But his friend had the general gist of the situation.

MITCH: Does the fact I haven’t really thought much about Eve make me a horrible person?

HUNTER: After what she did? You’re kidding me. You shouldn’t think about her ever again. She’s made her bed.

MITCH: What does it say about me, though, if the world thinks I’m out holding hands with another woman so soon after that disastrous wedding?

HUNTER: Fuck the world. Since when do you care what people think? Also, this isn’t any woman. You’ve told me she was the love of your life. Has that changed?

Mitch stared at that last message for a good while. Three words, a single question mark, burned the backs of his eyes, tugging on his heartstrings.

Had that changed? The answer should be that, of course, it had—he was meant to be married, for pity’s sake. He’d asked another woman for her hand and was ready to promise her forever.

But even if Eve didn’t cheat on him, if they got married, would he have ever forgotten Jackie? Would he ever have freed himself from the hold she had on him? He might’ve been able to push her to the deepest recesses of his memory. He’d already locked the feelings he had for her in a steel box carved in his heart and thrown away the key.

Until the day fate laughed in his face, stuck up its middle finger to his plan of healing and ripped the lid of the box open, no key necessary.

HUNTER: I’ll take no reply as a confirmation.

MITCH: I could’ve been busy.

HUNTER: You’re on vacation. What could you possibly be busy with? Unless it’s a she and her name starts with J …

MITCH: Oh, fuck off.

HUNTER: You can call me, you know. If you need to talk.

MITCH: I’m fine, but thanks.

He scrunched his forehead, realizing it must’ve been the middle of the night for Hunter. With a sigh, he typed:

MITCH: I appreciate you, Hunt. Now, go to sleep. I hope you didn’t stay up to check in on me.

HUNTER: Of course, I did, and you know it. I moved across the ocean, but I didn’t get a personality transplant. No matter the distance, you’re still my best friend, yeah?

MITCH: Yeah. Thanks. Say hi to Caroline for me.

Hunter sent a thumbs-up emoji and Mitch switched off his phone again to avoid seeing any further texts from Tanner. It was his father’s style: get hammered in his study and send angry texts, repeatedly, whenever they had an argument. Mitch used to ignore him whenever that happened, but he’d still read the messages.

Not tonight.

Not anymore.

Laughter and the ripple of guitar strings tore through the air, reminding him that he was in Mexico, the night was young, and he should be having some fun. Screw his father and screw the paparazzi.

The sweet voice of the singer lulled his frayed senses into a relaxed half-consciousness. The sound of acoustic guitar complemented the Spanish lyrics carrying over the smooth tiles framing the pool. Some guests lounged on chairs, unbothered by the night sky stealing the sunrays. Glasses clinked. The buzz of hushed conversations mixed with the raised voices. The full moon reflected in the lustrous pool.

And Mitch was on his fifth tequila shot. Who said he didn’t know how to have fun?

He slammed the glass onto the wooden bar surface, wiping his lips with his forearm. “Another one!”