The 'Burg: Hold On Part 1

Hold On.

Kristen Ashley.

Dedication.

At the end of this series-.

a series precious to me because it's based where I learned how to be me-.

it's apropos to dedicate this book to my readers.

Thanks for going home with me.

Thanks for liking being there.

I tip my Hilligoss powdered sugar, chocolate b.u.t.tercream-filled donut to you.

We might be done with this version of The 'Burg...

But here's to many adventures to come.

Chapter One.

Worth Every Penny.

Cher.

"I'm stayin'."

"I got this."

"I'm stayin'."

"Go."

"I'm stayin'."

"Go."

Darryl looked at me standing in front of him, his back to the back door, then beyond me into J&J's Saloon.

I knew what he saw and that meant I knew why he wanted to stay.

What I didn't know was how this was going to go. Darryl didn't have a lot going on between his ears, but he was loyal, worked like a horse, was strong as an ox, and, since getting hacked with an ax by a serial killer in order to protect his boss, was insanely protective.

But he knew me. He knew I could take care of myself. Saying that, I didn't know if he knew what I'd be putting myself through, taking on what was right then sitting alone at the bar.

He looked back to me and jerked up his chin, ordering, "Get his a.s.s in a taxi."

"You got it, hoss," I muttered.

He opened the door and kept bossing my a.s.s. "Lock this behind me. Code the security for doors and windows."

I rolled my eyes but moved forward so I could do what he said, even though I would've done that anyway.

I'd learned to be smart, to go out of my way to stay safe and not to take any chances.

I locked up, moved to the security panel, coded it, then took a deep breath and moved down the back hall into the bar.

It was after three thirty in the morning. We were closed. The gla.s.ses washed and put away. The trash taken out. The fridges restocked. The cash register cleaned out, money in the safe in the office. The bar top and tables wiped down. Chairs up on the tables all ready for Fritzi to come in in the morning and mop the floors as well as clean the bathrooms and stock them with toilet paper, so when Feb got in tomorrow, she could just unlock the doors and start the day.

He was at the side curve to the bar, had his back to me, a.s.s to a barstool, feet up on the rungs. He had his elbows to the bar, and since I'd poured it for him, I knew he was nursing a gla.s.s of top-shelf whisky sitting in front of him. Whisky that set him back a whack, more so seeing as he'd had five shots of it along with the seven beers he'd sucked back the last five hours.

When I'd followed Darryl to the back, I'd left the hinged section of the bar open. I rounded it and took the two steps to stand in front of him.

The minute I stopped, Garrett "Merry" Merrick, lieutenant on the 'burg's PD, tall, dark, gorgeous, and the last bastion of good guys available in the 'burg-that meaning he was single-grabbed his gla.s.s. He put it to his lips and threw it back.

I watched him do it, my palms itching, my eyes to the muscular cords working around his throat.

He slammed the gla.s.s down and lifted his beautiful blue eyes to me.

"I'll call a taxi, Cher."

I didn't say anything even as his hand went to the jacket he'd thrown on the stool beside him.

Instead, I moved to the back of the bar, reached high, and grabbed the bottle of whisky that had stayed at its level for months, seeing as it was fifty bucks a shot, until Merry had brought that level down that night.

I grabbed another gla.s.s, put it in front of him, and I knew his eyes were on my hands as I filled both gla.s.ses, his and mine.

"On me," I muttered, setting the bottle aside and looking at him.

He tossed the phone he'd gotten out of his jacket to the bar and caught my eyes.

"You know," he stated. His words weren't slurred. Merry could hold his drink. He'd had more than his normal that night, for sure. But he wasn't sloppy drunk. Just, I hoped, feeling no pain.

Or less pain. The kind of pain he was drinking away didn't really ever go away.

"I know," I told him.

And I did. Everyone in the 'burg knew.

The finale to a fairy tale that didn't have a happy ending.

He looked at me a second, then grabbed his gla.s.s and lifted it toward me. He didn't wait for me to grab mine. He took a healthy swallow of his. He didn't shoot the whole thing, but he wasn't f.u.c.king around.

He set the gla.s.s back to the bar.

I wrapped my fingers around mine and leaned into my arms on the bar top.

"She's a dumb f.u.c.k, Merry," I said softly.

He didn't look up from his contemplation of his whisky when he replied, "She isn't. But I sure as f.u.c.k am."

"That just isn't true," I returned, and he lifted his gaze to me.

