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would happen if I wasn’t here? Maybe you need one of those emergency
     call bracelets.”
    “Stop treating me like I am the elderly infirm. I am not even middle-aged.” Max opened
     his glacier blue eyes and exposed his pain. “Just help me up. Please.”
    The bedroom door slammed against the wall. “Hey, boss. I heard a loud noise,” called
     Nik. His footsteps padded into the room and stopped. “What’s happening? What did you
     do, Cherry?”
    “I did nothing. Max fell . ” I glanced over my shoulder at the newest member of my family. “Get over here and
     help me. The Bear’s too heavy for me to lift.”
    Nik strode to Max’s prone body, then squatted beneath one brawny shoulder and pushed.
     I grabbed Max’s other hand and pulled. Sweat broke across the Bear’s brow, and I internalized
     my wince at the thought of his pain. Once Max had his good leg balanced, he wobbled,
     then sunk onto the footstool to glare at the floor.
    “Cherry, you stop bothering my boss. He needs to work on his business . ” Nik folded his arms and rocked back on his heels.
    I whirled toward Max. “Why is he calling you boss? Do you have something going on
     in your basement? Even with me checking on you every day?” I referred to the Vegas
     themed casino room where the Bear played house banker for groups of Atlanta tycoons
     for a nominally outrageous fee.
    All illegal, of course.
    The Bear held up a hand. “Don’t worry yourself. Nik needed a job. I hired him to help
     me with my many legitimate businesses.”
    “I don’t want my family mixed up with any dirty business. Not even Nik.”
    “You are not to worry about me,” said Nik.
    “You are my family now,” I said. “That’s what we do. You may not like it much, but
     you’ll learn.”
    “Nikolai . ” Max jutted his chin to the door. “Out.”
    Nik glanced from Max to me. “Sure, boss. You want me to remove Cherry from your premises?”
    Max studied me for a long moment. “No. She needs my help. We are going to talk about
     her new position and read the blog of Tinsley.”
    It looked like I would receive the Bear’s advice whether I wanted it or not. More
     than likely, the Bear looked for a challenge to break the boredom of his infirmary.
    But it felt a teeny bit like payback. I rolled my eyes at him just in case.

Eight

      
    Tinsley Talks made no sense to me or to the Bear, as neither of us were schooled in the world of
     high school theater. However, the gist I understood made me worried for Tinsley. Without
     “dropping names,” he slapped or hugged folks with a mixed bag of snark and praise.
     Which, ironically, sounded like cyberbullying to me. Max agreed that this sort of
     public whipping could come back to bite Tinsley in his theatrical hiney, perhaps in
     the form of the anonymous texter. I had promised to watch over said hiney, but hoped
     to talk Tinsley into reforming his blog.And hoped to see my name, thinly disguised or otherwise, out of it.
    Put off by Tinsley Talks , Max seemed intent on spending his evening researching Tinsley. Or as Max called
     him, “the peevish little critic.” I left the Bear to it. As it was Monday night and
     I had nothing to do, I headed to Red’s County Line Tap, my home away from home, conveniently located
     a few blocks from my actual home.
    I pushed through the foyer doors and into the alley shaped room that served chicken
     fingers to Halo’s families and beer to everyone else. A small stage sat at one end
     where my roommate Todd’s drum set rested during the week. Flatscreen TVs, softball
     trophies, and the mirrored wall behind the wooden bar provided the old roadhouse’s
     decoration. Gossip provided most of the entertainment.
    Red’s auburn - self manned the long bar. My sister supposedly worked the room with a tray and a server’s
     pad, although worked was a term best used loosely. The chatter of the Braves coming
     from flatscreens and the heavy strum of Southern Rock covered the sounds