Caleb smirked at her last statement but kept his eyes on his plate. "Yeah, well, that's before I knew you'd be such a pain in the ass," he chuckled. "Maybe if you showed some interest and let me buy you a drink, I would've been too preoccupied to kick someone's head in." He was joking; he came to the bar with the intention to do some damage to Connor, but he couldn't help but think of what could have happened if things played out differently.

As he finished his meal, he leaned back into the couch and placed his hands on his stomach. "I'm not excited about the funeral either. Jimmy was my best friend. A brother, really. I'm still in denial that he's even gone. I don't wanna bury him."

He was beginning to feel the effects of the cocktail of Vicodin and vodka, and he scratched the top of his head before his eyes squeezed shut. "Ah," he sighed quietly. "The throbbing finally stopped. Thanks, doc," he grinned as he thanked her.

Caleb took a cigarette from his pack on the table and lit it carefully before exhaling the smoke up to the ceiling. "The wake's at 10. Burial at 11. Then the reception at TJ's at noon. I'm gonna talk to my boss then." He popped an eye open and looked at her. "I'm not gonna let him hurt you, okay?"