After, Mick sat in his dad’s old truck with Coop’s heavy head on his thigh and pulled out his phone to call Colin, a friend and an ex-cop turned private investigator. Mick used Colin’s services at work, occasionally hiring him to check into potential problems. “I’m looking at some properties in Wildstone,” he said. “Need you to do your thing. Something’s going on.”

“It’s Wildstone,” Colin said. “The whole town’s insane.”

“Something more than the usual insanity. Something financial.”

“Great, digging through financials,” Colin said dryly. “My favorite.”

“You’ll feel better when you send me a big, fat bill and you know it.”

Now there was a smile in Colin’s voice. “Yeah, I do like that part.”

Mick disconnected and took the supplies to his mom’s. He lifted Coop out first to save the old guy’s hips. Then he unloaded the supplies. By the time he was done, he was hot and tired and . . . off.

Always sensing his moods, Coop pressed against him, drooling on his leg. Mick crouched down to hug his big, silly dog and got licked from chin to forehead for his efforts. When Coop slithered boneless to the ground for a full belly rub, Mick of course obeyed, smiling as Coop’s tail thumped the dirt like a drum while he writhed in ecstasy. When Mick stopped, Coop took Mick’s entire wrist in his soft mouth and gave a tug.

More.

With a low laugh, Mick obliged, watching as a truck made its way up the drive, parking next to his.

Boomer got out and Coop promptly abandoned Mick to welcome the newcomer with a nose to the crotch.

“The goods, man, watch the goods,” Boomer chuckled and pushed Coop away before looking at Mick. “Wow,” he said. “You’re still here. A whole, what, six days in a row? That’s some kind of a record, isn’t it?”

They hadn’t seen each other or spoken since the other night at the Whiskey River, and not for the first time since Boomer and Lena had been on/off/on again, it was awkward between them. “I’m trying to get out of here, believe me,” Mick said.

“A certain brunette holding you back?”

“It’s got nothing to do with Quinn.” At least not anymore. Mick carried the new paint to the garage. Boomer and Coop followed. “It’s my mom and this damn money pit of a house,” he said. “There’s still a lot to do, including painting this nightmare of a garage.”

“Hey, I remember that one,” Boomer said, pointing to the painted white outline of a missing hammer. “We took it the night of our senior prank. You nearly had a coronary when we lost it, remember? You made us stop and buy a new one, and your dad knew the difference.” He laughed. “Christ, we were blockheads back then.”

Mick laughed too, and that felt good between them, but Mick’s good humor faded as he looked around. “What I remember is my dad having a fit when things didn’t get put away in the exact right spot. I can’t wait to paint over these outlines.”

Boomer shook his head. “Hell, my dad would’ve thought he’d died and gone to heaven if he’d had a son like you instead of the fucked-up, used-up sometimes mechanic, sometimes bartender he got.” He gave Mick a sheepish look. “How many times did you drive my drunk ass home and sneak me into my own bedroom?”

“I didn’t keep count.” As for Boomer’s dad preferring Mick, that was a laugh. He still burned remembering needing a written recommendation to submit to colleges. He’d gone to Tom, a pillar of the community, and been turned down flat.

Something Mick had never told Boomer.

“So if it’s not Quinn holding you here, then what?” Boomer asked. “You nostalgic for the old days?”

Mick snorted.

“Hey, we had some good times.”

“Name one that didn’t end with you in some sort of trouble,” Mick said.

“How about that time we both raced that very truck . . .” Boomer pointed to Mick’s dad’s truck. “Up at Bliss Flats. We won a hundred bucks.”

Mick let out a low laugh. “We got pulled over on the way home because you were waving an open beer out the window. We both nearly got arrested and I wasn’t allowed to drive for the rest of the year.”

“I drove you wherever you needed to go,” Boomer said.

That much was true. But Mick still had no idea why Boomer had stuck around Wildstone and he studied his longtime friend. Boomer had always been lean, but he was almost gaunt now, and looked exhausted. “What’s going on with you?”

Boomer shrugged.

When Mick had gone off to college, Boomer had found trouble taking on a couple of side jobs that were a little too far to the left of legal, such as selling prescription drugs like Percocet. That, along with an alcohol addiction, had led to several rehab stints. The latest had been two years ago and as far as Mick knew, he was holding strong. But the fact that he was working as a bartender, along with playing some sort of cat-and-mouse game with Lena—Queen of Eating Men Up and Spitting Them Out—meant he’d set himself up for certain failure. “You okay?”

“Terrific,” Boomer said with only a shadow of his former bravado.

Dammit. “And . . . you’re sure you know what you’re doing?”

Boomer smirked. “I was born knowing what I was doing.”

“I meant with Lena, you jackass.”

Boomer’s smile faded. “Knew we’d get to that.” He lifted a hand. “Let’s hear it. You still want Lena for yourself, is that it?”

“She cheated on me,” Mick said. “With you.”

“I was drunk and stupid, and you and I already had this fight—ten years ago.”

“I know and I don’t care about any of that,” Mick said, and he didn’t. “I just want to make sure you know what you’re doing now. Ten years later.”

“Fuck no, I don’t know what I’m doing.” Boomer let out a mirthless laugh. “I’m keeping my head above water, that’s what I’m doing. It’s a sink or swim world, and I’m doing my best.”

“And Lena’s your best?” Mick asked.

Boomer blew out a sigh. “Look, for what it’s worth, I love her. But we’re not together, we never have been, not in the way you’re thinking. And anyway, I told her I couldn’t do this anymore, whatever ‘this’ was, until she settled on just one guy—me.”

“And she said?”

“She walked off into the sunset.” Boomer shrugged. “Last I saw her was the other night when she was sniffing around you again.”

Mick shook his head. “I’m not planning on going there.”

Boomer paused. “I think I hear a but on the end of that sentence.”

“But . . . I hope you don’t either,” Mick said. “And not because I want her, but because you have your sobriety to protect, which you’re already straining by working at the bar.”

Boomer’s eyes shuttered and he stepped back. “Looks like we both have shit to figure out.” He headed to his truck.

“Boomer.”

Boomer lifted a hand, but still got into his truck and drove off, leaving Mick eating his dust.