Page 96 of Run to Me

Javi left an hour ago to get a couple more kegs and save the day. I’ll be fine once this disaster is under control and I can breathe for a goddamn minute.

“Mayor Holloway!” Tom-Tom Lee mimics a drum roll on the table with his hands and guffaws at his antics. “Two beers to go, please.”

I pause what I’m doing and level him with a glare sharp enough to slice the grin off his face. Before I say anything to offend the man, Charlie rushes forward and shoves two sloshing cups of beer into Tom’s hands. Clearly, I’m not hiding my irritation well.

“Thanks, kid,” Tom mutters. He flashes me a quizzical look before sipping his drink and strolling away.

Ainsley abandons her post at the raffle table and says, “Let me help Charlie for a bit. You can run inside, cool off, and grab more cups.”

I’m sweating like no one’s business. The back of my shirt is drenched. Hotter temperatures are expected in Texas during May, but the recent rain blessed us with cooler air. Unfortunately, with rain comes stifling humidity. The sticky kind of humidity you can’t escape, where everything clings to your skin: clothes, dirt, the grass. Right now, my shirt suctions to my body.

Accepting Ainsley’s offer of a reprieve, I rush inside and stride toward the kitchen. Because we aren’t cooking today, it’s the coolest room in the bar. I enter the walk-in cooler and let the icy air engulf me. Dragging in crisp breaths, my sinuses burn when the cold air hits the back of my throat, but I’m not bothered. Anything feels better than the sauna outside.

This isn’t me. I’m not this guy. I live an orderly, organized, scheduled, and manageable life. I feel none of those things. Perfection is beyond my reach, just past the fringes of my control. And I need to rein in the chaos before it reigns over me.

Once my ears have gone from blazing to freezing, and my hair is cool to the touch, I exit the cooler and shove myself back into the madness awaiting me. Only, when I get outside, I realize I forgot to grab the damn cups.

Everything continues on a downward spiral, including me, until Javi plows through the propped-open doors from inside the bar, hauling a keg on a dolly. Thank god. I help him place the keg on the ground, and relief washes over everyone surrounding the cart, including Ainsley, who watches me with concern.

Javi starts attaching the tap to the keg, and I bark, “I’ve got it.”

Out of nowhere, Jake appears at my side and clamps a hand on my shoulder. “You good, man?”

Bowing my head, I sneak a few deep breaths—in through my nose and out through my mouth—while praying for a miracle. I sense her presence before she steps through the crowd. Without raising my chin, my gaze drifts upward and clashes with golden-hazel eyes filled with worry and recognition.

My relief is immediate. My rescue, imminent. Everything fades away. The faces, the noises, the madness—they’re carved from my mind until she’s all I can see. My Maisy.

Calm as the heavenly blue sky above, she pushes through the throng and takes hold of my hand. “I need your help with something,” she says, her voice strong, sure, angelic.

Need.

I dread when other people throw out that word, because I’ll inevitably be asked to perform a task—and I can’t refuse. When she uses it, I’m liberated from my mind’s prison. I want her to need me. After failing her once, I’ll spend a lifetime doing anything she asks.

In my office, she locks the door behind us. “One word,” she says.

No longer trapped behind the cart outside, I take advantage of the open area and pace. “We’re not kids anymore.”

“So? Give me one.”

She already succeeded in distracting me, but I consider all the little mistakes I’ve made, the building blocks that led to this morning’s disaster. Summing them up into a single word comes easier now than it did years ago. I’m able to categorize my misgivings, and today’s debacle belongs in the most popular drawer of my head’s filing cabinet.

Stopping behind my chair, I grip the back of it and say, “Failure.”

While she drifts around my office, her body language exudes indifference, as if my heightened anxiety isn’t a big deal. “What happened out there?” she asks.

“Everything went wrong because I overlooked some details.”

“Did you work it out?” She examines the sparse furnishings, the awards on the bookcase, and the articles hanging on the wall. I now realize she’s never been in here.

“Yes.”

“Okay then. It’s done.”

I heave a deep breath and repeat her words. “It’s done.”

She reaches for the handle of the only other door in the room, and I’m on her in a flash. With my recent forgetfulness, it’s possible I left the door unlocked.

I slam a palm against it, and she jumps in fright. “It’s not safe up there,” I say, crowding her against the wall.