Chapter Eighteen
We give each other a wide berth the rest of the afternoon, which I also hate. Although I suppose it’s normal for couples to have disagreements. Hell, Anita and I shouted at each other weekly. Sometimes more.
Stockton strolls into the Den a little after nine-thirty, top button on his shirt open, tie loose. “You look like you’ve had a day.”
He scowls. “Yeah, you could say that.”
“What’s your poison tonight?”
“Something that will make me forget I woke up this morning.”
I wince. “That bad, huh?” I signal Roxi, who meets us by one of the wingbacks Stockton has sunk into. “Can you bring Stockton a tumbler of Pappy Van Winkle, no ice? Top shelf, far left.”
Her eyes flick between me and Stockton, and she nods once, and retreats to the bar without saying a word.
“Trouble in
