Tyler:Everything okay?
“Hey, cowboy,” came a higher-pitched voice beside him.
He turned toward the woman who still hadn’t left. He extended his leg to slide his phone into his pocket more easily and nodded once to her, returning his gaze to the shelf of alcohol behind the bar, and set down the undrunk shot glass.
“I’ll take an—anuther…” slurred the man on the other side of him, lifting a shot glass to the bartender.
“I think you’ve had enough, Mike,” the bartender replied, setting aside his cleaning rag and leaning onto the counter. “Why don’t I call someone to come get you? Maggie, perhaps?”
The man beside him shook his head, his voice wavering. “Maggie’s gone back to her momma’s house.”
The bartender plucked the business phone off the wall, unfazed by the patron’s sniffling. “Then how about a cab—”
“She packed up the kids, the dog and left me in an empty home.”
“Then maybe you should stop drinking, sober up, and try to get her back,” the bartender replied. “She don’t like you drunk. Hell, I don’t like you drunk, and I don’t even have to live with you.”
“You don’t know shit,” the man on the barstool whined, then hung his head again.
With admirable composure, the bartender shook his head and called the cab company anyway. Toby stared at the amber liquid in front of him again, turning the shot glass in slow revolutions by the rim. The man beside him, drinking away his woes, wasn’t what he wanted to become, either. He’d come here out of habit, but this was a path to being as pathetic as Mike. God, was he really that man who’d come to cry on a barstool like some spineless amoeba? No way. Time to blow this joint.
“Have you ever lost someone who meant everything to you?” the drunken man asked just as Toby plucked his Stetson from his knee and dropped it onto his head.
After a double take, he realized the man was talking to him. Toby gazed at the man’s half-lidded stare. His eyes were bloodshot, and puffy bags hung under them.
“You ever seen everything you ever wanted”—he hiccupped—“slip right through your fingers?”
Yes. Toby’d had a taste of that tonight, but like hell he’d sit by and do nothing about it. He gave the man a nod, grabbed his keys, and was about to push to standing before he made the same old mistakes—
“You got plans for the evening?” the blond woman asked. His head swiveled to the other side again. Goddamn, they were closing in on him. What a shitshow. “You haven’t touched your drink yet, cowboy. You wanna join me and my girls for a round or two?”
She rested a gentle hand upon his shoulder, her thumb caressing back and forth, but the anxious twist in his stomach only tightened harder. He shook his head, leaving the shot of whiskey untouched on the counter. Time to make some changes. He shoved to his feet and shrugged her hand away from him.
“Nope. Have a good night. This ain’t for me.”
The bartender looked at him. Toby gestured to her and the sorry fellow beside him.
“None of it. I got a girl, an amazing one. And I’ve got work to do. I shouldn’t have come here to drink away some woes.”
His troubles were no excuse to run like a baby back to a drink peddler just to booze away his frustration on a whim. He fished out a handful of loose dollars, tossed them onto the counter, gave the bartender a two-fingered wave who was drying yet another glass, and shoved back through the door and out to the Beast.
Arriving home, he dumped his keys onto the sideboard. They clinked against the urn. His gaze caught on the pearlescent marble he’d done a champion’s job of ignoring since Dale had dropped it off. He raked his hand through his hair once more as he set aside his hat and exhaled, long and hard, that ache in the pit of his stomach still lingering, unable to shake the rotten sensation. A sheen of illness coated his face. He’d been feeling this heartsick ache ever since Katy’s text had come through. He’d wanted to run from it. He’d wanted to forget about all of it. And yet staring at the urn, it struck him.
He did recognize this heartsick feeling; it’s just he’d only felt it in times of…grief.
Slowly, he picked up the urn, facing it. The marble beneath his touch was smooth and cool. He carried it carefully down the step into the great room and set it on the coffee table, next to the set of keys he’d loaned Rose that had been left behind. Grief poured through him now, a sentiment he’d mishandled his whole adult life. He lowered himself to sit on the couch, resting his elbows on his knees, and stared at the beautiful inscription of “Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing,” as he finally gave himself over to his grief: grief about Travis’s injuries and the fraternal bond that had never been the same since; grief about Tyler, living so far away, having given up everything for his family; grief about his father and how he wished he’d been a better son; grief and regret about his mother that he’d refused to face.
Tears welled in his eyes. He hadn’t allowed himself to cry since the day she’d died. But all of a sudden, the tears wouldn’t stop. They burned down his cheeks, lingering on his chin, dropping to the floorboard. He didn’t try to dam them. He caressed the smooth finish of the urn. And felt so alone. Rose wasn’t the only who’d felt alone. And he finally let himself admit that he wanted his family mended back together again.
“I fucked up, Momma, and I know you’d wash my mouth out for saying that. I lived in the fast lane too long, and it’s come back to bite me now. It don’t matter that someone like Howie did this to me. I set myself up for it. Just like you and Dad said I would. And I’m losing the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I’m losing Rose. You’d like her, Momma. You’d have gone full grandma on her son. You’d have wanted me to fight for her…”
Toby sat there for long minutes, no longer afraid to confront the urn for what it was. Yes. Fight for the woman and the life that he knew he wanted.
“No one says you can’t make the Legacy into your own after we’re gone and give it anew legacy.” Deborah Ann’s words, which had echoed in his thoughts for years, resonated now. “Someday, I have faith you’ll see this, too. Someday, I have faith you’ll listen to what’s in your heart and go for it.”
Was it a coincidence that Deborah Ann’s favorite flower was a yellow rose? That Rose was named what she was? That she had that pretty yellow flower tatted over her skin? That she’d inspired him in ways he’d never felt inspired before, being raised on that silver spoon? Made him see that ball and chain in a whole new light? Probably. Or maybe it was his momma’s way of putting those anchors on his feet, not to stifle him but to get him to hold still for one damn minute and realize what he was really missing.
Tomorrow, he’d get a new phone and new number and file a police report about the hacking. Starting now, he’d fight for what he wanted instead of rebelling against every pressure to fall on his shoulders and run away like a coward. He’d give Rose her space, but he’d find a way to tell her he wanted this to work and was willing to try. Eventually, she’d hear him out, and then if, after he told her everything, she still told him to buzz off, he’d do so. He’d call Ty back first thing in the morning, too. If Ty had anything useful for Rose’s mom, he’d email it along to her so she’d have it whether they crossed paths again or not.
And then, no matter what, he’d get to work. He’d begin working on those things bigger than himself. He’d chase those ambitions. He’d always thought he needed to make his family proud. No. He should have worked hard to make himself proud. He wouldn’t make this mistake ever again.