I scan the hundreds of faces, looking for a familiar one. Considering their crazy schedules and need to decompress after a long shift, I figure at least one of my brothers will be here. Maybe even my dad, too.
And I’m not wrong.
Over near the pool tables, I see a dark blond head pop up. I recognize Steven immediately. He stands a good two or three inches taller than everyone else around him. He’s not as tall as Sig and Dad, but he’s a big guy at six-four. Makes him easy to spot in a crowd. That and his naturally-streaked hair—dark blond with a few pale highlights. Nobody knows where he gets his light hair. Mom used to say that what darkness missed his head went straight to his eyes. Rather than our dark brown eyes, Steven’s eyes are almost black. Like onyx. As a cop, they give him an edge. He can be pretty intimidating when he turns them on you, especially if he’s unhappy. It’s almost enough to give me a chill, and I know he’d never hurt me. I can only imagine how criminals must feel.
Turning toward the bar, I slide in between two men and wait to be served.
When the burly bartender spots me, he lumbers down to me and asks in his scratchy voice, “I.D.?” Proudly, I take out my driver’s license and hold it up for him to see. He examines it closely, looks at my face, and then studies my card again. In a cop bar, no doubt he feels the need to be extra careful. Finally, he nods. “What’ll you have?”
I order a rum and Coke (one of the few drinks I know how to order). He nods and ambles off. I smile. That felt good. Very mature. Very independent. I’ve only ever sipped a beer or two in my life. Dad made sure I never really got a chance to do much in the way of rebelling. Or breaking the law. But now I’m of age. And no one can stop me. Not even my father. Or my brothers. And I’m here to show them exactly that.
A couple of minutes later, the bartender slides me my drink. I hand him a ten, casually, as if I’ve done it a million times. He looks at it and I wonder briefly if I’ve made a mistake. I thought surely that would be enough to cover the drink and a tip. But maybe I was wrong.
“Want change?”
Inwardly, I sigh in relief. “No, you keep it.”
He grunts and I pick up my drink and squeeze back out from between the two men.
Now for the hard part…
I square my shoulders, take a deep breath, and head for the pool tables. Before I can get there, I big hand clamps down on my shoulder.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
I turn to see Sig glowering down on me. He must’ve just arrived, as his partner is right on his heels. I give him my biggest smile. “Hi, Bear!”
“Hey, Sloane,” he replies in his soft voice. He’s just a little taller than me with has mousy brown hair and big blue eyes. He seems very unassuming. You’d never guess by looking at him or listening to him that he would be such a badass, but he is. According to my brothers, he’s a fourth degree black belt with a nasty temper, which is where the nickname comes from—Bear, as in don’t poke the…
Sig cups my elbow and steers me to an empty booth. He nudges me, trying to get me to sit. I resist, bracing one arm against the table and straightening my legs.
“Sig, stop! You’re gonna make me spill my drink!”
“Does that have alcohol in it?”
I lift my chin and meet his eyes, automatically puffing out my chest. “Yes, it does. I’m twenty-one, remember? It’s my legal right to drink.”
“I’m not even gonna address how moronic this is for you, you of all people—”
“Stop right there! There’s absolutely no reason—”
“I said I’m not gonna address it,” he snaps. “But why in the everlovin’ shit would you come here to do it?”
“This is exactly why I came here. I have a statement to make and this seemed like language you Neanderthals would understand.”
“Maybe a regular old explanation would work on this Neandrathal.”
“Sig, I’m all grown up. I think you see that a little more than Scout and Steven and Dad. Especially Steven and Dad. But I need to make them see it.”
“Why? What’s so terrible about the way you’ve been treated?”
That feels an awful lot like a sucker punch. “God, Sig, it’s not that I’ve been abused or anything. Please try to see this from my perspective. I can’t live like a prisoner for the rest of my life. I can’t. And I won’t. But it’s my hope that y’all will be able to see me for who I am and what I want. To be happy when I’m happy, whether I’m making the choices you’d have me to make or not.”
Sig watches me with eyes so like my own. I see his mind working behind them. Processing. And like the Sig that I know and love, and have been closest to my whole life, he thinks not just with his head, but with his heart, too.
“So what are you waiting for then?”
“Huh?” I ask, confused by his question.
Sig takes the short, sweating glass from my fingers and holds the straw near my lips. “Bottoms up!”
I search his face and I see acceptance. Reluctant acceptance, but acceptance nonetheless.
One down, I think. He’s over the tattoo hump and now the drinking one. Maybe at least one of the men in my life will finally see me as an adult.
I lean in and take a long sip from the straw, my eyes smiling up into his. When I swallow, the liquid sears a path all the way down my throat. I sputter reflexively.
With eyes that are now distinctly amused, Sig reaches around and pounds me on the back.
“Holy shit! What’s in this, turpentine?” I ask.
Sig laughs outright. “Milk is for babies, sis. Welcome to adulthood.” Sig sets the glass on the table and turns to his partner. “Why don’t you go get a couple of beers and a plain Coke?” Sig reaches into his pocket for his wallet and hands Bear a few bills.
“What the hell? I thought you were—”
Sig interrupts me. “The beers are for you two. I figure you won’t be able to handle more than one of those, so it’s beer for you next. The Coke is for me, because somebody’s gonna have to drive your obliterated ass home.”
Sig pushes me into the booth and then slides in after me. I lean over to rest my head against his shoulder for a second. “You’re such a good big brother.”
He flicks the end of my nose and I jerk upright, yelping at the sting of it. “Damn right I am. Because you know who’s gonna get an asskicking for this, don’t you?”