Forever Never
: Chapter 13

The Tiki Tavern was the kind of theme bar that shouldn’t work but somehow did. Its vibe was Caribbean rum shop meets country-western bar. The staff wore Hawaiian shirts, denim, and belt buckles while serving barbecue and bourbon next to jerk chicken and tropical drinks with umbrellas.

It was a skinny two-story building clad in white clapboard siding that hugged a busy street corner in downtown. In the summer, the rooftop patio with kick-ass water views and killer happy hour specials beckoned tourists. But mid-February on Mackinac meant local patrons were restricted to a smattering of tables in front of the bar and gas fireplace.

It was the only bar that stayed open throughout the winter, making it a gathering place for the lonely and the stir-crazy.

Remi congratulated herself on being exactly on time when she pushed through the front door, kicking a light powder of fresh snow off her boots.

It smelled like smoked meat, liquor, and sunscreen. A Jimmy Buffet classic about cheeseburgers in paradise bathed the room in a riot of colors she wished she could capture. She’d have to settle for ordering red meat, she supposed.

There were a few islanders hunkered around tables, another handful holding down barstools with beers and piña coladas. Kimber hadn’t arrived yet.

“Well, I’ll be damned. Look who just walked her trouble-making ass through my door.” The voice from behind the bar brought a smile to her face.

Darius Milett put the Tiki in Tiki Tavern. Born in Barbados, he’d moved with his family to Michigan—of all places—when he was a kid. His parents and most of his siblings had long since migrated on to the warmer climes of Arizona and Florida, but Darius had inexplicably fallen in love with the novelty of island winters. So he’d gotten a degree in hospitality and, with the help of a most unlikely business partner, had opened the doors to the Tiki Tavern.

Zipping in just a hair under six feet, he was broad-shouldered and muscular with smooth dark skin and the kind of laugh that was contagious. His head was shaved, but he sported an impeccably trimmed beard.

“Trouble-making?” she scoffed, unzipping her coat. “I am a paragon of good behavior.”

She had a role to play, expectations to meet in this place. No one wanted to see a trembling, afraid-of-the-damn-dark Remi Ford. They wanted the grown-up version of the girl who’d once filled a seasonal fudge shop server’s bed with horse manure after he got too handsy with her friend.

“How many times you been arrested, Remi?” Duncan Firth, grizzled local legend, called from the dart board.

“That was in my wayward youth, Duncan,” she shot back with a wink. “Besides, unlike some others, I haven’t wrecked a snowmobile this season.”

The man coughed out a laugh.

Darius delivered the margarita he’d mixed to a man in a Michigan State sweatshirt and ducked under the service bar. In three steps, he had her swept up in a bear hug, the sleeves of his parrot and flamingo shirt threatening to rip under the strain of bulging biceps.

She returned the hug and pressed a noisy kiss to his cheek. “God, it’s good to see you!” And it was. No matter what had transpired between Remi and his younger sister Audrey—her former best friend and Brick Callan’s ex-wife—the smiling, built bartender had remained friendly toward her.

A resounding crash from the bar had Darius setting her on her feet again. “You break it, you bought it, man,” he called, eyeing his partner.

Brick Callan’s surly expression as he unloaded clean glasses from the rack was comically juxtaposed against his cheerful parrot and flamingo shirt.

She gave the man a little salute, then turned her back on him to focus on Darius. Of all the tiki bars on the island, she had to walk into his. “I thought he wasn’t working tonight.”

Darius shrugged muscled shoulders. Remi thought she heard the fabric of his shirt whimper. “Said he needed a distraction. You two aren’t gonna get all snippy with each other and ruin my island vibes, are you? When are you gonna outgrow this whole big brother-little sister thing?”

“Ew! We do not have a big brother-little sister thing.” The idea made her shudder. As complicated as her feelings were for the grumpy monument to all things masculine, none of them included anything that fell in the realm of sisterly.

“I’ve never seen two adults rub each other that wrong for that long,” he mused.

It was time for a subject change before she got to thinking about Brick rubbing her in any way, shape, or form. “I see you’ve quit the gym and let yourself get all flabby,” she said, drilling a finger into his rock-hard stomach.

“Don’t you dare say the ‘f’ word in my presence. I’ve got a reason to stay in shape.”

“A hot manly reason?” she asked, interest piqued.

He grinned down at the toes of his sneakers. “Remember Ken?”

“Three summers ago Ken? Hot and heavy all summer long Ken? Call me if you’re ever in Colorado Ken? Hmm. Nope. Doesn’t ring any bells.”

