Page 39 of Trying Not to Need You

Turning off my bedroom light, I make my way downstairs to find Copeland and Ellison on the couch. Courtlynn is sitting in the recliner, pulling on her boots, and Leighton is scrolling through her phone.

“Everyone ready?” Ellison asks, starting to stand, and Copeland rushes to stand, as well, offering her his hand.

“Ells, we can just stay home,” he tells her.

“Copeland James! It’s New Year’s Eve. We are not staying home.” She places her hand on her growing bump. “This little one will be here soon, and life is going to be busy, so nights like tonight will be few and far between.”

“What she said.” Courtlynn smirks as she turns her gaze to me. “Besides, you don’t want to miss the Macklin and Baylor show.”

“There will be no show,” I tell my little sister, rolling my eyes playfully.

“Do you think Bowen has popcorn at the Hideaway?” Ellison teases.

“Pretzels will do,” Leighton chimes in.

“Traitors. All of you are traitors.” I point at each of them.

“Hey,” Copeland says, offended. “What did I do?”

“Married her.” I nod at Ellison. “Guilty by association,” I tell him, and everyone laughs.

Courtlynn stands from the chair. “Let’s do this,” she says, and we all agree, grabbing our coats and making sure we have what we need before we climb into Leighton’s SUV. We were all going to ride with Copeland and Ellison, but he’s already installed the car seat bases in both of their cars and refuses to remove them. He wants to be prepared, and who are we to argue with the excited, yet nervous, first-time daddy?

We sing along to the radio for the short drive to the Hideaway. The place is already packed, and even though it’s Sunday, it’s also New Year’s Eve, so the full parking lot isn’t a surprise for those who are staying close to home. Bowen’s bar, the Hideaway, is the only bar in our small town, so this is always the place to go, no matter what the occasion.

We wait patiently for Ellison—well, Copeland to help Ellison out of his truck, before the five of us head inside. The live band is crooning “Sweet Home Alabama,” and it’s impossible not to want to groove to the beat.

Copeland leads the way, with his arm protectively around my sister’s waist, and we find our table already occupied by Kinzie, Ellison’s best friend, Dixon, Macklin, and Bowen.

“Don’t you have boss things to do?” Courtlynn asks Bowen as she drops down into a seat.

“Careful, squirt, you know I own this place, right? Which means I can kick you out,” Bowen threatens, raising his eyebrows at her.

Courtlynn doesn’t even blink. She leans back in her chair like she’s settling in for a long stay, crossing her arms over her chest. “Please. You’d miss me too much. Who else is going to keep your ego from inflating past fire code limits?”

Bowen scoffs, but there’s a hint of a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “My ego was doing just fine before you started haunting my establishment.”

“Haunting?” she repeats, feigning offense. “That’s rude. I prefer ‘highlight of your week.’”

“Highlight?” He leans forward, elbows on the table, voice dropping just enough to feel deliberate. “You mean the part where I debate banning you every time you walk in?”

“And yet,” she shoots back, tilting her head, eyes sparkling with challenge, “you never do.”

“That’s called restraint. And besides, I like the rest of them.” He waves his hand toward the rest of the table.

“That’s called weakness.”

Bowen lets out a low laugh, shaking his head. “You’ve got a lot of nerve talking to your host like that.” He’s grinning, which tells me he’s enjoying this little sparring session between the two of them. It’s always like this with the two of them.

“They should just heat up the sheets and get it over with,” I mutter, and Leighton giggles from her spot next to me.

Oops, didn’t mean for her to hear that.

“And you’ve got a lot of nerve thinking you intimidate me,” Courtlynn says sweetly, tapping her fingers on the table in rhythm with the music starting to pulse through the room. “If anything, I think you like it.”

“Like what?” he asks, though his tone suggests he already knows the answer.

“This,” she says simply, gesturing between them. “The back-and-forth. The fact that I don’t fall all over myself just because you own a bar and brood attractively in corners.”