Who: Justice and Gus What: Gus opens up, Justice (can’t) doesn’t. Where: The Cellar When: Sunday night Rating: R for lots of F-bombs. Status: Complete
Justice wasn’t surprised to find the Cellar’s entire store-front window completely wall-papered with more flyers for The Experience, or more accurately, Old Scratch. Just because it hadn’t been a surprise didn’t mean it wasn’t just as irritating; that little Hell-bitch was toying with her - had been from the start. The why still escaped her, but Justice didn’t put too much thought into particulars like that. It just gummed shit up, made her job more complicated.
She operated best on the assumption that all demons, once clued in to who she was, would like nothing more than to string her up by her intestines and play xylophone with her ribcage. Individual grievances didn’t matter, when you got down to it.
But this was annoying. At least she had a good supply of fire-starters, after pulling them all off the windows, of course.
The Superbowl crowd had come and gone, leaving Justice very lazily cleaning up the mess. Though the Cellar was still open, no one was going to wander in this late on a Sunday night. So, Justice had planted herself on the brick seat by the fireplace, feeding a few more crumpled handfuls of fliers from the wire bin next to the pokers. She had the stereo cranked, currently blaring Skid Row’s 18 to Life and mumbling along with it, a little off-key.
After his ‘date’ with Marion that had gone more like a meeting between good friends than an actual date, Gus had found himself back at square one regarding his ‘get back on the market’ idea. Maybe he wasn’t ready for that yet. Maybe what he was really after was just having close friends again, instead of keeping everyone a casual acquaintance. Problem was? He’d associated himself with people who were in the game for the same thing. What if trying to get closer (while staying comfortably in the friend zone with his female friends) screwed things up?
Whatever he was trying to muddle through, the only way to find out where he was going was to actually head out. He’d watched the Superbowl alone, and he liked to think that his absence had been noted by Justice, since he’d watched it at her place last year.
He wasn’t surprised to find the parking lot empty but the place still open, but a little surprised that he was the only soul in the place besides Justice when he stepped inside.
“Hey, you still open?” Gus asked cautiously, smiling at her. Not that he thought Justice was the forgetful type, but maybe she’d been too busy cleaning up to lock up.
Apparently the music had been up too loud, or he managed to sneak in through the door during one particularly long scream-riff, but the look she sent over her shoulder was obviously a little startled. It didn’t last long, quickly being replaced by her typical lopsided grin of greeting.
“You’re a little late,” she said in humor, but didn’t hide the fact that she was glad to see him. Rocking to one hip so the music remote could be fished out of her back pocket, Justice knocked down the volume and crammed it back in her jeans. “But yeah - I ain’t goin’ home anytime soon.”
“Yeah,” Gus said, “Wasn’t in the mood for a crowd tonight, I guess. You gonna beer me, Coop, or should I help myself?”
He drummed his hands on the bar and grinned at her. Coop was all right. Really all right. But he really didn’t think he wanted to risk that. Maybe he would be better off doing it like he had twenty years ago and just not think at all. Sure it got him in trouble, but it had gotten him eighteen years of marriage to a WASP and two fantastic kids.
“Hey, do you have an agreement with The Experience?” he wondered, thinking of something as he leaned on the bar, “I saw you had a ton of fliers up earlier, but they’re down now.”
It didn’t make sense to him, but whatever brought in revenue, right? That casino was hurting a lot of business.
The sound that came out of Justice was nothing but scathing distaste; she shook her head and reached into the bin with all the fliers, each one balled up and crumpled. She showed him the handful. “This answer your question?” Then tossed them all in the fire.
“Bunch’a their punks wall-papered the windows yesterday and this morning,” she said with a sigh, moving to grab a beer for him, and a cigarette for herself. “Not surprised after I stopped by their office to give’em a piece of my fuckin’ mind.” That was close enough to the truth, for now. Saying a pint-sized demon was throwing worms out for her wasn’t exactly appropriate.
Gus frowned immediately, helping himself to a beer and shaking his head.
“Why wouldn’t you call the station, Coop?” he chided her, “That’s kind of our department, you know. Vandalism. You own the lease to this place, so if you don’t want people using your building for advertising, you have every right to make an official complaint.”
He shook his head, not really expecting her to answer. Gus sort of knew (or thought he did) why, anyway. Because she was Justice Cooper and she’d fight her own battles. Even if it didn’t have to be her battle.