“Smartass,” Darius said with affection. “As of last spring, Colorado Ken is now Mackinac Ken. He bought the barbershop and moved in with a hot bartender.” The man blew on his knuckles and rubbed them against his shirt.

Remi slugged him in the shoulder. “Shut up! Are you serious?”

He managed to look both embarrassed and ecstatic.

“We kept in touch. I flew out there for New Year’s Eve, and the rest is history.”

“Well holy shit, Dare. I’m thrilled for you two!”

“You should be. We’re amazing, and you should have dinner with us so we can all catch up. Starting with how that happened.” He reached out and tapped her cast, which was visible thanks to the sleeve surgery she’d performed on the thermal shirt in a fit of frustration.

“Yes to dinner. I’ll show up with wine, dessert, and a thousand questions. You won’t be able to get rid of me,” she promised.

He grinned down at her. “It’s really good to have you back, kiddo.”

“It’s good to be back.” This time she meant it.

“Now, what can I get you?”

“I’m meeting my sister. Can you make me something with all of the alcohol? And I guess a merlot for her?”

“Kimber’s still off wine since the migraines,” he said, waving to a couple by the fireplace as they bundled up to leave.

Migraines? She picked through her memory banks and came up dry. “Okay. Then one of whatever she usually drinks.”

“You got it, kiddo.”

Snagging the table the couple had abandoned, she put her back to the bar so she wouldn’t have to watch Man Mountain smolder at her all night. She blew out a breath and congratulated herself on not acting like a terrified woman mid-nervous breakdown, then realized her foot was tapping out a frantic beat against the floor.

She jumped at a sudden bark of laughter behind her and pinched her eyes closed.

Coming apart at the seams was not an option at this point. Besides, if she was going to have a mini-breakdown, she wouldn’t do it in front of Brick Freaking Callan…who was most definitely staring at her right now. She hated being so stupidly aware of the man.

“You’re here.”

Remi nearly fell out of her chair before realizing that her sister had materialized next to the table.

“I thought I’d beat you here,” Kimber said, shrugging out of a hunter green parka. She wore an ivory hat over her hair that she’d loosely braided. She hadn’t bothered with makeup, but the winter wind had tinged her cheeks a delicate pink. She looked tired, pretty, and annoyed.

Remi comforted herself with the fact that it hadn’t been anything she’d done. At least not this time.

“I was on time for once,” she said as Kimber slipped into the chair across from her.

“Ladies.” Darius of the impeccable timing appeared with their drinks.

“My hero,” Kimber said, feigning a swoon.

“Damn. It is nice to see the Ford sisters reunited,” he said.

“It’s good to be in the same place,” Remi agreed.

Kimber’s response was cut off by her phone vibrating on the table. Remi caught a glimpse of Kyle’s name on the screen before her sister hit ignore and flipped the phone over.

“If you two need anything, wave me down. Specials are on the board,” Darius said, pointing at a chalkboard that looked like a third-grader had attacked it with chalk.

Neither man, it turned out, had the artistic talent for lettering. Their barely legible specials boards had become part of the lure of the place.

When he left, Remi sampled her All the Alcohol drink. It tasted like a tropical version of a Long Island iced tea. Delicious and deadly. “So, Darius was saying something about you getting migraines,” she began.

Kimber rolled her eyes. “What about them?”

She was out of sync, like she was dancing just off the beat and couldn’t quite catch up with her sister’s metronome. They’d always been a little out of step, but when they were growing up, Kimber had made an effort to help her catch up.

“I don’t know,” she said, feeling awkward. “I guess, when did they start?”

“They started about two years ago, and they’re triggered by stress, which apparently a boring stay at home mother finds in monotonous household chores and the daily ins and outs of raising human beings. Do you like it when people ask you about your asthma all the time?” Kimber asked pointedly, picking up her vodka and soda.

“Uh. No?” Remi stirred her drink and wished she had stayed at the cottage and suffered through her own company.

“And before you ask me about the kids, let’s talk about how even though she may not look it, a woman can be more than the people she brings into this world.”

Remi peered at her sister over the rim of her glass. “Okay. What’s a safe topic that isn’t going to get my head bitten off?”

Kimber let out a small puff of breath. “Sorry,” she said. “Things are…whatever. I don’t feel like talking about them.”

Her sister’s phone buzzed again. She didn’t look at it.

“You could tell me how great your life is,” Kimber suggested. “But then I’d probably resent you. Then I’d drink too much to compensate. And things would get ugly.”

Remi had never seen her sister hanging by a thread before. Kimber had been born responsible.

Every Friday, she’d marched home to finish up her homework for the weekend. She had tabbed binders with procedures for things like Christmas and meal prep and entertaining. She had planned every detail of her wedding down to packing a day-of emergency kit with stain remover, bandages, breath mints, and safety pins.

