Dutch hung his head again. “Shit.”
“I think you’ve had enough,” Doc said when Dutch motioned for the bartender to pour him another round. If anyone else did that, he would’ve taken their head off, but not with Doc. There wasn’t a man in the world Dutch respected more than the one sitting next to him.
He nodded and pushed his empty glass away.
“What’s next?” Doc asked.
“What do you mean?”
“Are you done?”
“I think we both know I’ve had too much to drink.”
“I’m talking about Malin.”
Dutch scratched his chin. He didn’t know what he wanted to do about th
e lovely Miss Malin.
“She hit hard.”
“She hit back.”
“I know.”
“An extreme reaction on your part.”
“Me leaving? Yeah, I had to.”
“Tell me why.”
“What are you, Doc, a psychiatrist now too?”
“Nope,” he answered, shaking his head. “I’m just a friend.”
“It hurt,” he mumbled.
Doc didn’t say anything.
Dutch looked up. “Everything she said to me today hurt. One minute she was asking if we could pretend that living on the island was our life, and then the next, she was asking if I was going to kill her.”
“Harsh.”
“When she apologized—if you could call it that—she said she knew I’d never hurt her, at least not physically.”
“Sounds like she has some unfinished business with you.”
“What am I supposed to do, just let her hurl that unfinished shit at me whenever she feels like it?”
“You know what to do,” Doc responded, standing and pushing his barstool in. “I’m going home to my wife and baby boy.”
“I envy you, Doc.”
“Then do something about it.”
“I don’t think it’s in the cards for me.”
Doc patted his back before he walked away. “Bullshit.”