Write Your Own Song

Chapter 16

"And what is with all the animal prints?" Jack asked loudly above the techno beat of the music in the background.

Remy grinned and leaned forward, almost like she was telling a secret. "How about the mirror in the bedroom?" she said in a low voice, her gaze locking with Bobby's. He was standing behind his brother, slightly bemused by the conversation until it had turned to his decorating sense. Jack didn't know he was there, but Bobby had a feeling that wouldn't change the shit that was coming out of his mouth.

Jack pounded his fist on the bar and laughed. "I knew you'd know about the mirror."

Bobby rolled his eyes as Remy winked at him.

Jack was drunk.

Bobby glared at his brother but stopped himself from nagging him. He'd been doing that too much and it didn't help. All it did was give him a headache – one that settled right between his eyes and lasted for hours. In the end, Jack would still be wasted, having a good time, and he'd be stuck with a fucking splitting headache. He figured it was best to just leave it alone for now. He had a feeling his baby brother would be feeling enough like shit the next day to prove his point, anyway.

Biting back a sigh, he stepped up, bracing his hands on the bar. "Remy."

She nodded slightly. "Boss." Did she always say it in that way? Not that he could explain just what way that was, but there was something to it. The way she squinted and almost smiled without smiling. He shook his head. Jack had him looking for shit that wasn't there.

Jack finished his glass and pushed it across the bar, toward Remy. Bobby grabbed it before she could get a hold of it.

"No more, sweetheart."

Remy laughed, a deep throaty laugh. Bobby swallowed heavily and looked at her for a second before turning his attention to his scowling brother.

"He's only had three," she said as she snatched the glass from Bobby's hand and placed it with the other dirty glasses.

"Three?" Bobby snorted a laugh. "Man, are you a cheap date or what, Tinkerbell?"

"Fuck you, Bobby. I'm just tired."

Bobby shook his head. "Nah, that's not it. You get quiet when you're tired. And you're fucking obnoxious when you're drunk."

Jack narrowed his eyes. "I'm not obnoxious." He looked at Remy who just shrugged. Pushing away from the bar, he slid off the stool. "Whatever, man. I'm gonna go to bed."

Bobby watched silently as Jack made his way toward the stairs that led up to his apartment. He was limping but seemed okay otherwise.

Remy loudly placed a glass and bottle on the bar behind him and he turned around to face her. "Gotta let him leave the nest at some point," she observed with a crooked grin.

Bobby grabbed the bottle and poured a glass of amber liquid. "He left it long ago; we've just had some minor setbacks lately."

"The reason you left last year?" she asked and Bobby could tell she was trying to be casual about it. He knew he wasn't an easy one to talk to and he liked it that way.

"More like the outcome." He looked down at the bar and the polished wood surface, noticing the contrast between the unmarred surface and his battle-scarred hands. He wasn't made for fancy shit, even if it was just a down-and-dirty strip club with a shiny veneer. Detroit built him hard and tough and here he was just a wolf in sheep's clothing, trying to fool himself otherwise.

"What happened? If you don't mind me asking." She was wiping down the bar with a rag. It was a slow night. Not a lot of action on a Sunday; the regulars needed at least one night with their wives. Things usually picked up by the middle of the week.