Remi, the maid of honor, had ended up needing both the stain remover and the bandages.

Well, hell. It was just another example of Remington Ford being incapable of taking care of herself or others.

“My life is…whatever also. I don’t really want to talk about it,” she said finally.

“Too many boozy brunches and first dates with men who find you wildly intriguing?”

Remi choked on her drink, and Kimber winced. “Sorry. I’m shutting up now. Let’s move to the bar. Brick can referee, and we can talk about something that doesn’t make me feel violent.”

“Any hints on what that might be?” Remi glanced over her shoulder to where the man in question stood in front of bottles of bad decisions waiting to happen.

“Like the initiative thing that Mom dumped on us.” Kimber rose, collecting her coat and drink, leaving Remi no choice but to follow.

She took her time, gathering her things and trudging toward the bar.

This was why acting on impulse was bad. She could have been at home in front of the fire with a bowl of macaroni and cheese in her lap streaming trashy TV. But nooooooo. She was too scared to be alone so she’d put on stupid pants and braved the frigid night air just to be annoyed by her sister and glared at by a bartender.

She really needed to look into making better life choices.

“We thought we could talk about your idea from last night,” Kimber was saying to Brick.

Remi busied herself by dumping her coat over the back of the stool.

“Go easy on that,” Brick said, nodding toward her drink.

She looked him dead in the eyes while taking several long swallows from the straw.

Darius hooted until Brick shot him a look. “It’s on you if she gets out of control,” Brick warned the man.

“It’s Remi. She’d get out of control on ice water and potato chips,” Darius insisted.

“Do not make her another one,” Brick warned.

“Do not start with the overbearing protector routine,” Remi complained. She was already feeling a lick of warmth spread through her. Though she wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol or the argumentative bearded bear in front of her.

“While you two are bickering, I’ll take another one,” Kimber said, waving her empty glass.

“What the hell, Kims? Did it evaporate?” Remi asked.

“The initiative,” Kimber insisted, more sharply this time.

Brick crossed his arms on the other side of the stretch of wood. “What about it?”

“Let’s talk how to organize it while keeping the entire thing as simple as possible,” Kimber said.

To be contrary, Remi polished off the rest of her drink with a noisy slurp while her sister and nemesis discussed things like how to drum up volunteers and frequency of visits. Brick looked like he wanted to slap the glass out of her hand. When he left to deliver two sandwiches on plates piled high with French fries, Darius put another vodka soda in front of Kimber and then slid a tall glass of pink, frothy liquid at Remi with a wink.

“What is this?” she asked, sniffing it. “It smells like grain alcohol.”

“I call it a pink flamingo,” Darius said. “Just don’t breathe near open flames.”

“You’re hauling her ass home when she can’t walk,” Brick announced, throwing a towel at Darius.

“You said not to make her another Tiki Tea,” Darius pointed out.

“Excuse me, gentlemen—and I use that term very loosely. But I can walk my own damn self home,” Remi argued.

“No, you can’t,” the entire bar chimed in.

“Can we get back to how to enlist volunteers?” Kimber asked.

Remi half-listened while they debated screening and enforcement.

“Are we boring you?” Brick asked, his tone neutral, but there was something happening behind those blue eyes of his.

She pointed her straw at both of them. “You’re overthinking this.”

“Okay, smarty-pants,” Kimber said. “How do you suggest we enlist volunteers to do the visits?”

Remi dunked the straw back into her pink flamingo. She was starting to feel pretty darn good. “The same way every organization gets them. We force them into it.”

“Elaborate,” Brick demanded.

“We get together with a couple of islanders. The ones who lay the best guilt trips. Mira Rathbun. Dad. Bill House. Mayor Early,” she said, ticking the names off on her fingers. “We ask them to help recruit volunteers. Within a week, we’ll have more volunteers than we know what to do with.”

“And what will the three of us do?” Kimber asked, her eyes narrowing in consideration.

Remi shrugged. “I don’t know? Take the credit?”

Brick didn’t quite cover his laugh with a cough. “You never change, do you?”

Um. Ouch. “That remains to be seen,” she said haughtily.

Kimber’s phone vibrated again on the bar. This time she glanced at the screen. “Since you two have it all figured out, I guess I’ll take this.” She slid off her seat and headed for the hallway that led to the kitchen, office, and restrooms. “What is so important I couldn’t have ten minutes to myself, Kyle?” Remi heard her snap as she disappeared around the corner.

All did not appear to be well in the Olson family.

A plate of cheeseburger sliders, fries, and broccoli materialized in front of her.

