A quiet keening noise escapes him as his head rolls back and forth against the wall, hands coming out of his pockets to scrub at his face. “It helps me sleep at night.”
“What?” I can hear my heart pounding in my ears. Somehow, that’s not the response I expected.
It’s painfully honest.
“The alcohol. It helps me fall asleep. I go home to the ranch and crash. I haven’t been sleeping well these days.”
My stomach drops at his admission.
“You telling me you drive like this?” My finger waves up and down him, catching on the bulge of keys in his front pocket.
His wide eyes plead with me, desperate and forlorn. I feel monumentally stupid for assuming he was different from Gary. That he’d be in control enough to get himself a cab rather than get behind a wheel in this state.
I was foolish to fall for the chucklehead good-guy act when he’s clearly drowning. I can see him sinking right before my eyes. And I want no part in that. I can’t afford to be taken down with him.
“Beau.” I step forward, right up to him. He tenses, but I’m too pissed off to have many boundaries right now. And I’ve always felt more at ease around him than most people. He’s always had a way of making me feel like that, which is why I don’t think twice about shoving my hand into his pocket and wrapping my fingers around his keys.
His body is rigid. His muscles coil, but he makes no move to stop me. The jangle of metal between us has me looking up into his eyes for a sign I’ve taken things too far.
I angle my face up to his and get caught in his thrall for a moment.
I only see those moonlit eyes and the way his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows.
“I’ll make you a chamomile tea,” I say, breaking the tense silence between us. “Helps with sleep. But you need to promise you won’t make a scene like that again.”
He nods and drops his head. “I promise.”
The tension between us evaporates as he follows me back into the bar. Prying eyes stare at him as he stands, swaying on the spot, like he’s going to be the one to clean up the shattered glass.
“Sit your ass down, Eaton,” I grumble as I do it instead. The last thing I want to clean up is his blood.
I can tell he’s ashamed. And he should be, but I will not pile on his punishment. He’s beating himself up just fine already. Instead, I prepare him a steaming mug of tea, wipe up the beer he spilled, sweep the evidence of his outburst into a dustpan, and carry on with my night like he isn’t here.
I refill the tea.
He drinks the tea.
We don’t talk, but he watches me, spinning the mug between his broad palms. I feel the outline of his keys in the back pocket of my jeans.
Pete, our cook, walks out of the back at 10 p.m. “You all good out here, Bails? Kitchen’s closed.”
I scan the bar. It’s busy for a Monday night, but manageable. We’re only open for two more hours anyway. “Yup. All good here,” I reply, giving him a brief thumbs up.
Pete returns the motion with a smile and heads out the front doors. He got hired from the city, which means he doesn’t automatically hate me. Which makes working with him a breeze.
When I check Beau’s tea again, he stops me. “So, he leaves, and you’re here alone for the rest of the night?”
I shrug as I take his mug to add water. “Yeah. I’m a shift manager now, so if it was busier, I’d have kept a server on, but I cut her early.”
He rests his forearms on the bar, pads of his long fingers pressed together like he needs something to do with them. “But you’re alone? You shut down alone?”
Steam rises as hot water pours from the dispenser.
“Correct.”
As I slide the mug across the bar top until it bumps into the tips of his fingers, I try to remember how many refills I’ve done since the tea is looking awfully watery.
I crouch down and rummage through the box of tea on the bottom shelf. The Railspur isn’t a big tea place, but I find another bag of chamomile and drop it into the mug, making a mental note to have our general manager, Jake, order more.
When I tie the string around the handle, Beau doesn’t move his palms from around the cup, like he’s desperate to soak up the heat.
“Does the manager know this?”
“Jake? Presumably. He makes the schedule. Never met the new owner, totally hands-off investor. So as long as the place is making money, I doubt they care either.”
His brow furrows. “That’s not safe for you. What if something happens?”