Made to Order by Brigham Vaughn

TWO

“Hey there, handsome.” A blonde in a low-cut dress leaned over the bar, resting her arms on its wooden surface. “Any chance you could make me a strawberry daiquiri?” She batted her lashes.

“Sure thing.” Tyler Hewitt smiled tightly.

“And make sure I can taste the alcohol in it! I’ve had a week. My girls and I are all out tonight. Looking to let loose, you know?”

Right, Tyler could read between those lines. I want to get drunk and pick up a guy. Which, hey, he got it. He’d done similar things on a night out. He just no longer picked up women where he worked. After one hookup had started stalking him here, he’d called it quits. She’d been nice and all at first, but he’d made it clear from the beginning he wasn’t looking for a relationship and she’d definitely crossed the line.

“It’ll be the best damn daiquiri you’ve ever had,” he promised.

Which was probably true. He was good at what he did, and the tavern made them from scratch rather than the bottled mix. That shit was more corn syrup than strawberry purée so it was icky sweet, and the owner, Rachael, had always prided herself on running a place that offered more than the average bar. Tyler did too.

He fucking hated making daquiris from scratch though.

Pulling out the blender for the sticky drink was a pain in the ass, plus making them took so much longer than mixing a martini or an old fashioned. He’d end up with sticky strawberry all over his hands and the bar top. Worst of all, once one person ordered it, at least half a dozen more customers would see it and want it too.

Tension gathered in his shoulders as he realized it was going to be one of those nights. Where he’d go home feeling annoyed and exhausted.

He loved his job as bar manager here at the Hawk Point Tavern, he really did, but sometimes …

People got on his last damn nerve.

His phone buzzed in his pocket, but he ignored it, reaching for the rum and simple syrup instead. There was a lineup staring him down with daggers in their eyes and he wasn’t about to piss off the people stuffing tips in the tip jar.

Two hours later, Tyler had made at least a dozen daiquiris and the demand showed no sign of slowing down. And the damn freezer was empty of strawberries now. He let Lacey Martin, one of their newer hires, know he was stepping away. Thankfully, she was new to the tavern, not to bartending.

He ducked out from behind the bar and strode down the service hallway to the kitchen.

Donovan Ryan, the executive chef and part owner of the restaurant side of the tavern, looked up as Tyler stepped into his domain. He arched a reddish-blond eyebrow, large knife poised in midair. “Do you need something?” His tone was cool.

Hello to you too, Tyler thought, but the lack of warmth wasn’t exactly unusual for the chef. He was … abrupt. Tyler didn’t have time to make small talk anyway.

“Yeah, strawberries, if you’ve got any. We’ve had a run on daiquiris and we’re out in the bar freezer.”

“The Wholesome Root delivery won’t be here until Thursday. You should know that.”

“I do know that,” Tyler snapped. “I thought maybe you had some in the freezer. I don’t need fresh. Frozen is better anyway, then I don’t have to add ice and water it down.”

Donovan narrowed his blue eyes at Tyler. “I might. I sometimes keep it on hand for purée.” He wiped his hands on a towel. “I take any that are starting to go slightly soft and freeze them, so we don’t have to toss them. They’re perfectly good, just not for salads or garnish. Let me look.”

Tyler had made the mistake of looking in the freezer himself one time. That had not gone over well. The kitchen was definitely Donovan’s kingdom, and no one fucked with that. Admittedly, Tyler would be annoyed if Donovan grabbed a bunch of limes from behind his bar without telling him, so he understood. He just didn’t understand why the guy had to be so damn unpleasant about it.

Tyler followed the tall red-haired chef into the walk-in freezer, shivering as the icy air hit his bare arms.

After a quick scan of the freezer contents, Donovan handed over a large bag of fruit with a glare. “Here. But you need to fill out—”

“The log. Yeah, I’ll do it tonight after I count the drawer and tally receipts.”

The inventory log let the tavern owner, Rachael Bradford, know when something from the kitchen side of the business got used at the bar or vice versa. It was handy as hell to borrow items from the other side of the business, because the last thing they wanted was to run out of something when they were in the thick of a busy evening. But Donovan made what should have been a simple task monumentally annoying.