Two large, capable-looking hands appeared on either side of the plate. “Eat.”

The man just couldn’t stand back and let her self-destruct.

“I didn’t order these,” she said, despite the fact that her stomach was now audibly growling over the scent of fresh red meat.

Brick loomed over her from across the bar. “You’ve had two drinks strong enough to put down a full-grown man, and you barely touched anything on your plate last night.”

“Stop looking at my plate.”

“Start eating.”

Remi pretended to rub at the corner of her eye with a middle finger.

“Play nice,” Darius coughed into his elbow.

Brick and Remi both paused long enough to glare at him.

Kimber interrupted the glaring contest. “I have to go,” she said, sliding her arms into the sleeves of her coat. “Apparently Kyle feels unequipped to feed the kids dinner.”

“Are you serious?” Remi asked. She caught the subtle shake of Brick’s head and shut her mouth. “I mean. Okay. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“Why?” Kimber frowned, pulling on her jacket.

“Because we’re sisters, and if Kyle needs an ass-kicking, I want to be a part of it,” Remi told her.

Kimber paused, and for a second, the mask slipped from her face. There was something softer and sadder in her eyes.

“Thanks, Rem.” Her sister turned to the men behind the bar. “Boys, it was a pleasure as always.”

She reached for her wallet, but Remi waved her off. “I’ve got the tab. You go save the day.”

Kimber eyed her as she tugged her braid out of her coat. “You sure?”

“Yeah. Go be Super Kimber.”

“You’ll get home okay?”

“I’ll be fine,” she insisted.

“‘Cause you’re listing pretty hard to the right,” her sister observed.

Remi did her best to straighten up and overcompensated, jostling the plate into her empty glass.

“I’ll make sure she gets home safe,” Brick promised.

“Thanks for taking up babysitting duty,” Kimber said.

Remi was too fuzzy-headed to be properly offended. “Do you know what that’s all about?” she asked Brick after the door closed behind her sister.

He shrugged and turned around to key something into the order screen.

“A fount of information as usual,” she complained, picking up the dredges of her pink flamingo and slurping at the ice.

He turned around and removed the glass from her hand. “Maybe you should have been paying closer attention to things at home.”

“Question. Does everyone on this island have a problem with me, or are you and my sister the only members of the Remi Sucks Club?”

Darius elbowed Brick out of the way.

“So, Ms. Artist. Catch me up. What are you painting? Studly nude gentlemen?” he demanded.

She knew he was redirecting her. But the nice man had given her such good alcohol. It couldn’t hurt to share just a little bit of the truth, could it?

“I’m painting music. Well, what I see when I hear music.”

“Girl! Good for you!”

“Really?” Brick’s mouth was still pursed in a frown, but his eyebrows showed his interest.

“I started to dabble with it in art school. Apparently there’s a market for what weird brains see.”

“What’s the coolest place a Remi Ford original hangs?” Darius demanded, leaning in to snatch a French fry off her plate.

“There’s one in the mayor’s house.”

“Chicago or Mackinac? Because one of those is much more impressive than the other,” he pointed out.

She grinned. “Chicago. The mayor saw it at a gallery and liked it.” Actually, the woman had “fallen in love with it,” according to the gallery curator. But repeating that just felt like bragging.

“I always knew little Remi Ford would be going places,” Darius said as he poured a pint of lager from the tap.

Brick disappeared without a word.

Without his disapproval hovering over her, she snuck a bite of burger. It was so good she ate an entire slider in four neat bites.

She did feel pleasantly woozy. Enough so that she’d forgotten about the envelope and the man who’d sent it. Crap. Now she was remembering it.

“What?” Brick demanded from across the bar.

She jumped, slapping a hand to her heart to make sure it restarted properly.

“Jeez. Warn a girl!”

“Why are you so jumpy? And what’s wrong with your face?”

“There’s nothing wrong with my face, ass!”

She could feel the breeze from his exhale across the bar.

“I meant, you made a face like you were upset,” he clarified. “Do you want something else to eat?”

She propped her elbows on the bar and put her face in her hands. “No. The sliders are great. And the broccoli is necessary. Thank you.”

“It concerns me when you’re agreeable.”

She dropped her hands. “Brick, I just need to escape for a little bit tonight. Okay? No questions. No worrying about consequences. I need out of my head.”

He gave her a long, charged look. “Fine. But you’ll eat. You’ll drink an entire glass of water between every drink. And you’ll let me walk you home.”

“And you won’t try to pry anything out of me?”

“I won’t try.”

“Promise?” she pressed.

“As long as you let me walk you home,” he agreed.

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