Read Online Luke: A West Bend Saints Romance by Sabrina Paige - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Sabrina Paige
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grime. He gives me a glance out of the corner of his eyes, or maybe I just imagine that he's looking for a reaction from me.
And I'm not going to give him one. My brother Killian has always had an uncanny ability to read me like an open book, and the last thing I want to do is talk to him about Autumn. Shit, I don't even want to think about Autumn. Thinking about that girl is giving me the biggest case of blue balls known to man.
"Well, I'm still here," I answer, my tone short. The words leave my mouth, sounding defensive.
"Uh-huh," Killian says, still looking ahead. He takes a long pull on the glass bottle, a local craft brew that's way too hipster for my roughneck brother to be drinking, but Killian has never been one to care much about trends or social convention. "That's why you're taking a job out at the Mayburn place."
"Another?" The owner, Bud himself, saves me from having to scramble for a reasonable justification for Killian about why the hell I'm sticking around here in town. Why the hell am I sticking around in West Bend, anyway? I tell myself that I'm here to find out what's going on with my mother's suicide, but that's not nearly all there is to it.
Not now, anyway. Not since I started working at the Mayburn place.
I nod, and Bud pops the top on a bottle and sets it in front of me at the bar. "You boys sticking 'round here a while more?"
The question catches me off guard and I look at the old man blankly. He shuffles down to the other side of the bar, a wet towel in hand, wiping the edge of the bar top half-heartedly, as if it's going to do any good when it comes to this decrepit place.
The weathered sign that hangs outside Bud's Bar proclaims it "West Bend's oldest drinking establishment." That may or may not be true, but it has certainly earned its reputation as the most disreputable establishment.
This bar used to be one of our asshole father's old haunts, and there were too many times that Bud had to send for Killian and I to pour our drunk father into the bed of the old pickup and drive him home before either of us were legally allowed to drive.
The fact that Killian and I are back here, in this place with all of its shitty memories, is some kind of fucked up, I think. At least Bud isn't trying to reminisce, make small talk about the past, rose-colored memories or some bullshit. He's happy just leaving us alone.
"I don't know," I say, glancing at Killian. "Got a job up at the Mayburn orchard."
"In the bar, I mean," Bud says, giving me an odd look. "I'm heading into the back office for a bit, got some paperwork to do. If you need a refill, you know where the beer is. You boys yell if anyone else comes in."
"Sure, Bud," Killian says with a laugh that sounds more like a cough. The bar is empty except for the two of us and a regular slumped down in the dimly lit back corner, his feet propped up on another chair and his cowboy hat pulled halfway down over his forehead, shielding his eyes. I'm not sure if he's passed out or asleep or if he's a permanent fixture of the bar. He could very well be dead.
Killian and I drink in silence until I finally speak. "The job at the Mayburn orchard is a temporary thing," I say. I'm not sure why I feel the need to tell him this. "Foreman position. The fucking chick running the place is lucky she didn't burn down half her orchard."
Killian nods and takes another pull on his beer. "I knew this was a story involving a chick," he says, finally turning toward me. His expression is serious, but there's the familiar twinkle in his eyes he gets when he gives me shit, just like he always has. Killian and I are two years apart, and were always closer to each other than we were to Elias and Silas.
Silas and Elias always had some kind of weird ESP shit going on, even when they were kids, whatever the hell kind of simpatico twins inevitably seem to have. They were always on the same wavelength. Killian, on the
And I'm not going to give him one. My brother Killian has always had an uncanny ability to read me like an open book, and the last thing I want to do is talk to him about Autumn. Shit, I don't even want to think about Autumn. Thinking about that girl is giving me the biggest case of blue balls known to man.
"Well, I'm still here," I answer, my tone short. The words leave my mouth, sounding defensive.
"Uh-huh," Killian says, still looking ahead. He takes a long pull on the glass bottle, a local craft brew that's way too hipster for my roughneck brother to be drinking, but Killian has never been one to care much about trends or social convention. "That's why you're taking a job out at the Mayburn place."
"Another?" The owner, Bud himself, saves me from having to scramble for a reasonable justification for Killian about why the hell I'm sticking around here in town. Why the hell am I sticking around in West Bend, anyway? I tell myself that I'm here to find out what's going on with my mother's suicide, but that's not nearly all there is to it.
Not now, anyway. Not since I started working at the Mayburn place.
I nod, and Bud pops the top on a bottle and sets it in front of me at the bar. "You boys sticking 'round here a while more?"
The question catches me off guard and I look at the old man blankly. He shuffles down to the other side of the bar, a wet towel in hand, wiping the edge of the bar top half-heartedly, as if it's going to do any good when it comes to this decrepit place.
The weathered sign that hangs outside Bud's Bar proclaims it "West Bend's oldest drinking establishment." That may or may not be true, but it has certainly earned its reputation as the most disreputable establishment.
This bar used to be one of our asshole father's old haunts, and there were too many times that Bud had to send for Killian and I to pour our drunk father into the bed of the old pickup and drive him home before either of us were legally allowed to drive.
The fact that Killian and I are back here, in this place with all of its shitty memories, is some kind of fucked up, I think. At least Bud isn't trying to reminisce, make small talk about the past, rose-colored memories or some bullshit. He's happy just leaving us alone.
"I don't know," I say, glancing at Killian. "Got a job up at the Mayburn orchard."
"In the bar, I mean," Bud says, giving me an odd look. "I'm heading into the back office for a bit, got some paperwork to do. If you need a refill, you know where the beer is. You boys yell if anyone else comes in."
"Sure, Bud," Killian says with a laugh that sounds more like a cough. The bar is empty except for the two of us and a regular slumped down in the dimly lit back corner, his feet propped up on another chair and his cowboy hat pulled halfway down over his forehead, shielding his eyes. I'm not sure if he's passed out or asleep or if he's a permanent fixture of the bar. He could very well be dead.
Killian and I drink in silence until I finally speak. "The job at the Mayburn orchard is a temporary thing," I say. I'm not sure why I feel the need to tell him this. "Foreman position. The fucking chick running the place is lucky she didn't burn down half her orchard."
Killian nods and takes another pull on his beer. "I knew this was a story involving a chick," he says, finally turning toward me. His expression is serious, but there's the familiar twinkle in his eyes he gets when he gives me shit, just like he always has. Killian and I are two years apart, and were always closer to each other than we were to Elias and Silas.
Silas and Elias always had some kind of weird ESP shit going on, even when they were kids, whatever the hell kind of simpatico twins inevitably seem to have. They were always on the same wavelength. Killian, on the
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