The expansion of the Hawk Point Tavern was definitely a good thing. They’d seen a huge increase in bar sales since the restaurant side opened. Tyler just wasn’t so sure he was crazy about working with Chef Donovan.

He pushed open the door of the freezer, the heat of the kitchen welcome on his chilled skin.

“Better hope I don’t need any strawberries for cheesecakes,” Donovan called over the noise of sizzling pans and clanking dishes.

“I’ll buy you some replacements at the farmers market,” Tyler yelled back.

“You’re welcome for saving your ass, by the way!”

“Thanks,” Tyler muttered on his way out of the kitchen before realizing that was an asshole move on his part. He should have sincerely thanked the guy at least. Even if Donovan was a Grade A dick.

Thankfully, after two hours, several more trips to the kitchen to beg for strawberries, and what felt like seventy daiquiris, the line finally slowed.

Tyler sagged against the back counter with a sigh and glanced over at Lacey. “Gonna take my break now.”

Lacey looked up from the drink she was shaking. “Oh, sure thing.”

Tyler was hours overdue for a chance to step away, but the bar had been slammed all night. His staff had all gotten their breaks already, but he’d only stopped long enough to wolf down a dinner.

He dragged his phone out of his pocket as he walked down the hall and shouldered the exit door open.

The phone had buzzed several times tonight but there was no way he’d had time to check it with as insanely busy as they were. Besides, he liked to set a good example for the bartenders he managed and that meant no phones in sight of customers.

“Fuck.” Tyler stared down at the screen. He’d missed three messages from Eddie Silva. His best friend. His ride-or-die buddy from the Army. That was never good. He’d had too many of these late-night phone calls recently. He could almost guarantee Eddie was drunk.

Tyler listened to the voicemail as he strolled to the outdoor employee break area and rested his butt against the edge of the tabletop.

“She left me, man.” Eddie let out a noise like a sob had been strangled and died in his throat. “She left me. Said I was scaring her. Scaring the kids. I don’t know what to do, man. She’s everything. We’ve been together since we were fifteen, you know?”

Tyler pictured the photo Eddie had always carried with him of Andrea and, later, their babies. Tyler’s heart ached. Eddie loved the shit out of his wife and kids. He was one of the guys who didn’t use their R&R time to screw around. He spent it writing his family emails, letters, and Skyping when they could. He did everything he could to stay in contact with the people he loved. But when Tyler had left active duty and become a reservist, Eddie had reupped for another tour of duty.

Eddie had planned to be a lifer, a career military guy. He’d joined because he needed a stable job to support him and his family and what the fuck else could guys like them do?

Tyler’s parents had been better off than Eddie’s but he’d had no direction at the age of eighteen. He’d been okay at school but not great. And faced with the option of joining his father’s plumbing business or enlisting in the Army, the military had seemed like the better choice.

But reality had shown him he’d have been better off choosing plumbing. He might have been elbows-deep in literal shit at times but at least he wouldn’t have had to see his buddies either not make it home at all or come home like Eddie had.

Eddie’s plan for career and advancement had been completely fucked by the unending months in the sand. By the shit he’d seen, the shit he’d done, by the fact that there were piss-poor safety nets. Nothing to help him when he struggled.

Oh, sure, Eddie had been honorably discharged on medical grounds because of a busted shoulder. Nothing tragic, just a repetitive stress injury aggravated by years of grueling physical exertion. But he’d been in a bad place mentally long before then. He’d just hidden it well.

It hadn’t been easy for any of them to return to civilian life. Tyler had struggled for a while too, feeling out of step with the rest of the world. What had happened overseas had seemed sharp and real, whereas the “real world” had been foggy and hazy.

He’d still been enlisted of course, transitioning from active duty to being in the reserves but there had been a strange surreal feeling to being home. He’d sat at the dining room table, listening to his mom talk about the neighbors, how the girl Tyler had taken to prom had gotten married and had a baby, and been sure that at any moment, he’d jolt awake and find himself back in Iraq.

