Anything For You. Kristan Higgins

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СКАЧАТЬ in town.

      His maternal grandmother had died the year before and had left him and Colleen each a sizeable nest egg. Con asked his twin if she wanted to be half owner, and she was game. All of August and September, they overhauled the place, sanding the old maple-plank floors, spending an entire day driving to a salvage yard in New Hampshire to buy a gorgeous old bar, hammering and sawing and keeping each other company as their mom fell apart and Gail “the Tail” Chianese—who was a whole four years older than they were—gestated their half sibling.

      Oddly enough, it was good to be back. While Connor never quite imagined settling down in his hometown, it felt right. Manningsport was as beautiful a town as they came, perched at the base of Keuka Lake, surrounded by hills and farms-turned-vineyards, filled with families who went back generations. Three seasons a year, the tourists flocked in to taste wine and exclaim over the quaintness of the village, filled with shops and a really good bakery and Hugo’s French Restaurant.

      And now, there’d be O’Rourke’s. Colleen came up with the simple name and message—You’re very welcome here. It would be the only restaurant open year-round, and in that way, it would give the residents of Manningsport a place to gather in the long, cold winter months. Connor would run the kitchen with the help of Rafe, a less-ambitious friend from the Institute who was happy to live in wine country and work as a sous-chef. Colleen would manage the place and bartend. Two of their cousins asked if they could waitress. In fact, forty-nine people applied to work there.

      Jessica Dunn was not one of them. Connor had half hoped she’d be interested, but while she continued to treat him politely if they crossed paths, that was it. The three feet away face was always in place.

      On a Wednesday night in October while Connor was alone at the restaurant, bolting booths to the wall, Colleen called him. “We have a sister,” she said, her voice husky. “Savannah Joy, eight pounds, two ounces. I’m going to the hospital. Wanna come?”

      He paused. It was nine o’clock, and he was sweaty and grimy. “No. I’ll go tomorrow. Uh...everyone’s healthy?”

      “Yep. That’s what Dad said.” His sister was silent. He knew what she was thinking. You won’t make the baby grow up lonely, will you? Just because Dad’s an asshole?

      Give me some credit. “A sister. That’s nice. Hopefully, she’s not as ugly as you are, Collie Dog-Face.”

      “Me? You’re the one who’s so ugly, you have to put a bag on your head to get the dog to hump your leg.”

      “Do you still own a mirror, or did that get too sad?”

      “You know what, Con? You’ll never be the man our mother is.”

      That one always got him. He laughed. “You win.”

      “I always do.”

      He rolled his eyes. “And yet you work for me.”

      “Ha! Brother mine, you work for me.”

      “Keep telling yourself that. I’m hanging up now because you’re annoying me.”

      “How?”

      “By breathing.” He paused. “You gonna tell Mom about the baby, or am I?”

      “I will, coward. I live with her, after all.” It was true. In a glorious spasm of Catholic martyrdom, Colleen had moved back in with their mother. Connor, who felt this only proved he was the smarter sibling, lived in the tiny attic apartment above the bar.

      He rubbed his eyes. “Tell them I said...” He sighed. “I guess congratulations. Tell Gail, anyway.” He almost felt sorry for Gail. Almost.

      “Tell them yourself, dumbass. Love you, even when I hate you.”

      “Ditto.”

      He hung up the phone.

      A baby sister, just shy of twenty-three years younger than Connor and Colleen.

      Christ.

      He went upstairs and took a shower. The apartment wasn’t much; stifling hot in the summer, and soon to be freezing cold, but it was fine for a single guy who worked a lot. A futon couch, a chair, a TV, a bed and several crates of books. When the restaurant was turning a profit, he’d look into buying a house.

      He pulled on some clean jeans and a T-shirt and briefly contemplated visiting his mother. She’d be a wreck about this, the poor thing. She still held out hope that Pete would see the error of his ways and come home again.

      That wasn’t going to happen. Everyone could see it except Mom.

      And while Connor had known his father was cheating, he sure hadn’t pictured Gail the Tail as his stepmother. Pete had married her nine days ago, the day after his divorce was final.

      He grabbed his motorcycle helmet and went out. Yeah, yeah, he owned a motorcycle. The gas mileage couldn’t be beat. Colleen called him a cliché, but so what? It was fun. He had a small pickup truck for winter.

      Where he was headed, he wasn’t quite sure. The area didn’t offer too many places for anonymity, and that was exactly what Connor wanted. A place to sit in the dark, have a beer and not think.

      He thought about calling someone to join him—one of his high school pals, maybe. Levi Cooper was on leave from Afghanistan, and Big Frankie Pepitone was always up for a beer. Then he opted against it. Solitude was the order of the night. He was Irish—brooding was the song of his people. Colleen would kick him into a good mood tomorrow, as he’d been kicking her for the past few months.

      His Honda purred its way up the Hill and along the lake. Penn Yan wasn’t far; maybe something would be open there. The wind was clean and cold, and his thoughts focused on driving.

      The dark miles blurred past, the quiet engine of the bike soothing.

      Up ahead was a cement building that every male in a fifty-mile radius visited at least once in a lifetime: Skylar’s VIP Lounge.

      A strip club, in other words.

      Perfect. Beer and boobs.

      Connor went in. He’d been here for a bachelor party last year, and it was exactly what you’d expect. Crappy drinks, worse food, health department violations by the dozen and nearly naked women, a few of them even good-looking.

      The place was mostly empty tonight, a few men sitting around the runway. The requisite pole was being humped by a very lithe and extremely overweight woman in a glittery Wonder Woman outfit, who kept flipping off the customers. It was Tuesday; Connor guessed the management saved the under-fifty strippers for the weekend.

      Connor took a seat, ordered a Sam Adams (bottled, so as to avoid having to use a glass from the kitchen). The waitress brought it, and he took a pull. Wonder Woman looked familiar.

      “I can’t believe you’re still stripping,” one of the guys down in front said. “A little long in the tooth, aren’t you?”

      “Take a bite, Ernie. If your dentures are in, that is,” said the stripper. “And you,” she said to another guy. “Give me a tip or I’m kicking over your beer. You think my job is easy?”

      Mrs. СКАЧАТЬ