by Gia Riley
When she sighs and rests her head against the back of the couch, I know something had to have happened. I can’t figure out what’s got her all starry-eyed, but she didn’t look like that before she went over there.
“Did you run into Fisher? You’re acting weird.”
“No. Thank God.”
Weird. I was sure they had a thing for each other.
“You don’t like Fisher?”
“As a friend,” she says.
“Then, why do you flirt with him every time you see him?”
“Because it’s amusing. His tongue’s always hanging out like a puppy.”
Chicks. They bitch when you don’t want them and even when you do.
“How was Hollis? Was he all over Chandler?”
“Pfft, no,” Maisie says with a laugh.
Only when she lifts her head do I see the truth. She’s not lying. And I know that because my sister is smiling like a loon. She’s only ever had this look in her eyes once before. It ended badly, but for three whole months, Maisie was in love.
“You and Hollis, Maisie?”
“What? No. Where’d you get that idea?”
Her acting skills aren’t the best. Her shock and alarm miss the mark. Another sign that I’m right.
“It’d be okay if you did want him,” I tell her.
Maisie’s the best distraction I could have asked for. Hollis has the willpower of a kid in a candy store. Once he finds out she digs him, he won’t give Chandler a second thought.
“You’d be cool with me dating Hollis? Seriously?”
“Yes, Maisie. I had my suspicions when you wanted to go to the apartment, but I figured it was Fisher you were after. Hollis is a much better choice for you.”
“Wow,” she whispers. “I thought I’d have to fight you. Or you’d fight him.”
“It’s not going to be easy,” I tell her. “Things are still a mess.”
“All the more reason for you to work things out with Hollis and Chandler. Don’t you want me to be happy, Wirth?”
Those puppy-dog eyes of hers have worked on me since we were kids. She knows I hate seeing her upset. She’s my little sister. I’m supposed to take care of her, especially now that Mom’s gone.
I think about what Mom would tell me to do. In this situation, she’d say we were both crazy and that getting mixed up with roommates and each other’s friends was a bad idea. I can’t say I’d disagree with her, but I want Maisie to be happy. She deserves it more than anyone.
“I’m still working through the mess in my head, Maisie. But I don’t mind if you go out with Hollis.”
She launches herself across the couch and smothers me in a hug. “You’re the best big brother, Wirth. Operation Fix Your Shit is moving to phase two.”
“Operation what?”
I’m afraid to find out what the next phase entails. She’s already gone to my apartment, asking for underwear. There’s no telling what she’ll do next.
“Don’t worry about it. It’s all in my head.”
“Don’t tell me the plan this time,” I tell her.
I was a damn mess the whole time she was gone. I can’t do that again.
“Do you trust me?”
“I think so.” It’s a lie. My sister’s the only person in this world I trust.
My best friend and my girlfriend both let me down. But Maisie, she’s always there when I need her. Plus, how much trouble can she really get into? She’s only here for two more days.
“Good,” she says as my phone vibrates on the table. Maisie leans over to look at the screen. “Who’s Enzo?”
“He owns The Pour House in New York, a place I used to gig at.”
“Does he want you to do a set?”
“He’s left two messages, so I’m assuming.”
“You haven’t listened to them?”
I shrug. I’m not sure I’m ready to dive back into performing. Even if it’s just a pub in the city, a place I’ve played at a bunch of times, I don’t think I can.
“You should do it, Wirth!”
Of course she’d say that. She has no idea what it’s been like for me. Going back to the pub would be proof that I failed. Nobody wants to end up in the same place they started.
“I’m done with music, Maisie.”
“Not if I have anything to do with it,” she says.
She grabs my phone off the coffee table and types out a text.
“Don’t even think about it,” I warn.
But it’s done before I can stop her.
She just replied to Enzo, telling him I’d be there tonight—with my guitar.
Chandler
“Hollis!” I shout from the bathroom.
