And there it is. Adam’s heart does this weird thing where it feels like it clenches, and his stomach swoops. He’s getting what he wanted, yet it doesn’t feel much like a victory.
“So, Adam, you’ll be taking the role of Lysander, as agreed,” Violet says. Stefan grins, clapping him on the shoulder with one hand. “And I’ll do some rearranging to take care of your role.”
Briefly, Adam’s elated. For a moment, he thinks this must be the start of his good luck. And then it hits him again. Adam deflates, realizing he didn’t earn it at all.
There’s no arguing about it now though. Everyone has begun to stand, moving into their positions for the first scene. Violet glances over at him. “Adam, you know your lines?”
For the first time, Adam wishes he didn’t.
The rest of rehearsal goes by in a blur and Adam struggles to feel connected to the play at all. For the first time in his life, he couldn’t care less about Shakespeare.
“Good job today, Adam,” Stefan says as they wrap up rehearsal later that evening.
Adam waves in response, hoping that conveys his appreciation enough. He’s almost out the door when he stumbles into Cynthia and Kyle. Cynthia, for her part, offers a soft smile. “Nice job, Adam.”
“Thanks, you too,” Adam glances warily at Kyle. They haven’t spoken much since the fire, and he suspects that’s for the best.
The other man snorts, stroking his beard with one hand and placing an unlit cigarette in his mouth in the other. “I’m impressed you managed to run another actor out of a role. You’ve got more luck than I can even imagine. Still,” he cocks his head thoughtfully as they exit the building. “Better you than him this time.”
For some reason, anger flares in Adam. He curls his hands around the straps of his bag and reminds himself that he’s never punched anything in his life, and punching Kyle’s face would definitely hurt.
“It’s not,” he says, coming to a stop right outside the building.
Kyle casts a sideways glance at Adam. “Not what?”
“Not better,” his hands curl tighter around his bag. “Sometimes, someone’s just right for something you know?”
Cynthia frowns at him like he’s an unreasonable child. “Anyone can play Lysander. He’s not difficult.”
“No. But some people can bring a little more to it,” fuck. Adam can’t believe he just admitted someone might be better than him at something.
Kyle shakes his head. “You’re overthinking it, Weir. That guy wasn’t bringing anything to the table. We’re better off.”
“You’re just too self-obsessed to see it,” Adam says, disgusted.
Adam doesn’t expect Kyle’s eyes to flare and for the man to take a step forward. “Like you aren’t? Fucking Adam Weir, you think you’re so much better than everyone, you think you can do everything better. Just be happy you got what you wanted.”
Adam’s speechless. Kyle clenches his fists and Adam wonders if he’s actually going to get punched today. He braces himself for the hit, thinking he probably deserves it.
“Alright, that’s enough,” Cynthia places a hand on Kyle’s elbow before Adam can retort. “You two have spent enough time arguing during this production. Let it go, Kyle. Adam,” she pauses, considering him from behind unreadable blue eyes. “There’s not much we can do now. Have a good night, okay?”
Without waiting for a response, Cynthia pulls Kyle away. Adam stands there, watching them fade into the night. Only when he notices he’s the only person left in rehearsals does Adam finally begin to move again. As he begins his walk to the train, Kyle’s words ring in his head. Why isn’t he happy with what he wanted? This type of thing happens in community shows all the time, actors come and go, and others fill in for them instead. Losing Shane shouldn’t have thrown him off so easily.
Adam, impulsive as he is, decides there’s only one thing he can do.
* * *
At the end of the day, Adam has next to no common sense. If he had any, he figures he’d be in law school. His mother always says he can argue his way out of a straitjacket, or at the very least, annoy people so much they have to listen to him.
He certainly would not be standing in front of a bar at eleven at night, about to try to convince someone to come back to a play, despite having spent the first three weeks of rehearsal desperately hoping he would leave.
Adam Weir, no common sense and, apparently, easily swayed by one kiss.