“I guess they didn’t really eat up the piece you gave them, then,” he raised an eyebrow at her and took a swig, “If they keep it up, make it official. They may all be a bunch of West coast bloodsuckers, but they do play by the rules.”
Justice went a little quiet, concentrating on the first long drag of her smoke, then the habitual tap on the nearby tray while she puffed it out through her nose. He knew that didn’t sit right with her, but she doubted the ‘whys’ in his head came anywhere near the truth. That in itself was a bittersweet thought. She just sighed again, and tiredly leaned on her elbows across the counter from where he sat.
From there, she watched him for a moment, absently rolling the lit cigarette between her knuckles as it was angled away from her face. It was late, a work night, and the game was over. He’d come in for a reason, even if it wasn’t pressing, but the urge to narrow it down was stronger than she was ready to humor right now. The current topic wasn’t exactly grand either.
“You get anymore on the casino?” she asked after the long pause, in a tone that was quiet, somehow more sombre than the ‘conversationalist bartender’.
“Nothing solid,” Gus said, giving Justice a good-natured wink, “Nothing I can talk about with a lowly civilian, anyway.”
Well, that had gone awkward quick. She pretty much stomped on his line of conversation and flipped it to one that he honestly didn’t want to discuss. Especially since he wasn’t allowed to ask her what the hell she was doing there in the first place. He took a long swallow from his beer and picked at the label a little.
“I’ve got some contacts I’m meeting with soon,” he added, “But that’s all I can really say about it.”
Yep.
Crap.
“I asked that art teacher out,” hell, while they were bringing up awkward topics, why not? Maybe he’d win with this one, “We ate lunch at Avanti’s, and she had me draw inside a circle to see what my soul was like,” Gus paused, grinning and shaking his head, “So yeah, I don’t think I’m going to count that as a date. She’s a bit more of a Fruit Loop than I originally thought.”
You finish that which you perceive as unfinished, she had said. Even if she wasn’t exactly datable? Her words always seemed to linger.
Without even a scrap of time to hold her expression back, Justice’s brows shot up into the dyed hair that hung low across it. That twist in her gut was really unpleasant, and probably had too many meanings to sort through before the delay got noticeable. It eased up a bit when Gus went on, but she sucked down a lot of smoke in the process.
“Yeah well, they do that...” she said, making her expression look mildly amused, even though her eyes were mostly aimed away from his face. “Art teachers, I mean... You ever met a ‘normal’ one?”
The question was obviously rhetorical. Justice finally met his eyes with a friendly, tight-lipped smile. “Sorry it didn’t go well.” Or rather, she was sorry he had some disappointment. That never felt good, even if it was for the better.
“Can’t say I have,” he laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. This felt so awkward it was almost painful. Was it because of the other night, or had this discomfort always been there and he’d just never picked up on it before?
He snorted when she said she was sorry and waved her off, “I wasn’t exactly hanging my hopes and dreams on it, Coop. Just had to prove to myself it wasn’t going to be a big ordeal to get back out there. Francine goddamn gutted me. I’m just glad they grew back.”
Gus smiled very sincerely then. It wasn’t some crooked boyish grin, but a measured, quiet smile. He shrugged and took another swig. Well, he’d sort of put himself out there. Coop could either change the subject or go back and forth with him. He hoped it was the latter - she was a great friend, but they could have more than just an arm’s length type of relationship. Right? Christ, he was probably assuming way too much about someone he honestly knew very little about.
There was something about that smile that went really deep, and the one she returned it with was just as genuine, and in some lights, just as raw. Justice hadn’t smiled like that at anyone in a really long time. Least of all, anyone in this town.
You’re going to be the death of me.
“She didn’t deserve you,” Justice commented quietly, unable to hide all the honesty behind it, though she did try to distract herself by watching as she snubbed the cigarette out in the tray. “Not even close.”
“I got two great kids out of the deal,” Gus said, not disagreeing, but not wholeheartedly agreeing, either, “And I’m getting them this summer, even if I have to drive my ass back to Michigan to do it.”
It didn’t sound too unreasonable when he said it out loud, and it was kind of a weight off his chest to be able to talk about it sober.
“Eddie’ll be old enough to patronize your fine establishment this summer, actually,” he said, “Maybe he can have his first beer here.”
Gus really liked the sound of that, actually.
Justice smirked a little, fishing under the bar for a pair of fresh beers, one for each of them. The sound of them being cracked open on the mounted opener accompanied her light chuckle.