Tyler had been rudderless, distant from everyone. He’d missed the structure and discipline of military life. He missed having a purpose. It had been easier when he simply had to follow orders and do as he was told, content in the knowledge that someone else was in charge.

He’d been unable to reconnect with old friends, preferring the company of the guys from his platoon. It had been like he’d spoken a different language from the rest of the world and it had taken him far longer than he’d ever expected for that fish-out-of-water feeling to fade.

One afternoon, still waiting for word back from the Veterans Employment Center on leads for a civilian job, he’d wandered into the Hawk Point Tavern for a drink. He’d found Rachael Bradford, a friend since grade school, behind the bar, slinging drinks and looking frazzled. Between customers, she’d confessed she was in over her head, struggling to manage the bar with her parents gone and college courses drowning her in work.

Tyler had asked if he could step in. Not out of any real plan for his future or desire for a job as a bartender but a need to help a longtime friend out of a jam. The look of pure relief on Rachael’s face, even after he told her he didn’t know a damn thing about mixing drinks, had made him feel good. He’d felt useful for the first time since he’d been back in Pendleton.

She’d been willing to work around his reserve training schedule, just grateful for a reliable pair of hands to help bear some of the burden she carried. For a little while, he’d even wondered if something romantic might happen between them, but in the end, he’d found true friendship rather than love. And he’d been grateful.

It was Rachael’s willingness to give him a chance, her faith in him, that had helped him find the first tether that tied him to the civilian world again.

But for some veterans, that anchor never appeared and for others, that wasn’t always enough.

Tyler had always described that transition period as like being trapped in a thick plexiglass box. He could see the rest of the world, even interact with it, but he couldn’t quite reach any of the people on the other side.

Eddie had seemed to struggle more than the rest of them after his discharge and the trouble was, no one had ever found a way to get Eddie out of the box he was in.

Neither Eddie’s family nor any of his friends could quite reach him.

Tyler had done what he could but what Eddie really needed was best left to the professionals. The ones Eddie could never seem to get an appointment to see. Tyler had talked to Andrea about it a few times, worried Eddie was just blowing it off but no, she’d tearfully told him she’d tried, too. Called everyone she could, including blowing up the VA representative’s phone, but no matter how much she’d tried to escalate it, they told her the same damn thing.

Eddie was on his own.

Oh, they didn’t say it in so many words of course, but they talked about wait times and referrals and what it amounted to was that it only got escalated if you were a threat to yourself or others. And half the time, it was too damn late.

Unlike some of the guys Tyler and Eddie had served with, they hadn’t come home hating the US military. Tyler had been proud to serve, though the people shaking his hand and calling him a hero always made him feel uncomfortable as hell.

But he’d come home sure of several things. There was no point in the military investing in billion-dollar weapons systems when the people who were supposed to run them were a fucking mess. Tyler wasn’t naïve—there were always casualties in war—and he'd been more than willing to put his life on the line, but when over twelve percent of military vets came home with PTSD and nearly two dozen former soldiers killed themselves every day? Something was off.

Maybe not all of those could be prevented, but goddamn it. They needed to do something for these guys before it got that bad.

But they didn’t. And those numbers weren’t just facts and figures. Those statistics were Tyler’s buddies. His best fucking friend. And now, Tyler got calls like this frequently. Eddie drunk off his ass and crying, reaching out for help Tyler didn’t know how to give him.

Tyler’s hand shook as he stared down at the screen, terrified that one day, he’d be too late. He’d fail. He’d lose Eddie too. They’d already lost Rafe Johnson and Charles French, or Frenchie, as they’d known him. They’d both died in the war but it was almost worse to imagine losing Eddie now.

Now, Tyler considered his options, his stomach clenching with worry. It was after midnight and the last thing he wanted to do was wake Andrea or the kids. Of course, from the sounds of it, they might not be living together anymore.

Tyler sent a text to Eddie first, just to be safe. Sorry I missed your call, man. I was behind the bar. You still up?

He fired off another one to Andrea. I got a couple of calls from Eddie. Sounds like he’s in rough shape. You okay?

A response from her came in almost immediately. He is. I don’t know what to do, Ty.

Hope I didn’t wake you up.

No. I couldn’t sleep.