In his defense, he considered it a good kiss. Electrifying. Grand.
If nothing else comes out of it, he thinks it would be worth it to watch Shane’s eyes nearly bulge out of his head when Adam steps into the bar. It’s a Monday night and the bar is light on customers, so Shane spots him right away. Adam grins at him and hopes it looks dashing, rather than insane. Because that’s what he feels like right now, a little insane. Adam hops onto the barstool directly across from Shane, whose mouth is still wide open.
It is oh so satisfying to see Shane, who is normally cool and confident, lose his composure for once. “What are you doing here?”
Adam flutters his eyelashes at him. “Hi, Shane. I’m good, thanks for asking. Rehearsal is good too. Everyone misses you.”
Shane visibly takes a deep breath, seemingly restraining himself from wrapping his hands around Adam’s throat. Adam’s grin just grows wider. People wanting to strangle him is nothing new.
Slowly, though, his grin slides off his face as Shane just continues to stare. Scratching the back of his head, Adam heaves a sigh. Why did this whole caring-for-people thing have to be so difficult?
“Guess I’m not a face you want to see,” Adam says, attempting a joke.
Shane’s unmoved. “Sorry if I’m a little surprised to see someone that hasn’t talked to me in days,” he replies dryly.
Adam winces. Okay, he deserved that one. “I said hi the other day.”
“I must have missed the part where you became incredibly laconic.”
“Ooh, big word.”
“Former English major.”
“Really?” Adam says, momentarily distracted.
“Before I dropped out and started working here.”
Shane seems to have mostly recovered from shock and begins to bustle around the back of the bar. Adam watches as his hands easily shuffle around glasses, delicately putting them back in their places. It’s so odd to see someone with such large hands handle things with such care.
“Was it really a work conflict that made you quit? Or was it the cast?” Adam pauses, and then voices the fear he didn’t even realize had been lingering. “Was it me?”
Shane, to his surprise, snorts. He abandons the rest of the glasses and leans heavily over the bar counter. “A kiss wasn’t going to make me quit the play, Adam. We’re not high schoolers.”
Adam’s more relieved than he wants to admit. “Okay, so what’s with work? That didn’t stop you before.”
Shane doesn’t answer him right away, studying Adam’s face. With him leaning directly in front of Adam, they’re close enough that one of them could easily close the gap. Shane’s brown eyes catch the dim lighting of the bar, adding a glow to them. He clearly hasn’t shaved for a few days and dark circles have begun to creep under his eyes. “I’ve been working here eight years, you know. It’s a long time.”
The change in topic throws him for a loop. “Sure,” he says at last.
“My other coworker, Sam, had also worked here for eight years. And he just up and left,” Shane looks away. “And, well, Ben can’t operate this place alone.”
Seriously? That was it? “Just make him hire another person,” Adam points out.
“We’re going to. But Ben doesn’t let just anyone work the bar, especially at night. And he threatened to fire me if I wasn’t able to do the happy hour and night shifts.”
“You’re kidding me. That’s why you had to leave?”
“I know it seems trivial.”
It’s Adam’s turn to want to strangle Shane now. “Yeah,
it’s really fucking stupid, Shane.”
Shane laughs. It’s nothing like the laughs Adam’s heard before. This one’s bitter, biting in a way Adam has never associated with Shane. “You always get mad so quickly.”
“Only when people are being stupid, which is all the fucking time, by the way,” Adam rubs two fingers against his forehead.
“I thought you’d be happy now. You finally got the role you wanted and you guys don’t have to worry about a mediocre actor forgetting his lines.”
And there’s the guilty feeling again. Adam’s getting pretty sick of it. “You’re…you’re not mediocre, Shane. You could be really good if you wanted.”
Shane gives him a look, but Adam forges on. “No, seriously. And maybe it’s our fault for not being open or helpful to someone who wanted to try. But you can’t let some stupid job stop you from doing things that actually matter.”
