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Gus waved from the bar as Alex stepped inside, rubbing his hands together in the warmth of the building. He’d never really been inside the Stardrop Saloon, but he understood immediately why everyone enjoyed it so much. The cosy atmosphere and friendly chatter automatically made him feel welcome.
He looked around, taking in the patrons. It was a Friday night, and most people spent their time here at the end of the week. Haley wasn’t here, which he’d expected, but there were a few friendly faces nonetheless. From the corner, Leah smiled at him, which he returned with a wave.
Stepping up to the bar, Alex sat in one of the stools. Gus slid over, wiping a glass. “What can I get ya, son?” Looking at the small menus pasted to the top of the bar, he pointed. “Just a burger and a cola, Gus. Thanks.”
The older man turned away, and Alex turned his head to observe more of the bar. In the other room, Abigail waved at him, pointing to Sam and making a funny face. He’d heard more than once that Sam wasn’t the greatest at pool, but seeing it in action was amusing. Sebastian leaned against his side, a lazy grin on his face. It was rare to see the man smile freely and not look strained or forced.
Alex turned as the bell on the door chimed, and the town farmer walked in, heading over to where Harvey sat a few stools down. She handed him a basket, and his face broke into a wide smile. Alex couldn’t hear them over the chatter and jukebox, their voices low and private, but it made him feel good to know everyone had a good thing with someone, somehow.
His eyes trailed away, landing on the corner of the bar, where Shane was propped against the wall, beer in hand. A small pile was building beside him on the counter, and his eyes were unfocused and heavy. Alex hadn’t had many interactions with him, but he always felt a little bit sorry for him. People didn’t just dive into self-destruction like that without a reason. He would know, seeing it tear his dad apart until he finally left.
Shane looked up from his bottle, catching Alex’s eyes watching him. Alex felt his face heat, but didn’t look away. The gruff man nodded once, going back to staring at the floor. Gently, he pushed off his stool, stepping around Harvey and the farmer, nodding at them as he passed.
The seat beside Shane was empty– it always was– so Alex sat down, just as Gus came over with his meal. “Enjoy, son. It’s your first time, so it’s on the house.” Alex shook his head, reaching into his pocket for his wallet. “Oh no, Gus, I can’t do that–”
A twenty slid its way between them, halting Alex’s protests. “On me,” a husky voice spoke. He turned, seeing Shane leaned against the bar now, bottle beside him. Gus nodded, a small grin making its way onto his face. “If you insist.”
As Gus walked away, Alex crinkled his brow at Shane. “I could’ve paid for it.”
Shane huffed, taking another drink. “Save your money, kid.”
Alex stared at him for a second longer than necessary, then sighed and pushed his wallet back into his pocket. “Still,” he said, quieter now, “thanks.”
Shane didn’t respond right away. He just rolled the bottle between his palms, eyes fixed on the amber sloshing inside like it might offer answers if he stared hard enough. Up close, Alex noticed the lines etched around his eyes, deeper than they had any right to be. Tired lines. Heavy ones.
Alex took a bite of the burger, chewing slowly. It was good, but the silence beside him felt louder than the jukebox. “You here most Fridays?” he asked eventually, keeping his tone casual. Everyone knew Shane was here when he wasn’t at work, no matter the day.
Shane snorted. “You could say that.” Another drink. “Routine’s hard to break.”
Alex nodded, even though he wasn’t sure Shane was looking at him. “Yeah. I get that.” He hesitated, then added, “This place is… nice, though. Kinda makes the week feel less long.” That earned him a glance. Shane’s eyes flicked over him, sharp for just a second, before dulling again. “I guess.”
He grabbed a fry, offering it to the older man. With suspicious eyes, Shane took it, eating it slowly. “How’s work been? I hear Sam complaining about it, so I want a second opinion.”
Shane snorted, swallowing. “It’s Joja. Ain’t like it’s gonna be sunshine and rainbows.” Alex hummed, nodding. “Fair.” He took another bite of his burger, then added, “I mean… I hear it’s rough. Long hours, bad management. Feels like they just grind people down.”
Shane barked out a laugh, short and humorless. “That’s one way to put it.” He picked at the label on his bottle with his thumb. “Mostly it’s just… empty. You go in, you do the same thing over and over, you go home. Then you do it again.” He shrugged, like it didn’t matter, like he hadn’t thought about it at all.
Alex glanced at him, careful. “Sounds exhausting.”
Shane’s shoulders tensed, just a little, then eased. “Yeah. Well. Pays the bills.” He took another drink, but slower this time.
They fell quiet again, but it wasn’t as sharp now. Alex pushed the basket a little closer between them. “You can have more, y’know. I’m not gonna fight you over fries.” Shane eyed him sidelong. “You always this generous, kid?” Alex grinned faintly. “Only when someone buys me dinner.”
