Love Next Door (Lakeside #1) by Helena Hunting

“Too bad, really. He’s a good-looking guy, but a real mess.”

“Didn’t Sadie McAlister go out with him for a while?”

“That’s right. I heard he got her pregnant, but she miscarried.”

“He’s had a rough go of things, eh? Makes you wonder if some of his sister’s shine is eventually going to rub off on him one of these days. Lord knows he could use it.”

They sigh and sip their beers.

I sit there for a while, listening as their conversation veers away from Dillion’s brother. I can’t imagine how hard it must be, living in a place where everyone knows about the mistakes you’ve made. It would make it impossible to live things down, or hide who you are. I watch Billy pound beer after beer. It’s not my place to intervene, especially since he doesn’t even know me.

A guy with a full-sleeved tattoo takes the seat beside mine—it’s the only empty one left—and the bartender nods to him. “The usual, Aaron?”

“You got it.” He pulls his wallet out of his back pocket, sets it on the bar in front of him, and then turns to give me a nod. “You’re new around here, yeah?”

“That obvious, huh?”

He cracks a smile. “Everyone knows everyone. You’re familiar but not known, if you know what I mean.” He holds out his hand. “Aaron Saunders. I’m a local.”

“Van Firestone. I’m staying at Bee Firestone’s place.”

His grin widens. “You’re the grandson. The one she left the cottage to.”

If I was in Chicago, this conversation would be unnerving, but I’m finally figuring out small-town life. People knowing things about you is not weird here. “Uh, yup. That’s me.”

“You’re driving my friend Dillion up the wall these days.”

“You’re friends with Dillion?” I want to ask what kind of friend, but I bite back the question.

“I work with her, for her dad’s construction company.” He flips open his wallet and pulls out a ten-dollar bill. “She seems to think you’re working on Bee’s place for no reason, since you plan to sell. Or build or whatever. Gotta say, not much rattles Dee, but you sure seem to.”

“A lot of people think I’m planning to do a lot of things with Bee’s place, none of them accurate.” I kind of like the fact that I get under her skin enough that she’s talked to this guy about me.

The bartender returns with Aaron’s drink. At first I think it’s a Guinness with an excessive amount of head. But I realize it’s ice cream floating in a glass of root beer. Aaron tips his head in the direction of Dillion’s brother. “Can you do me a favor and pour me a pint of the near-beer stuff for Billy? I don’t think he needs to drink any more, judging from the state of him.”

“You got it. I was getting ready to cut him off, but the poor guy has had it rough. Don’t want to bruise the ego if I don’t have to.”

“Thanks.” The bartender takes the money and returns a minute later with a pint that Aaron delivers to Billy. He sits with him for a few minutes but then gets called to the nearby pool tables.

Aaron motions me over, and I join him and his buddies for a round of pool that turns into several hours.

Eventually, the lights come up, signaling it’s time to go home, which is when I notice that Billy is slumped over in his chair on the other side of the bar.

Aaron gives his shoulder a shake, trying to rouse him. Billy is slurring and mostly incoherent. I slide off my stool and head their way. “You want some help?”

Aaron runs a hand through his hair. “All I have is my bike, and he’s not with it enough to catch a ride on the back. I don’t want to call Dee this time of night.”

“I live right next door. I’ll take him home.”

“You’re sure about that? It’d be a real big favor; might even put you on Dee’s good side, which is always a nice place to be.”

I laugh. “I kinda like her bad side.”

“I’m sure you do. She’s all fire, that one.”

It takes Aaron and me both to get Billy out of the bar and into the truck. He might be a lean dude, but he sure is heavy. He’s mostly passed out the entire ride home, head lolling back and forth, bumping off the passenger window every time we hit a pothole, which is often.

I pull into my neighbor’s driveway just after twelve thirty. The house is dark, which isn’t a surprise, considering it’s the middle of the week.

I poke Billy’s shoulder. “Hey, man, you’re home.”

He rouses and blinks a few times. “Huh?”

I point to the house. “You’re home. Time to sleep off the beer in your bed.”

“Oh. Yeah, right. Time’s it?” He slurs the words and fumbles with his seat belt.

“After midnight. Need a hand?”

“I got it,” he mutters, but he continues to struggle to hit the release button.

I don’t think he’s going to have much luck getting out of the truck and into the house without assistance, so I unbuckle my own seat belt and hop out. I grab his crutches from the bed and round the passenger side. By the time I open the door, he’s managed the epic feat of unbuckling his seat belt.

I’m in the middle of trying to figure out how I’m going to get his drunk ass out of the truck and to the front door without throwing him over my shoulder when I hear the sound of a screen door slamming shut.