I was doing my hair when the screen on my phone lit up with an incoming text. I expected it to be my family or maybe a friend from home. It’s not like anyone in the city has my information. But I don’t recognize the number, only that it’s a New York area code.
“Hollis,” I shout again.
He runs down the hall, sliding past the door in his socks.
Shit. I thought I’d taken care of the floor.
Grabbing the doorway, he stops himself before he slams into the wall. “Did you Pledge the floor again, Chandler?”
The day before last, I was having trouble sleeping, so I got up and did some cleaning in the middle of the night. I thought the doors and woodwork would look nicer if I shone them up. Apparently, some of the furniture-polish spray got onto the floor.
“I’m sorry. I tried washing everything, but I think I only made it worse.”
“You did,” he says with a laugh. “What’s up?”
Taking a deep breath, I hand him my phone with the text pulled up.
“I just got the same text from Maisie,” he says.
Maisie? She must have gone through her brother’s contacts and found my number.
“What do I do?”
The text is an invitation to go to The Pour House to see Wirth play tonight. I can’t believe he’s performing, but I’m happy he’s found his way back to his music. I wasn’t sure he’d ever pick up his guitar again.
“I’ll go if you go,” Hollis says.
I’m surprised he’s so eager to go. And then I remember that he has a thing for Maisie.
“You don’t think this is a setup, do you? Her way of getting us all in the same room to talk it out?”
He shrugs. “I have no idea. She’s unpredictable most days.”
That scares me, but I’m sure Maisie’s just trying to gain support for her brother because he’s finally performing again.
I’m still hesitant though. For the simple fact that Wirth hasn’t answered any of my calls. If he wanted to see me, he’d have come home or met up with me at the theater. That’s why I don’t think I should go. What if I screw him up or something?
“Maisie probably means well, but I don’t think it’s a good idea, Hollis.”
Hollis hands me my phone back. “I’m not going without you. Wirth’s protective of Maisie, and he’s pissed at me. Once he catches wind that she wants me, it’ll get ugly. But he won’t throw a punch if you’re there.”
“You’re Wirth’s best friend, Hollis. If he wanted to punch you, he’d have come by the apartment and done it by now.”
“Is that supposed to make me feel better?”
Smiling, I tell him, “He wants Maisie to be happy. He won’t be mad at you.”
Hollis thinks about it for a second, and I can see the struggle going on inside his head. He wants to go. I think he even wants to hang out with Maisie, but he’s worried about making things worse with Wirth—just like I am.
“Fine, I’ll go,” he says. “But, if you don’t, it’ll look like you’ve given up on getting back together. I mean, you did pack him clothes.”
He’s not playing fair, and he knows it.
“I packed those clothes because I had to. And, if you must know, I didn’t put anything decent in the bag. Unless he goes shopping, he’ll have to perform in s
weats tonight.”
“There she is,” he says. “Feisty Chandler gets shit done.”
He’s such a pain in the ass.
“I haven’t given up, Hollis. Not even a little.”
“Then, show him that. Plus, I can’t take your insomnia anymore. This place smells like my grandma’s house with all the cleaning shit you’ve sprayed everywhere.”
At least the place doesn’t smell like dirty socks anymore. Living with guys is completely different than living with girls.
“Fine, we’ll go together,” I tell him. “Just don’t make me regret this.”
He wraps his arms around my back and whispers, “I won’t.”
The hug isn’t at all awkward, and there’s zero expectations to take it further. It’s just two friends hugging it out in a bathroom. And I’m grateful for that. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I screwed up my relationship with Wirth and lost my friendship with Hollis. I want them both in my life.
Hollis stays in his room until it’s time to go to The Pour House. When he finally shows his face, it’s obvious he put some effort into his appearance. His hair has gel in it. He’s wearing a fresh pair of jeans and a button-down shirt. The sleeves are rolled halfway up his forearms, and he even put on a nice watch. He wants to look good for Maisie.