That earned him another huff, this one almost amused. Shane reached for another fry, then another, absently. “George teaching you manners or something?”
“Evelyn, mostly,” Alex said without hesitation. “George pretends he doesn’t care, but he does.” He paused, then added, softer, “A lot.”
Shane was quiet for a moment. His gaze drifted across the saloon– Abigail laughing too loud, Gus chatting with Leah, the farmer slipping out the door with a wave. “Must be nice,” he muttered. Alex didn’t miss it. “Yeah,” he said. “It is.”
Shane swallowed, jaw working like he had something else to say and didn’t know how. He set the bottle down again, fingers lingering on the glass. “You play gridball, right?” Alex blinked, surprised by the change in topic. “Uh– yeah. In high school. Still do.”
“Hm.” Shane nodded once. “Figured.” After a beat, he added, quieter, “You’re good at it.” Alex felt his face warm. “Thanks.”
The jukebox switched songs, something slower this time, and the saloon lights seemed a little softer for it. Shane leaned back against the bar, eyes half-lidded, not quite looking at Alex but not shutting him out either. “I heard you used to play, too.”
Shane nodded slowly, eyes dropping to his hands. “Used to.”
Alex hesitated, then took the opening. “Why’d you stop?”
The question hung between them, light but loaded. Shane’s fingers curled around the neck of the bottle, knuckles whitening for a moment before he forced them to relax. He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he tipped the bottle back, took a small sip, then set it down again without finishing it.
“Life,” he said finally. The word was flat, overused, like it had been sanded down from repetition. “Got busy. Got… complicated.” Alex nodded, accepting it for what it was, and what it wasn’t. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “That happens.” Shane glanced at him. “You miss it?” he asked. Alex considered it. “Sometimes. I liked how it felt to just focus. Everything else kinda faded out.” He smiled, a little sheepish. “Guess I liked feeling good at something.” Something unreadable crossed Shane’s face. “Yeah,” he murmured. “That part was nice.”
They sat with that for a bit. The slow song hummed through the room, the low murmur of conversation wrapping around them like background noise instead of pressure. Shane reached for another fry, then paused, as if thinking better of it. “You ever think about going pro?” he asked, voice low.
Alex shrugged. “Maybe. I want to, but… I don’t know. Feels like I’ve still got time.”
Shane huffed softly. “That’s good.” He rolled the bottle once more, then nudged it away from him, just an inch. “Don’t waste it.”
Alex studied him, the way his shoulders sagged when he thought no one was paying attention, the way his eyes softened when the music dipped just right. “You don’t think it’s too late,” he said, not a question. Shane scoffed. “For me?” He shook his head. “Probably.”
“Maybe not,” Alex said, gently. “People don’t just stop being good at things.” Shane laughed under his breath, but it wasn’t unkind. “You’re an optimist, kid.”
“Only on Fridays,” Alex replied, flashing a small grin. For a second, Shane looked like he might argue. Instead, he just shook his head and reached for the last fry, stealing it without asking.
Slowly, he spoke again, like he was unsure of what he was saying. “I never wanted to turn out like this. I had dreams of my own, I used to be like you. I was set to go pro, had scholarships lined up left and right. But… sometimes, life happens, and we have to man the fuck up and deal with it.”
Shane stared past him, out the window, and Alex followed his gaze, seeing Penny walk by with Jas and Vincent trailing after, throwing snow at each other. “Sometimes for the worst, sometimes for the better. I know I’m a shit excuse for a man, but I want to be a good father.”
Jas’ face lit up as snow landed in Vincent’s hair, and you could almost hear her laughter. She was only six, but she already had a good arm. Alex wondered if she’d ever played catch with Shane, if they did normal family things.
Clearing his throat, Shane continued. “I’m not her real dad, and she knows that. She calls me Uncle Shane. But… I don’t get to just be an uncle, I have to be her dad and her uncle and her big brother. I’m– I’m real fucking bad at it, kid. I get wasted every night because it’s better than hurting, but I’m wasting her time too.”
Alex didn’t interrupt him. He didn’t rush to soften it or contradict him or tell him he was wrong. He just listened, hands folded loosely in his lap, eyes following Jas and Vincent as they disappeared in the snow, their laughter fading into the cold.
“That doesn’t sound like a shit excuse for a man,” Alex said finally. His voice was steady, but gentle. “That sounds like someone who cares a lot and doesn’t know how to carry it without breaking.”
Shane let out a rough breath, almost a laugh, but it caught halfway. “Caring’s not enough.”
“Maybe not,” Alex agreed. “But it’s not nothing.” He glanced back at Shane. “A lot of people don’t even get that far.”
