ALL’S WELL THAT ENDS WELL, by C.J. HendersonA Jack Hagee Story
There was a touch at my shoulder, like a sudden cold breeze on an August night. I stared forward, holding my drink with one hand, steadying myself with the other, hoping that August would go back to being dry and miserable and familiar and that the breeze would drift back to whatever memory of winter from which it had escaped.
It didn’t. It pulled at the edge of my arm again, pleading for notice. Whether I’d had to much to drink or not enough was academic. One or the other I was in the right mood to give in to my darker nature. I slid around on my stool, one hand taking care to make sure I didn’t spill myself onto the floor. The breeze fluttered at the edge of my range, small and tense and brown—wide-eyed scared. He was a Jam
