The seating area at the far end of the bar is almost empty. A couple of guys are playing pool at the other end of the room, the occasional c***k of the balls carrying through the low hum of conversation. Nobody pays us any attention.
For a long moment, neither of us says anything, then Locke looks at me. "I'm sorry."
No hesitation, no excuses. Just the words.
I study him for a moment. "I know you are."
He blinks. "You do?"
"I knew you would be."
He lets out a quiet breath, almost a laugh, then he folds his hands together on the table.
"I handled everything badly,” he tells me.
"You really did."
"I thought I was helping, but I wasn’t."
"Nope."
"I should've listened. I should've asked what you wanted."
I turn my Coke bottle slowly between my hands, and eventually I ask the questi