I’m guilty of the same. Wirth liked the dress I wore on our date, so I found another one in my closet. Something less fancy yet hopefully as irresistible.
“You look nice, Hollis.”
He glances at me, and his eyes go wide. “Same to you,” he says.
Then, he walks toward me and rests his hands on my shoulders.
“What?” I question.
“Wirth is an idiot if he doesn’t take you back. He has no idea how lucky he is.”
I’m blushing again. My face is on fire, and it’s not because I have feelings for Hollis. It’s the simple fact that Hollis has a way of making everyone feel like someone. Even when you’re no longer the girl he’s after, he cares. I think that’s pretty special.
“And Maisie would be just as lucky to have you,” I tell him.
Wirth
Since I’ve been at the bar, I’ve gotten two calls from Hollis. The first one, I sent straight to voice mail. The second, I almost answered. But then I thought about what he’d say and what I’d say, and I can’t deal with that right now. If I plan on performing tonight, I need to get my head on straight.
“Do you want a drink?” Maisie asks. “You’re tense.”
I’m tense because she set this up without my permission. I’m tense because I’m out of the house for the first time in days. And I’m tense because, no matter what I do, Chandler’s on my mind.
“A beer,” I tell her. “And two shots of Jack.”
She disappears for ten quiet minutes and then comes back with an entire tray of drinks. Suddenly, I’m thankful she’s here. Because the more alcohol I drink, the looser I become. By the time the tray’s empty, I’m ready to perform.
The crowd’s bigger than I thought it’d be, and I wonder if that has anything to do with me or if they were planning on coming regardless of who was behind the mic.
It doesn’t matter.
Enzo introduces me like I’m some kind of local hero. The applause that follows catches me off guard. It seems some of them are here to see me, and that’s when I realize how much I’ve missed this.
I might not be opening for one of the greats in country music. I’m not even on risers, just a section of a wooden floor deemed a stage. But I’m singing, and it feels amazing.
Maisie gives me a thumbs-up from the crowd, so I know I’m doing a halfway decent job.
But then I let my eyes roam over the crowd and discover Hollis on a stool behind my sister, whispering in her ear. I’m okay with them talking, but where there’s Hollis, there’s usually Chandler. And that might be more than I can handle.
It would explain why Hollis was blowing up my phone earlier. Had I answered the call, I’d have known they were coming.
But it’s probably better that I didn’t answer. If I had known there was a chance Chandler might show up, I’d have bailed. I’m not ready to look into those blue eyes of hers and pretend like everything’s okay.
Ready or not, those blue eyes collide with mine. I spot Chandler in the back corner of the bar, at a high-top table. She’s sipping on a beer—alone.
Those couple of seconds we connect screw me up. I hadn’t planned on singing any new material tonight, but now that I’ve seen Chandler, my fingers have a mind of their own. I skip over the planned ending to my set list, instead choosing to play a song I wrote this week—about her.
It’s a bad idea. A moment neither of us is ready for, but I can’t bail on it. Stopping now would look unprofessional, so I keep going.
Maisie thinks all I’ve done is drink beer and watch TV, but I’ve done a lot of writing, too. I’m not sure if any of it is worthy of being heard, except for the one I wrote about Chandler. I know that one is good. It’s good because it’s about us.
“This next one’s called ‘Blue Eyes,’” I tell the audience.
The crowd applauds, and when I look up from my guitar, Chandler’s staring right at me. She knows I’m singing about her.
For three entire minutes, she and I are connected through a melody. All of my music stems from emotions, and when it comes to Chandler, I feel things I’ve never felt before. The only way I can make sense of it all is to turn it into a song.
I’m pretty sure she wipes away a tear midway through. By the end, she’s staring at the table instead of me.
It’s time for me to wrap this up because nothing else in my set list can follow “Blue Eyes.”