But Shane is shaking his head now. “That’s the thing, Adam. Acting might be the thing you’ve devoted yourself to, but I can’t just abandon how I make money to do it. It was never anything more than a side hobby,” Shane turns a piercing stare onto Adam now. “And why do you care so much anyway?”
“Art should never just be a side hobby,” Shane gives him an unimpressed look, as if he can completely see through Adam’s bullshit. Adam tugs at the top of his hair, looking away, at anything besides Shane. “Maybe, you know, some of us liked having you around, Shane.”
“What, like Kyle? He’s probably thrilled, now that I think about it,” Shane shrugs his broad shoulders. “The cast is in good hands without me.”
“No, you idiot. I did. I liked having you around and I liked seeing you every day,” the words are out of Adam’s mouth before he can stop them, because Adam’s never been able to stop himself from saying something. But he’s no coward. He turns back and finally looks Shane in the eyes again. “You might have been awful at first, but…you made things interesting.”
“Adam,” Shane’s face has gone incredibly soft, and wow, Adam hates this. “I appreciate that. More than you know. But I…I still can’t give this up.”
This is what Adam can’t understand. He’s fought for everything in his life and he simply assumed Shane would want to as well. That he would just need a little push. “You’re not going to fight for it? At all?”
Shane’s face closes, his expression completely unforgiving. “There’s nothing to fight for, Adam. I’m done.”
Recoiling, Adam wonders if they’re still talking about the play anymore.
“I see,” Adam drums his fingers on the counter. “Okay, then.”
He stands and this time, he doesn’t look at Shane at all. With the weight of Shane’s gaze on his shoulders, he leaves the bar and pretends none of it matters. Not in the slightest.
Chapter Eight
The week at the bar blurs as both he and Ben work longer shifts than ever. Ben takes the morning every day and Shane the evening, while Ben works on hiring a second person. The most Shane has been able to do is walk home, crash, and shower, then go back to the bar. By the time Shane gets to Friday, he’s lost all sense of time.
Shane has spent most of his life with one question following him, what do you want to do? For the last eight years, he’s ignored this question with a singular focus. It’s as if his entire life has boiled down to two or three things, the bar, his home, and the places in between. And he’s been fine with that. The comfort of routine, knowing every step his day would take. He may never have an answer to, what do you want? But he knows his own mind. He knows his neighborhood and recognizes the people that pass him. Everything has been settled and he expected the rest of his life to be much the same.
Quiet. Ordinary. Peaceful.
And then his life was upended. Now, Shane is contemplating smashing all the liquor bottles in the bar. He’s jittery and his entire body feels restless. As if there’s excess energy that needs to get out somehow. Shane can’t remember the last time he felt like that.
The years have blurred together into a quiet interlude, right up to this moment, where the quiet shattered, and now Shane is left with this sense of longing. Like he’s finally been chasing, what do you want to do? And gotten on track to answer it, only for the answers to have been ripped away.
It doesn’t help that the bar is never deader than on a Sunday. All that’s left for Shane to do is sit, stare at his regulars slumped over their tables, and pretend to read.
His phone buzzing provides him with a distraction, if not a happy one. Actually, there are a multitude of texts he hasn’t answered from various cast members. A good amount from Charlie, some from Grace, and some from Stefan. A few from Sam even, the bastard. All asking where he was and how he was doing. Most of them have been from Violet, usually coming once a day, always with a different tone.
Today, she’s angry.
VIOLET: I can’t believe I trusted you not to flake.
There are a slew of texts like that from her that have come in at varying times, none of which he answered.
Today though, today he’s tired. Without thinking, he sends his first reply.
SHANE: What do you want from me?
Her answer comes immediately.
VIOLET: Oh I see you’re talking to me.
SHANE: Come on.
VIOLET: It’s only been like 10 years.
VIOLET: For all i knew
VIOLET: You could’ve died.
