Page 7 of Unruly

Ignoring his question, I ask, “Who’s getting you tonight? Dawson or Rhett?”

He smirks. “I’m touched that you care.”

“Well...?”

“Dawson should be here in five.”

“Good.” I take the empty whiskey glass. “Don’t forget to pay your tab.”

He nods while I handle dishes, and Uncle Matt cleans out the lines of the soda gun. Aunt Aria boots out the other stragglers, making sure they all have a way home.

Cash walks over, dropping a few twenties on the bar, nodding at Uncle Matt, before turning to me. “Night, Darlin’.”

Before I can say it back, he’s out the front door.

By the time we flip the last stool, it’s past one, and the bar is ready for tomorrow. Matt does a final sweep, Aria counts the register, and I restock the well for tomorrow.

Starting over at thirty-two is something many women like me have done. We realize that this isn’t the life we planned, but that we have to somehow find our footing while grieving a life we no longer have.

I was a teacher in Dallas for years, but left after the baby. The plan is to go back this fall, but for right now, I’m here, back at The Bar, trying to just put my life back together.

“Drink?” Uncle Matt asks.

I hesitate for half a second before nodding. “Yeah. One.”

Aria raises a brow. “Just one?”

“Don’t push it,” I warn, pointing at her.

She grins and puts her hands up.

Matt slides us each a beer and we stand at the bar, together. “We should toast.”

“To new beginnings,” Aria says, lifting her glass.

“To finally being free of that asshole,” Uncle Matt says.

Aunt Aria and I giggle at Uncle Matt as he’s always been a man of very few words. These two have always been a safe haven for me. Whenever life got rocky, they were who I sought out. Whenever I accomplished something, they were who I wanted to tell first. They are good people who understand me better than my dad and stepmom ever have. And certainly better than my absent mother ever wanted to.

“To my second chance,” I say simply.

They both smile. We clink.

Thank God for family.

CASH

Idip out of work early today to make time for self-care.

Because self-care is important.

So I take my bike out on an empty county road, letting the throttle out until whatever’s been living in my skull decides to fuck off for a while.

All of the stress—gone. At least, for an hour or two.

Here’s the thing nobody in my family will say out loud but everybody knows: Rhett gets the ranch. It’s obvious as he’s the first born—golden child—and the one Uncle Luke is grooming to take over when he finally lets go of it, which isn’t anytime soon, but eventually.

Rhett will own the primary share, and I’ll own a portion.