Eddie said you left??

Not forever. I’m at my mom’s for a few days. I needed some space. What else was I supposed to do? I hate the kids seeing their dad like that. I love him, Ty, but he’s in a bad spot.

I know. What can I do?

I don’t know. Be there for him if you can. It’s just exhausting.

I’ll keep trying but I don’t know what to do. I feel so fucking helpless.

Me too.

Well, if you need me to come visit and take the kids off your hands for an afternoon, let me know. I always enjoy playing Uncle Tyler.

I will.

Hope you can get some sleep. I’ll check in soon. Love you guys.

Love you too. Have a good night.

Still nothing from Eddie. Which probably meant he was passed out. Tyler tried not to let the thoughts of what else could happened creep into his head.

The Silvas lived hours away in Grand Rapids so it wasn’t like Tyler could swing by on his way home. Maybe he’d go up there and visit on his day off.

But his stomach churned with worry as he returned to the bar with a heavy sigh.

It had been a long-ass night and he still had hours to go.

* * *

“Got another number, huh?”

“Hmm?” Tyler looked up from the receipts he’d been sorting to see Donovan staring down at him.

The chef stepped toward him, smirking. God, his face drove Tyler crazy.

Donovan always looked smug. From the toes of his stupid black clogs to the top of his ridiculous red hair, he irritated Tyler. And Tyler’s mood had not improved with the news that his friend’s mental health was getting worse.

“The numbers you get every night.” Donovan nudged a napkin with scrawled digits on it across the wooden surface of the bar. Tyler had found it in the tip jar and set it aside to toss in the trash later. He now regretted he hadn’t done it immediately.

“It’s not like I ask for them,” Tyler pointed out. “Women just give them to me.” Tonight, it had been the really pushy blonde. The dark-haired one with an amazing ass had scrawled hers on a receipt.

“Like you don’t encourage that? The flirty little comments. The winking …”

“I don’t—” Tyler forced himself to take a deep breath. “Look, yeah, it’s part of the job, right? Tips are better if you’re friendly and a little flirtatious. But I don’t lead women on. I don’t ask for their number. And I definitely don’t call the ones they offer.”

“Right.”

“Why do you care, anyway?”

“I find it a bit … desperate.”

Tyler crossed his arms over his chest and sat back. “Oh, like you never chat up the customers in the restaurant? You get called out there all the time.”

“Because they want to compliment my food, not my face.”

Tyler bit back a comment that maybe it was because he wasn’t as good-looking as Tyler was, but that wasn’t fair. Donovan was good-looking if you were into red-haired, freckled, bearded dudes. Which Tyler most certainly was not. “And you’ve never had someone slip you their number?” he said instead.

“Not often.”

“Okay, whatever.” Tyler waved it off. “I’m just saying, it’s part of the biz. I don’t encourage it and I don’t take advantage of it. I don’t know what you want from me, man.”

“I want you to fill out the log.” Donovan nudged a clipboard toward him.

“Seriously?”

“I don’t want it to get forgotten.”

“It’s not gonna get forgotten,” Tyler growled. “I have it right here. I just haven’t gotten to it yet.”

“I can wait.” Donovan slid onto the stool next to his. “Give me a beer?”

Tyler glared at him. “Seriously?”

“IPA. Something with grapefruit. We’ll call it even for all of the strawberries I gave you.”

“Jesus Christ, you’re a pain in my ass,” Tyler grumbled. “Fucking Strawberry Police or something.”

“I heard that.”

“I meant for you to,” he snapped. “Tap or bottle?”

“I’ll trust your judgment.”

Tyler stifled an eye roll and got up.

He fetched a bottle for Donovan and plunked it down on the bar in front of him. “There. I should charge you for it.”

“I believe free drinks and food were part of the perks Rachael offered in her employment contracts.”

“Yeah, well, drinks are at my discretion,” he pointed out. “So don’t push your luck, bud.”

Donovan smirked. “So, what you’re saying is, I need to stay in your good graces to get service here?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

“And to think I was so generous with the flat iron steak for staff dinner,” Donovan said with an insincere smile. “Maybe I’m starting to regret that.”