I finish the set with emotion clogging my voice, and then I set my guitar down and head toward Enzo. Even though my instinct is to duck out of here as fast as I can, I can’t leave before I thank Enzo.
“That was the best I’ve ever heard you sing,” he says with pride. “I need you next weekend. Same time.”
I’ve always like Enzo. He was the first person who gave me a chance. I had to beg other bar owners to listen to me play but not Enzo.
“Let’s hear what you’ve got,” he said as he sat me down on a barstool.
I’d only sung one song before he stopped me. Assuming another rejection was coming—because who the hell would want to listen to country in the city?—I was shocked when he had me sign a contract on the spot. I didn’t bother reading the fine print. I was too excited. Because, for the next three months, I had a place to play.
That’s why I can easily tell him, “I’ll play next weekend.”
The Pour House is the perfect place for me to ease back into the music scene. It’s a crowd that already accepts me regardless of my failures.
Enzo plugs my name into the schedule and gets back to slinging drinks behind the bar. He’s not the kind of owner who sits in an office, disconnected from the patrons. He’s a hands-on guy who’d never have let Shannon within two feet of his bar.
Now that he’s satisfied, I’m left with two choices. Leave or talk to the enemy.
Hollis is still next to my sister, and Chandler’s still in the corner.
My palms are sweating as I make my way through the crowd of people. As soon as my sister sees me, she throws her arms around my neck.
“I’m so proud of you,” she says. “You killed it.”
Hollis stares into his beer, refusing to look at me. I can’t tell if it’s a defense mechanism or what. He has no right to be pissed at me.
But it’s only when I sit down that I realize Hollis isn’t mad. He’s sweating bullets about my sister.
When I laugh at his pathetic ass, he says, “What?”
“Nothing,” I reply.
“Be nice,” Maisie whispers. “I really like him.”
Of all the people my sister could want, she picks my roommate. The only guy I have a problem with in the entire city.
But, the more I think about it, there’s nobody
else I’d trust with Maisie as much as I trust Hollis. He’s not a douche bag. He’ll treat her well, and for once, I’ll be able to worry more about my own problems and less about hers.
“Go sit with Chandler,” I tell my sister. “I need a minute with Hollis.”
Maisie gives me the look. One that says, Do not screw this up for me.
“Just go, Maisie.”
Reluctantly, she leaves, and then I turn my attention toward Hollis.
He’s still sweating, so I decide not to draw this out any longer than I have to.
“I’m okay with you and Maisie.”
“Seriously?” he questions. “What’s the catch?”
“There isn’t one.”
“Does this mean you forgive me?”
“No. I’m not there yet, Hollis. But I’m man enough to admit that, regardless of what happened between you and Chandler, you’re still good for Maisie.”
Hollis chugs the rest of his beer and then sets the glass down on the bar. “I can live with that,” he tells me. “But I can’t live with what you’re doing to Chandler. She’s a fucking mess, Wirth. I’m not asking you to forgive either one of us, but she deserves a conversation.”
He’s right. I know he is. And, when I glance over my shoulder, I realize that this is as good a time as any. We’re on neutral ground. There aren’t any expectations—just a girl who looks pretty damn sad and shouldn’t.
“I’ll talk to her,” I tell him.
I figured seeing Chandler would hurt. That I’d be so pissed off that I wouldn’t want to speak to her. Only that’s not at all how I’m feeling right now.
I want to look at her.
I want to hear her voice.
And I want to see her smile.
That doesn’t erase what happened. It doesn’t make all the pain disappear either. And that’s how I know that I’m still not over that damn kiss.
I need more time.
Chandler
“He’s coming over,” Maisie whispers. She’s trying to hide behind her wine glass, like her brother can’t tell she’s talking about him.
I wasn’t sure I should come. Sure, Hollis was convincing with his plea to get me out of the apartment, but as soon as I walked into The Pour House, I second-guessed my decision. That’s why I made sure I stayed in the back, just like I had in Nashville, so that I could hide in the shadows.