Theater people. Always so god damn dramatic.
SHANE: died?
SHANE: are you serious.
VIOLET: dead serious.
Shane gapes at his phone. In their decade of friendship, Shane had never known Violet to make a pun on purpose. An honest to God joke. Apparently, the play had broken her.
SHANE: christ Violet.
SHANE: I said I’m sorry.
VIOLET: i just thought it would be different this time.
VIOLET: that you wouldn't flake out on me.
SHANE: it’s not like I wanted to violet. Shit happens.
VIOLET: yeah shit always just happens to you.
VIOLET: Stop victimizing yourself and commit to something.
There it is again. Commit to something. What the hell is that supposed to mean? Shane forces himself not to chuck his phone away and turns it off again instead.
He reflects, and he knows he’d like to commit to something. He doesn’t know if that’s acting. In fact, he suspects he couldn’t take the stress of trying to act full-time for the rest of his life. But for the brief period he’d thrown himself into it, it was like the world had grown brighter. Places stopped blurring together and the space around him felt new again. Shane had almost forgotten what caring about something felt like.
Shane hated to admit it, but it wasn’t just the play that had done it. A pair of twinkling blue eyes and a blunt demeanor that could knock anyone over helped.
A deeply unpleasant feeling comes whenever Shane thinks about Adam. The last time he had seen him…well, he’s pretty sure he screwed everything up on that end.
And he tells himself he’s fine with it. Absolutely fine. The other man hasn’t dropped by Shane’s bar since that night and they never exchanged phone numbers, so neither could contact the other.
Shane tells himself it’s better this way, a clean break. After all, how would someone like Adam even fit into Shane’s life? Adam is fire, passion and energy, while Shane is…Shane’s the warm whiskey that’s been sitting on the bar a little too long, and you leave it because you’re done with the night and just want to go home. Adam would always be someone who’s striving, and Shane could never keep up with that.
It’s going on seven when Ben shuffles back into the bar, along with a small trickle of customers for happy hour. He’s been appearing often between shifts, just like he did when Shane and Sam worked the bar alone. This week, though, he looks more tired than usual, eyes sinking deeper into his skull. He joins Shane behind the counter, pressing his elbows on to the top, the extra skin folding down.
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“Dead tonight, huh?” Ben strokes his beard. The gray has become more prominent in his beard of late, the jet-black fading away to charcoal.
Shane stares at Ben and wonders if this will be him in the future. “Did you always want to do this, Ben?”
“What?” Ben grunts, beady brown eyes observing the lack of customers.
“Own a bar?” It’s the first time Shane’s ever thought to ask.
“Who knows. It was just something to do at the time,” Ben straightens, arching his back until it cracks audibly. “Sometimes, life’s funny like that. You fall into something and then ten, twenty years later, you’re still doing it,” Ben grins and Shane thinks the bags under his eyes look even more prominent than usual.
“Yeah, I know what you mean.”
Ben studies Shane for a moment and he wonders what it is Ben sees. Then, he claps Shane on the shoulder, shaking him ever so slightly. “Don’t have that worried look on your face, Shane. You’re young, it’s not time for you to worry about life yet.”
Maybe not. But it’s well past time Shane did something about it.
Without thinking, he picks up his phone and re-opens his chat with Violet.
SHANE: ok
SHANE: I messed up
SHANE: and i’ll never say this again
SHANE: but you were right
SHANE: I’ll think of something to come back.
SHANE: if you still want me.
Shane’s confidence in that last statement doesn’t last long. It’s great to say it but the reality feels crushing. What is he going to do? Quit his job? He imagines telling Ben he can only do certain shifts, but he’d rather not get an actual liquor bottle slammed over his head. Not to mention, he has rent.
He could quit his job. Shane mulls that one over. Is he really ready to commit like that? What then? He’d have to find another bartending job after this, that would probably pay less and wouldn't pay his rent.
Shane really is no good at this whole commitment thing.
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