Tyler stifled an annoyed grunt. Damn it, the food tonight had been fucking amazing and they both knew it. Of course, all Donovan’s meals were. The place wasn’t super high-end fancy fine dining but the stuff that came out of Donovan’s kitchen was always delicious.

Tonight, it had been a thin steak, perfectly grilled on the outside with a nice juicy pink center, and some kind of cherry sauce on top. With tons of roasted potatoes and vegetables.

They always got fed here if they wanted it. And it was the best damn food Tyler had ever put in his mouth. Considering how much he hated cooking, he knew he was spoiled getting to eat Donovan’s food every day. When Frank had been running the kitchen and churning out bar snacks, it had been good. Tyler had been perfectly happy to chow down on burgers, fries, and appetizers, or whatever there was extra of. But being able to enjoy a real meal every night he worked—even if it was eaten in about ten minutes flat while standing up—was a luxury he couldn’t squander.

“The sooner you fill out that log, the sooner you get rid of me,” Donovan said with an infuriating smile on his face. He took a long sip of his beer, his throat working as he downed a good third of it.

“Thirsty much?” Tyler asked. He ignored the other comment.

“It’s been a long night.” A flicker of something crossed his face and for the first time, Tyler really looked at him.

Truth be told, he did look tired. His freckled face was paler than usual, and he was slumped on his stool like he didn’t have the strength to keep himself upright.

Tyler knew the feeling. He reached for the log and filled it out without any further bitching. “That look okay?” He slid it across the wooden surface.

Donovan scanned it. “Looks right to me.” He reached for the pen and signed his name elegantly, finishing with a flourish.

Show off.

Tyler scratched his own far messier signature next to it. “I’ll make sure Rachael sees it. I’ll tuck it in the inbox by her office door.”

He expected Donovan to get up then, to head home, but he sat there, slowly sipping the rest of his beer. Even after he was done, he waited silently as Tyler continued to make sure everything tallied up properly.

Now that Tyler had an office of his own, he could have done the paperwork in there but it was easier to do it by the bar and well, he was tired.

Getting increasingly annoyed by the minute, he looked up at the chef. “Are you waiting to make sure I put it in Rachael’s inbox or something?” he said with a scowl.

Donovan offered him a lazy shrug. “Just want to make sure it was done right.”

“You’re an asshole,” Tyler said. “Seriously. Do you have to micromanage everything?”

“If people did as they were told, I wouldn’t have to.”

“You’re not my boss,” Tyler pointed out.

“I’m well aware.”

Tyler gritted his teeth to keep himself from snapping then why are you acting like you are? but it took all his willpower. “Fine. You can walk me out.”

With Donovan at his side like his damn shadow, Tyler doubled checked that everything was buttoned up tightly. He flicked off the lights as they walked down the hall to the employee entrance at the back, their quiet footfalls the only sound.

Donovan pushed open the back door, allowing the warm summer night air to flow in. His black shirt stretched across his shoulders and Tyler felt an odd twinge in his gut at the sight.

Those twinges were not unlike the ones he’d felt when he was overseas, when it had been so long since he’d gotten off that even other dudes had started to look good. And hey, a hand was a hand. And, a mouth was a mouth. Tyler and Frenchie had never really talked much about the fact Frenchie was into dudes but he’d offered and well … Tyler had indulged a couple of times. He’d been single, so why the hell not? But it was just a pressure release valve. A chance to blow off steam until he could find a woman. He definitely wasn’t into guys when he had any other option.

Why the hell he was so wound up now was a mystery.

Of course, now that Tyler thought about it, it had been a while since he’d hooked up with anyone. Between the bar hours and trying to help his dad out around the house since his hip replacement, he was short on free time and usually too exhausted to try to meet a woman, even if it was a low-effort hookup through an app.

Still, even if Tyler ignored that Donovan was a man, he was the last fucking person Tyler wanted to be attracted to.

With a muttered, “g’night” that Donovan returned with a surly nod, Tyler made a beeline for his truck.

Maybe I should have kept the blonde’s number,Tyler thought with a rueful shake of his head as he slid into his blue F150. Clearly desperation is starting to hit.