It took a lot, but I didn't flinch at the depth of pain and strength of anger burning from his eyes. The bad kind of anger. The worst.

The kind where you're p.i.s.sed as all h.e.l.l at your own d.a.m.ned self.

"Got shot of her," he declared. "f.u.c.ked around when I knew I shouldn't in gettin' her back. Watched Feb and Colt get it back. Watched Cal get his head outta his a.s.s, find Vi, and hold on. Tanner and Rocky got their s.h.i.t together, and when they did, Tanner told me. Pointed that s.h.i.t out to me. Warned me what would happen if I f.u.c.ked around. Mike nearly lost Dusty, bein' stupid and protecting himself against somethin' good, but he pulled out all the stops to get her back and keep her. All that goes down, what do I do?" He shook his head. "d.i.c.k."

He lifted his gla.s.s, took a sip, and lowered it.

When he did, he muttered to his gla.s.s, "I did d.i.c.k."

"Your ex lives in the 'burg too," I pointed out.

He looked at me, brows slightly pulled together. "And?"

"She also did d.i.c.k."

It was true. She did.

Mia Merrick did d.i.c.k.

Which made the b.i.t.c.h the single stupidest female on the planet.

I was not around when they were married. I was not around when they got divorced.

I was around when every decent man in the 'burg got nailed down and happily allowed the ball and chain to be clamped around their ankle. And that meant I was around, and Mia Merrick was around, seeing all that and waiting for Merry to make his play to get the wife everyone in that 'burg said he loved more than anything back in his bed.

And now I was around, alone at J&J's Saloon, the bar where I worked, watching Garrett Merrick drown his sorrows because the news made the rounds that day that Mia Merrick got engaged to another man. Not only that, he was a professor, had worked at IUPUI in Indianapolis, but this semester he'd taken a new position down at IU in Bloomington.

So she was getting hitched and leaving town. The For Sale sign had gone up in front of the house she'd shared with Merry that very day.

Moving on.

Leaving Merry behind.

"Was my play to make," Merry told me.

"Yeah? How's that?" I asked him.

"Cher, babe," he said gently, "it's cool you're tryin' to be there for me, but you don't know."

"I know she did d.i.c.k," I shot back.

His lips tipped up in a small, sad smile.

"Was my play," he repeated.

"No," I declared, leaning into my arms on the bar. "That's bulls.h.i.t, Merry, straight up. You got good, you don't let it go. It lets you go, you hold on. It slips through your fingers, you pull out all the stops to get it back. You got somethin' worth fighting for, you fight for it. You do not sit on your a.s.s waitin' for it to come back to you. You show whoever that is they mean something and you go all out on that, and the only way you go down is doin' that s.h.i.t swinging."

Merry stared at me, which was good since I had his attention and I wasn't done.

"I get you. I been around this 'burg for a while now so I get you, the kind of man you are," I stated. "You think, you got a d.i.c.k, you gotta do the work. Make the plays. Give the chase. Fight the good fight. But you're wrong. It's not like that woman was not in the know you had some serious history, and the seriousness of that history was the kind that hangs around a while. Your sister sorted out her gig with that because she had a good man at her back who kept her standing and swinging. But that isn't the only way it goes. Any woman worth that kind of devotion, she takes her man's back so he can stay standing. She does not wait for him to sort out his s.h.i.t and then find her and kiss her a.s.s."

Merry continued to stare at me before one side of his lips bowed up in a small but not sad smile.

"Don't hold back, Cher. Hand it to me straight," he teased.

When he did, I felt it. I felt it like I felt it every time he was in. Every time he gave that kind of thing to me. Every time he gave anything to me.

The sting. The sting that made itself known. The sting that was a thorn that lived with me. A thorn I'd had so long that I could sometimes ignore the pain.

A thorn buried deep under my skin. A thorn that was Garrett Merrick.

A man who liked me. A man who laughed at my jokes. A man who smiled at me regularly. Who teased me often. Who shot the s.h.i.t with me. A man who liked me a lot.

A man who was my friend.

A man who thought of me as a friend.

The man I loved more than breath.

"How long you known me?" I asked.

He just gave a slight shake of his head, his mouth still curled up on one end, making the beauty of his face a playful beauty that felt like a gift from G.o.d. A gift I wanted to call mine. A gift I wanted aimed at my son so he had a good man who could make him laugh, make him feel funny, and teach him how to be decent.

A gift that I got just like that, the way he was giving it to me now.

It was there.

But it would never be mine.

"A while," he answered my question.

"I ever go soft?"