“First beer?” One brow arched, teasing him with her dubious tone. “I know you’re not that naive,” she added and handed him the new drink, then took a sip from her own.
As happy as she knew having his kids around would make Gus, the idea sat wrong with her for one very specific reason. How easy would it be for the wrong people to get to him if they were involved? Way too fucking easy - and on top of that, it’d kill him. Justice rolled the beer-taste on her lips, trying to shake things that have not happened yet out of her head.
“First legal beer,” Gus said, “And I’m allowed to be oblivious about my own kids. It’s a parent thing.”
If he’d had any idea what that statement meant to someone like Justice, he probably wouldn’t have said it.
“Anyway, I think they’d have a good time here,” he said, “Eddie’s got college and I doubt Kim would want to leave her legion of friends,” which he was pretty sure mostly just existed on Facebook, but he’d never say so, “But just having them around a little would go a long way.”
He wondered if that was why he was so damned lonely in the first place - trying to fill a void his kids had filled, in whatever way possible. Sure, he’d had his heart broken, but the kids had made it a little easier to bear. Huh. That was kind of an epiphany.
Justice didn’t move from her comfortable lean, the hand around her beer twisted the bottle back and forth in slow, random movements as a vent for whatever changed in her eyes. Blinking didn’t seem to help, so she looked at the TV, though it was off. Her mind tried to focus in on the music pumping through the speakers, only to realize a specific Kansas song had started playing.
Fuck you too, Universe. Justice sighed to herself, but nodded at Gus in agreement.
“Maybe check out that cabin resort on the other side of the lake.” The ones that were out side Babylon limits, where the Demons couldn’t go. “I remember bein’ out in places like that, when Dad was off-orders. Didn’t get it too often, but they’re some of my best memories.”
“Yeah, that’d be something to do,” Gus said, “I wouldn’t be able to take the whole summer off, but I could get in a few weeks. I think they’d be fine in town for the rest of the time. Meet some locals, make some summer friends, and they’d still have access to the lake even when I’m not at work.”
He smiled, feeling pretty good about it. It wasn’t set in stone, he’d have to sell Francine on it, but he thought there was a good chance he’d get what he wanted now that he had some damned confidence about it.
“I can’t explain it,” he laughed, pretty self-aware right in that moment, “But having that lunch with Marion just really made things seem all right. I mean there was no chemistry, she just acted like a space cadet the whole time, but she just... had this way with words.”
Gus snorted, “Still haven’t worked out that salt yet. And sorry for rambling, Coop, but you’re the best friend I’ve got, so you’ll probably have to learn to deal with it.”
Now his trademarked crooked grin appeared.
Justice had to push her tongue to the back of her teeth to keep from jumping on what ‘words’ the ‘art teacher’ had a certain way with. They would’ve been subtle, but important - at least, specifically regarding him and whatever Upstairs had planned for him in this whole shit-storm... They always had a plan, even if it was frustratingly vague.
But he’d gone on, and said something that pulled one corner of her lips into their double dimple. Another bittersweet statement from him, but not so much that she couldn’t see beyond what it meant to him. The smirk widened to her own usually edgy grin, though it’s edges had rounded off a bit.
“You say that like I haven’t already,” she said. “First thing you gotta work on is your friend-choosing skills,” she added in obvious jest, but went on. “But don’t get me wrong; I’m not complaining.”
She gave him a small, but unguarded smile. “You’re the best I got, too.”
“Hoo-rah,” Gus said, offering her a closed fist with the intention of fist-bumping, “Good to hear you say it, Justice.”
He grinned wider, well-aware of her aversion to her full name.
“You oughta hit the gym with me one of these days,” he said, “Save me from those goddamn machines and shoot some hoops or something.”
Not that Justice Cooper needed to hit the gym, but he doubted she’d take it that way. That was one of the many reasons why he liked her.
“Says the man to the woman a foot shorter than him,” she snorted, all in the nature of the conversation. Her smile went back to it’s comfortable, friendly smirk when she added, “That’s fine - I’ll just climb you like a tree. No way you’re quicker than me.”
There was an agreement in there somewhere. He’d get it.
“So what’d miss Art Teacher say that was so fuckin’ profound?” she asked a moment later, genuinely curious. There wasn’t any poison in her voice - not if she could help it. The long swallow of beer helped.
