Clinton sat behind the counter of his pub, surrounded by the warm glow of dim lights and the rich aroma of ale and whiskey. The lively atmosphere and savory scents of roasting meat filled the air, but Clinton's eyes remained fixed on his whiskey, his expression somber.
Dave stood opposite him, his voice low and concerned. "What's going on, Clinton? You only drink when you're troubled. Did something happen at the family's dinner?"
Clinton's gaze remained on the amber liquid. "It's nothing, Dave. Just the usual with Ryder."
Dave's voice remained even. "Are you still dwelling on the past?"
Clinton shook his head. "No, Dave...I've grown past that. He just keeps poking me in any way possible. This time, he's making Kelvin and Paige his point of attack."
Dave's eyes narrowed. "And you don't want Paige to see this side of you. Isn't that why you're here?"