Shane’s jaw worked again, his teeth worrying at his bottom lip like he was trying to keep something else in. “She deserves better than me stumbling in drunk every night. Deserves someone who shows up clear-headed. Someone who doesn’t snap. Someone who–” He stopped, shaking his head. “Someone who isn’t me.”
Alex shifted slightly on the stool, closer, but not crowding him. “You know,” he said, “George used to scare the hell out of me when I was a kid. He was angry all the time. Bitter. I thought it was my fault.” He paused. “Turns out, he was just hurting and didn’t know how to say it.”
Shane glanced at him, wary but listening. “He’s still rough around the edges,” Alex continued, a small smile tugging at his mouth. “But he shows up. Every day. That’s what stuck.” He hesitated, then added, “Jas knows you show up. Even if it’s messy.”
Shane stared down at the bar, eyes glassy now. Not drunk, not quite. Just raw. “What if I fuck her up anyway?” Alex didn’t dodge it. “You might,” he said honestly. “Adults mess kids up sometimes. Even the good ones.” Then, softer: “But you’re worried about it. That counts for something too.”
The jukebox hummed on, the slow song stretching out like it had nowhere else to be. Shane picked up his bottle, then stopped, setting it back down untouched. His fingers lingered there, trembling just a little.
“I don’t wanna be this guy forever,” he said. The words came out quiet, almost scared. “I don’t wanna wake up one day and realize she grew up watching me disappear.” Alex swallowed. “Then don’t,” he said. Not sharp. Not demanding. Just honest. “You don’t have to fix everything at once. Just… maybe don’t disappear tonight.”
Looking back down, Alex sniffed. “My dad was a piece of work. He wasn’t– that wasn’t the kind of man that could ever be a father. When he wasn’t out cheating on my mom, he was at home, getting drunk and whaling on me.”
Shane looked at him, expression more sober than it had been all night. “And I’ve still never forgiven him. He wasted his life and was mad at me for not wasting time. But, he also made that choice.” Looking up at Shane, he smiled slightly. “You never got to make that choice. Jas was handed to you whether you were ready or not. And, believe it or not, people can change. They can get better.”
Shane stared at him for a long moment after that, like he was trying to reconcile the kid in front of him with the weight of what he’d just said. The bar noise swelled and dipped around them, but Shane seemed far away from it now. “…I’m sorry,” he said finally. His voice was rough, stripped of its usual bite. “About your dad.”
Alex shrugged, small and practiced. “You learn what not to be.” He paused, then added, “Or you don’t. That’s kinda the choice part.”
Shane exhaled slowly through his nose. “Funny thing is,” he muttered, “I always told myself I’d never be like him. Never be the drunk. Never be the guy who checks out.” His fingers tapped once against the bar. “Didn’t exactly stick the landing.” Alex didn’t argue. He just said, “You noticed.”
That earned a quiet, humorless huff. “Yeah. Guess I did.”
They sat like that, shoulder to shoulder, the space between them easy now. Shane’s bottle stayed where it was, condensation pooling beneath it. He didn’t reach for it again.b“You really think people can change?” Shane asked, not looking at him. “I do,” Alex said without hesitation. “I’ve seen it.” A beat. “And I’ve seen what happens when they decide they can’t.”
Shane swallowed. His jaw tightened, then loosened. “Jas deserves someone who tries,” he said. “Even if they suck at it.”
Alex smiled, small but real. “That sounds like a dad to me.”
Shane scoffed under his breath, but there was no heat in it this time. “Careful, kid. You keep talking like that, I might start believing you.”
“Wouldn’t be the worst thing,” Alex said.
The jukebox clicked again as the song ended, a more upbeat tune queuing up after it. Shane finally pushed the bottle farther away, decisively this time, and slid off his stool.
“I should get home,” he said, rubbing a hand over his face. “Jas hates it when I’m late.”
Alex nodded, surprised and quietly relieved. “Yeah,” he said. “She probably does.”
Shane hesitated, then reached into his pocket, pulling out another bill and setting it on the bar. “For the fries,” he muttered. “And… for listening.” Alex shook his head. “You already paid for dinner.”
Shane met his eyes, steady. “Yeah. This is for sticking around.” Alex accepted that, nodding once. “Anytime.”
As Shane headed for the door, he paused, glancing back over his shoulder. “Hey, Alex?”
“Yeah?”
“…Don’t waste it,” Shane said again. Then, quieter, almost to himself, “I won’t try to either.”
The door chimed as he left, cold air rushing in before the warmth settled back down. Alex watched out the window, finishing his burger, as Shane jogged a bit to catch up with Penny. Jas jumped over to him, wrapping her arms around his legs, and he patted her head.
Grinning to himself, Alex stood, stuffing the bill Shane had left in Gus’ tip jar.