“Ah, it’ll sound dumb if I say it out loud,” he said bashfully, resigned that he would tell her anyway, “It just made me feel better, that’s all.”
Gus took a turn to have a swallow of beer, shrugging and looking generally sheepish.
“She just sort of pointed out that I ought to look at things from a Big Picture perspective,” he said, “Well, not so much pointed it out. More just came out with it in the course of a disjointed conversation.”
He laughed, self-conscious, and continued, “And then at lunch, she figured that I was the sort of person who finished what they felt was unfinished. I can’t really explain it. I mean, it’s not just what she said. She just has this... presence, I guess. Like everything’s all right.”
He cleared his throat.
“That sounds ridiculous out loud, but I can’t really phrase it another way.”
“No, I get it,” Justice said. She did get it; the reason why Gus felt at ease around this ‘Marion’ was the same reason she felt bristled and uneasy around Ken. Or whatever his real name was. “Some people are like that. Some are the exact opposite.”
Maybe she was baiting him. Maybe not - she didn’t even know for sure, but it was out there now. Justice watched him without staring, to see which way he’d take the conversation.
“So you ‘finish’ things that are ‘unfinished’, huh?” The smile on her face was small, and the sort of teasing any friend would display. There was depth to the statement, too, however. It was vague in the overall sense, but it did pique her curiosity. “Yeah... I can see that about you.”
Gus only nodded in agreement with her first statement. That was for sure. Some people in this town had the exact opposite effect, in fact, but that was hardly unique to them. He always felt like things would be okay around his mom, for instance. It wasn’t anything that struck him as particularly strange.
“Maybe,” Gus said, “She got that from me telling her I just like to fill in solid shapes when I doodle. I think maybe she was reading a little too much into it,” he shrugged, “Fruit Loop, like I said.”
He grinned.
“That’s what I had for dinner, actually,” he said without shame, “Definitely in full-on bachelor mode now. Know any tacky neon signs I could get a hold of for cheap? It’d really bring the whole vibe together.”
A light snort scraped the back of Justice’s throat, which she stifled by another long swig from her bottle. Full on bachelor mode. Something about that phrase was ringing cords with her that she couldn’t immediately identify as good or bad. Maybe she was stuck on the Fruit Loops for Dinner thing.
“Well, you came to the right place,” she said, dryly. In lieu of making a grand, sweeping gesture, she just rolled her eyes around the very empty bar. “Bachelor Central.”
Gus laughed at her her sweeping gesture and her comment. Right. It was generally a sausagefest in here, but empty, it was even funnier.
“Hey, I’d rather come here to cruise for chicks than pretend I’m not too old to go to some club,” he said, scratching his jaw, “Is that even a thing anymore? I mean, do people say cruising for chicks?”
He laughed again, amused by how out of touch he was.
“I think I’ll just enjoy leaving the toilet seat up before I worry about it too much,” he said dryly, “Francine went completely bonkers about it. You’d think I’d shit on the carpet or something.”
“You should have shit on the carpet,” Justice added quickly, and in the same tone. She also pushed up off her elbows and bumped herself off the edge of the bar. Her back to him, she set a knee on the back counter and reached up high for a specific bottle. “Animals got it right; piss me off? I’ll shit in your shoes.”
Johnny Walker firmly grasped, she hopped back down to the floor, landing easily. “But some people say I’ve got a vindictive streak, so don’t listen to me,” she added, opening the cap.
“I think shitting on the carpet would’ve cemented my place as her adopted shelter mutt,” Gus smirked. Christ, it felt good to talk about it. He hadn’t realized how much he’d kept to himself - considering his best friend (at the time) had been fucking his wife, maybe it was no surprise that he’d kept quiet, “And I’m not really a revenge kinda guy. More a kill you with kindness type.”
He saw her grab Mister Walker off the shelf, but considering what had happened last time they’d been drunk? He’d stick to beer. And he didn’t want her driving him home this time, anyway.
“You know what her big complaint was about me?” he asked. It was rhetorical, of course, because he’d never gotten into that, “That I was too agreeable. She said I was a big undereducated doormat. Because I’m sure Gary’s degree from community college really set him ahead of me. I was a goddamn Corporal during Desert Storm. Gary didn’t even do National Guard duty.”
Justice watched the ball start to roll, then the momentum pick up. She nodded, but barely, instead focusing on putting the Scotch bottle to her lips for a good swallow. The edge of the counter dug into her abdomen when she leaned on it, sort of like a grounding wire. She concentrated on that, and the burn of booze in her throat.
