UNTIL AUGUST by Rose Emery

Author:Rose, Emery
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Emery Rose
Published: 2023-01-06T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Nicola

I blinked a few times, trying to adjust to the dim lighting as the door closed behind me. The Last Stand, aptly named, smelled like stale beer and cigarettes, even though smoking had been banned years ago.

It was the kind of place where dreams went to die.

It wasn’t the first time I’d had to rescue someone from this bar. Two years ago, Belinda got so drunk she fell off her stool. Luckily, she was fine except for a split lip and a headache the following day. And years before, I’d driven Scarlett here to rescue Dylan.

Now I was here for August.

There were a few others hunched over their drinks at the bar. But my gaze homed in on the man scowling into the amber depths of the glass in his hand.

I slid onto the stool next to him, and bloodshot green eyes met mine.

“What are you doing here?” he slurred.

“We talked on the phone. I told you I’d be right over.” The irony wasn’t lost on me. He’d come to my rescue once before, and now it was my turn.

He snorted. “Why the fuck would you do that?”

“I don’t know, August.” I sighed in exasperation. “Maybe because I care about you.”

August faced forward, his shoulders hunching, a harsh laugh escaping his lips. “Find someone who’s worth it.”

He’d said those exact words to me when I was sixteen.

But what would ever make him think that he wasn’t worthy?

He downed the rest of his drink, slammed the glass on the bar, and signaled to the bartender. “Another round. Bring one for my….” He licked his lips and closed one eye, squinting through the other one like he was trying to come up with the right word. “What do I call you? My piece on the side? My booty call?” He let out a raucous laugh like he found that funny.

I ignored his words and excused his behavior because he was drunk. “Just give us the check, please,” I told the bartender.

“Us?” August asked, skewering me with a look. “There’s no us, baby.” He waved his empty glass in the air. “Where the fuck’s my refill?”

The bartender sliced his hand across his neck. He was probably in his late sixties with graying brown hair in a ponytail and a long beard that reached the middle of his Grateful Dead t-shirt. “You’re done, man.”

He slapped the check on the sticky bar, and I grabbed it, but August snatched it out of my hand and got to his feet, swaying.

“What’re you gonna do? Are you gonna pay my bills too? I don’t need your fucking help. Don’t need anyone,” he muttered, searching his pockets until he came out with his wallet.

“Obviously, you do. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have called me.”

I was lying. August hadn’t called me. I called him when I got to his apartment.

After knocking on his door and waiting for ten minutes, I scoured the parking lot looking for his truck before concluding that he wasn’t even there.

So I called him. Three times before he finally picked up.

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