Seth’s gaze shifts to the clock on the wall. He’s already late. He wonders how he’ll make it through practice without throwing a wicked right hook Mort’s way.
Sick of looking at Jasper, he snarls, “You should get the hell outta here. Now.”
Jasper scurries away from the booth. Nearly trips over his own feet as he bolts out the back door of the bar.
Seth sits back and exhales. Reaches out to finish the rest of Jasper’s scotch.
It’s Mort. Mort Goddamn Stein.
But why?
He can’t answer that.
Because this time Seth knows Luke’s got to be the one to get answers.