Gus was more just talking to hear himself say everything he’d wanted to say than really telling Justice, and too caught up in it to check if she even wanted to hear it. He’d told her the very basics, but the whole situation, hell, his whole marriage had been relatively fucked up.
“I mean, what sort of asshole would I be if I forced her to do things?” he said, “We were only together because of a very stupid one-night stand, and I don’t regret how things went. Eddie was a happy accident as far as I’m concerned, and Kim was planned, and after that I guess she was tired of making big-shot lawyer daddy mad.”
He scowled, “I wanted more kids; she didn’t. Fine. I love the kids I have. I wanted us to live off my salary and not her father’s money; not good enough. Fine. Eddie went to private school, and Kimberly is still going. Ed’s got a full ride at a university and Kim’s on the honor roll. I’d never be a stubborn ass just to make a point, especially not when someone else’s happiness is at stake.”
Gus wiped a hand over the top of his head and exhaled. Other people’s happiness, he realized, tended to come before his.
“Sorry, Coop,” he said, sheepish, “I guess I’m still kind of pissed off about it. I did my best and it wasn’t good enough for that fucking harpy.”
Justice shook her head at him, hopefully conveying that there was no reason for the apology - also that she didn’t mind the outburst. Actually, going from her own personal experience, she figured it probably added a year or two to his natural life.
“You had it bottled up. Think I don’t know what that’s like?” she assured him gently, then comforted herself with another swig. The burn trickled down the wrong pipe, and the sizzle made her eyes water. Justice cleared her throat hard, then added more fire with yet another drink.
The bottle clapped down on the bar, a little louder than normal because of the weight, and she rested her hands on the edge of the counter, spread out from her sides. “Not like I got any expertise in the relationship department, but fuck what she wants - you got your kids and you got your freedom. Maybe you’re focusing on the wrong details.”
“Fuck what she wants,” Gus repeated. Francine didn’t leap from the shadows and screech at him, and it felt good to say, “I kind of don’t have my kids right now, but shit, they’re still mine. And I do have freedom. I guess I haven’t been for so long, I got that, whatsit called?” he snapped his fingers, “Stockholm Syndrome. I tried pretty damned hard to keep it together for her. Well, that isn’t true. It was more for the kids than anything.”
He finished his second beer but didn’t ask for another. It was good to say all of this stone-cold sober.
“What about you in the relationship department, by the way?” he asked. He’d talked plenty about his problems, and while he wouldn’t force the issue, he’d at least give her the option to tag in, “I’ve been here two years and never heard of a boyfriend,” Gus waggled his eyebrows, “Or a girlfriend.”
She hid the subtle tightening in her chest by forcing a laugh; it sounded dry and unnatural, but it certainly fit the direction the conversation was going.
“‘Cause I’m a real fuckin’ catch,” she added to that dry laugh. Before she realized it, her eyes shot down to the pack of cigarettes on the bar, but she didn’t reach for it. Yet. Her hands tensed, but they stayed still.
“Haven’t had anything longer than six months - and that was pushin’ it.” Justice shrugged with one shoulder, her eyes wandering back to the black TV again. “There aren’t many people who could stand being in close quarters with me for much longer. Army shrink said I don’t ‘compromise’.” That last word was given clear air-quotes, and the whole thing was dipped in dry humor, but it was a thin shell.
And in that moment, she didn’t mind if he noticed. A part of her hoped he would.
“Ah, Coop,” he said, frowning in what he hoped was a sympathetic manner, “C’mon, you’re great. Hell, I think so, and I’ve got impeccable taste.”
Maybe not the best spot for humor, but Coop was one of the guys, and that was something he’d say to a guy-friend. And maybe that was sort of a problem.
“Sounds like you disagreed,” he said, hoping it was a good enough lead in to keep her talking. There was nothing wrong with not wanting to be in a solid relationship - he’d learned that pretty damned quick talking to Lucy - but he didn’t think Justice disliked commitment. Someone who disliked commitment didn’t lease a building and run a bar despite some pretty vicious competition down the road.
Justice was a goddamn Marine. If something had crawled under her skin about relationships, it had to be a whopper.
She kept up her smirk like it was body armor, but it deepened in her cheek, and she nodded in agreement to his observation.
“The fuck does a shrink know.” The difference in psychology between most people and herself could probably fill its own college text book, but there were reasons for that that didn’t exactly fit on campus. Unless it was a Catholic school.
