Page 26 of Small Town, Big Storm
And a blip of guilt slides through me.She looks tired.And scared.And I’m not making this easier.
But…
I can’t let this go.
“I think you’ve made me wait long enough, Pop.”
Those eyes come back to mine, the green depths heavy with so many emotions I can’t read them all, can’t even begin to.
But it works.
She loosens her grip on the door, pulls it open enough for me to step inside.She backs up as I close it, and a moment later, I’m following her down the dimly lit hall and into the darkened bar.
She moves behind the counter, as though it’s a comfort for her to stand there, as though the old wood is a barrier between us.
A protection.
I frown as she starts pulling out glasses.
“What are you doing?”I ask, stopping in front of her, watching as she begins to gather ingredients with practiced efficiency.
“Making a drink,” she says as she dumps bourbon and gin into a mule cup.“Or two, rather,” she mutters, adding lemon juice and a couple of dashes from another bottle.Thecrackof a can of ginger beer being opened fills the air, then she’s topping off the drinks, giving them a stir.“Here.”She shoves one in my direction.
“You made me this the other night.”
A nod.
“Why?”
“Because it’s yours.”
My frown deepens.“What?”
“It’s a Storm Warning.”
Now my brows lift in question.
“Uncle Sully came up with it,” she says then adds softly, “The first time he saw you play for the Sierra.”
I barely smother my flinch.
The Sierra.My friends.My family.
And now my fucked-up past.
She shakes her head, smiles softly.“He said you were like a storm blowing in off the coast, completely unstoppable.”
For a few seasons, I actually believed that.
Believed I finally found my place, my family, my future.
Then…
Things changed.
And I’ve been stopped plenty of times over the last few seasons, that’s for damn sure.
She nudges the drink my way and I take a sip.Just like before, it goes down like liquid fire, the tartness of the lemon chasing the flames of bourbon over my tongue.“Who else did Sully name drinks after?”