Gus had her eyes again on that thought; they were conflicted. They were always conflicted, but it was a lot closer to the surface in that moment. The pause between them started to lengthen, weighing on her to say something, for once, without having to filter every word and every tone. The strain was... surprising, enough to move her hand through her hair and sigh, audibly.
“Like I said before, I got a lotta fucked up shit in my life. And not the ‘normal’ fucked up--shit that’s...” She actually laughed on the next word, rough and almost nervous. “really hard to explain. It gets in the way of everything.”
He fiddled with his empty beer bottle a moment, although his eyes stayed on Coop.
“You can talk to me about it, Coop,” he said quietly, “If you want, I’ll just sit here and listen. Won’t say a damned word. Get it off your chest.”
The fucked up part of his life had occurred when he was still mostly too young to remember it. He’d bounced back, mostly thanks to his mom, and all he really had to remind him were the scars on his face. And even those hadn’t bothered him for a very long time.
Justice’s damage, whatever it was? He didn’t think some domestic abuse really held a candle to. And it made him worry, if only because it was pretty obviously eating her up from the inside out. Or that’s how it seemed to him.
She looked at him, earnestly appreciative, wondering if he could even imagine how badly she wanted to do just that. Spilling it to some angel because of necessity, in preparation for a goddamned war was completely different. It was the same as when some random demon knew her whole fucking life story. The closest thing she had to sharing it all with another turmoiled human being was her father, and that was a completely different dynamic.
She didn’t say anything for a few heavy moments, before she finally folded her lips between her teeth, exhaling a breath that she hoped would settle her enough.
“I want to-- I really do,” she confessed quietly, pausing again.
“Maybe someday.” Despite all the effort Justice put into keeping her voice even, it got very close to cracking.
Gus didn’t grimace, but privately, he was pretty disappointed. The second she’d said ‘I want to’ he’d known what her answer was going to be, but for a few moments there...
Well, now he felt sort of like an asshole for dumping on her, but he knew it wasn’t like that. It didn’t stop him from feeling like one anyway, but the knowledge was there to keep the feeling from snowballing.
Now, of course, he was in a spot. He felt like he ought to leave, but he didn’t want to abandon her just because she couldn’t talk about something either.
“Maybe,” Gus agreed, dropping his eyes from her and to the shredded label of his long-demolished beer. Well! This was fucking awkward.
“Sorry,” he eventually said, “I didn’t mean to corner you.”
The tension was suddenly triple-fold, but there was no way around it - not in Justice’s mind. She couldn’t tell him, not... not now. But she was so weary of lying to who was, admittedly, her best friend. Maybe there would be a time that she could tell him, but as things were right now... He’d either think she was completely insane, or...
Well, that was the only scenario she could predict, as things were right then. And even if he did believe her, he wasn’t pulled into this mess yet. He definitely would’ve been, then.
“You didn’t do this to me,” she said after a hard breath. Justice had had some lows before, but this felt pretty fuckin’ low.
“Look, Gus--” she started again, melting a little against the counter. “I never knew my mother. I grew up hearin’ nothing but horror stories about her; how she was raised in a nunnery, treated as an abomination because she was the product of rape and suicide. How she probably did the same thing herself...” She met his eyes, rather pointedly, across the bar. Her expression was imploring. “That doesn’t even cover half of the things in my head. It’s not about trusting or getting it off my chest... It’s about keeping it off others.”
Gus’s expression was somber, and while that definitely sounded like a formula for fucked up, it still stung that she felt like she couldn’t tell him. Livable, even if the sensible part of him was making him feel very guilty for thinking that he’d made the right call when they’d been plastered at his house. He was still pretty fractured himself, and Justice obviously had some stuff she needed to get worked out.
“I’m still sorry I put you in a position to say no,” Gus said firmly, “That’s a shitty position to be in, and I reserve the right to feel bad about it. If anything changes, though, Justice, I’m here. Okay?”
Despite the heavy conversation, a sad, but clear smile appeared on her face, and she nodded.
“Fair enough,” she said, purposefully using the phrase he slung at her at least once a day. Her eyes dropped to the bar, then to the bottle of alcohol next to her hand. No one ordered that expensive label here, so she commonly used it as her personal stash. She grabbed it, but didn’t take a drink, yet.
“It means a hell of a lot. It really does.” If he only knew how much.