by Linda Kage
I don’t think anyone in life started a story, thinking they were going to come out the villain. They just knew they had a goal to conquer and they tried to reach it. I didn’t even have a worthy goal, though. No one’s life to save, no struggle for justice or freedom. I’d just been plain selfish, wanting to feel as if I had a place in a band. And yet, when I’d done anything and everything to reach that dream, I’d ended up trampling all over another dream I wasn’t even aware was so much better…until it was too late.
At some point, Asher must’ve alerted Heath and Gally to the fact that we would not be playing at Forbidden the next night, and why, because the texts started pouring in around midnight.
Most were from Gally.
You’re a fucking chick? What the fuck?
Way to break up the band, bitch.
Just wanted to be the next Yoko Ono, didn’t you?
And the last one: Hey, if you’re hot, wanna hook up?
The only one I received from Heath said, THIS was why it was a bad reason to have a girl in the band.
So I cried a little more because I’d ruined things for all the guys. At some point, I slept, but only to wake up a few hours later and return to my pity party before passing out again. My head throbbed and my eyes felt nearly swollen shut when I stumbled out of bed the next morning. Pulling my hair into a sloppy mess on the top of my head with stray dark strands dangling everywhere, I padded barefoot into the kitchen, wearing nothing but a sleep top and shorts under a quickly yanked-on half-robe.
I wasn’t hungry, wasn’t even really thirsty, but I was tired of being in my room, so I made myself a hot chocolate. As I was sipping it and exiting the kitchen, the door to Jodi’s room opened down the hall and footsteps approached.
Expecting to see my roommate, I opened my mouth to give her a halfhearted greeting, but she wasn’t the person who exited the hall. Eyes flaring wide, I yelped, “What the hell?”
Gally snickered at me, his gaze going to my bare exposed legs. “So you’re the real Sticks, huh? Looks like you need to put your mask back on, sweetheart.” Then he strolled out, all smug and disgusting.
His words still stung, so my hand flew self-consciously to my face, knowing I must look like hell after the night I’d had.
When Jodi’s bedroom door opened again, I gritted my teeth. “I can’t believe you brought that asshole here into our apartment last night. He’s such a—Heath?”
As yet another member of Non-Castrato exited the hallway, my mouth dropped open. If my jaw hadn’t been attached, it would’ve fallen so far it bounced off the floor. “Wha…how…huh?” I sputtered.
He flushed a bright crimson, but then nodded respectfully to me before hurrying toward the door and fleeing.
I gaped after him, totally not understanding.
Moments later, Jodi wandered into the front room, groaning over sore muscles and stretching as she let out a big, satisfied yawn. “Mmm…morning.”
I could only stare at her as she passed by me and entered the kitchen. Turning, I followed. “Jodi?” I finally said in a low voice as I watched her brew her own steaming cup.
“Yeah?” she asked, her back to me as she worked. “You finally ready to let me cheer you up?”
“What? No. Uh… I’d rather it if you explained why both Gally and Heath just came strolling out of your bedroom?”
“Sure.” She whirled around with a bright smile, before cringing and saying, “Oh, puta. You look like hell. You really need to shower and do something with your face.”
Clenching my teeth, I muttered, “Focus, woman. Gally and Heath.”
“Oh, right. Well, they kept fighting over me, so…” She shrugged. “I just taught them how to share.”
The few sips of hot chocolate I’d just drunk swirled evilly in my stomach, threatening to come back up. “Eww,” I said, trying not to picture the image she’d shoved into my head, and yet unable to not picture it.
Dumping my hot chocolate into the sink, I retreated to my room to cry some more. Not sure why seeing my roommate with two guys I didn’t even want for myself spurred more tears in me, but I felt wretched and selfish enough that when Jodi stopped by to check on me a few minutes later, I was unresponsive and bitter because she hadn’t halted anything in her life to be there for me, despite how she’d tried to do just that.
She sighed over my pathetic state and then was gone again, leaving me alone in the apartment, and I couldn’t help but think how Asher wouldn’t have given up on Sticks so easily if he’d been this depressed. He would’ve stuck around no matter what.
Which made me cry…again because I’d lost the best friend I could’ve ever had.
I wasn’t sure how much time passed after that, but I was half out of it when someone knocked on my front door.
Thinking it might be Asher, I lurched out of bed, then almost passed out when the blood rushed so fast to my head. Taking a second to catch my bearings, I patted my face and hair, then thought screw it and raced to the door, flinging it open.
“Holy shit,” Ten gasped, pulling back. “Is that what you look like as a woman?”
“Hey, give her a break,” Caroline scolded, appearing from behind him. “No one could look presentable after the night she must’ve had. How’re you doing, honey?”
I shook my head, squinting, trying to figure out why I was seeing them. Finally, I had the wherewithal to ask, “What’re you two doing here?”
“Oren kind of fucked up with Asher last night too, so we’re here to pow-wow with you and figure out how to get the both of you back into his good graces again.”
I sniffed, wiped at my face and glanced at Ten. “So you messed up too, huh?”
He blew out a disgusted sigh before admitting, “Yep. I had to go and bring up an old issue that doesn’t even bother me anymore…just because I could.”
“Is that why you have a black eye?”
Nodding, he repeated, “Yep.”
“Boys,” Caroline muttered, taking my shoulders and getting a good look at my face. “They think hitting each other solves everything.”
“Well, it usually does,” Ten argued from behind her.
His wife ignored him as she clucked her tongue and said, “First things first, we’re getting you cleaned up. You won’t be able to think straight until you feel human again.”
“Fuck yeah.” Ten rubbed his hands together greedily as he stepped inside and shut the door behind him. “My woman getting into a shower with another chick; this is going to be awesome to watch.”
“You’ll be staying out here,” Caroline warned him with an arch of her eyebrows. “And besides, I’m sure she’ll be able to wash herself.” Then she turned to me and bit her lip. “Won’t you?”
When I nodded, Ten mumbled a curse and called us the dirty equivalent of party poopers before plopping onto the couch and picking up the remote.
Caroline ushered me back to the bathroom and then gathered some clothes for me to change into before she started the shower and left me to finish by myself.
On autopilot, I washed, and surprisingly, I did feel a little better when I was done. I wiped a little lotion onto my face, combed out my hair and stepped from the bathroom, human once more.
The married couple looked up when I stepped into the front room. Ten’s eyebrows shot up into his hairline. “Well, holy shit, what a difference a little shower makes.”
“Oh, stop it.” Caroline slugged him in the arm before popping to her feet and coming to me. “Do you feel better?”
I shrugged.
Cooing out her sympathy, she took my hand and led me back to the couch so I could sit between her and her man. I kind of thought I was supposed to be mad at her for the way she’d shoved me and Asher together on Tuesday night. But then…Jodi had said it right. Caroline hadn’t been the one to shove his penis inside me. I could’ve stopped it myself at any point.
“So,” she started, turning to face me as she tucked one leg under her. “We’re both here to help you get Asher back.
Me because I feel like pushing you two together at the restaurant the other night only made things worse, and Oren because…well—”
“Because I’ll have a better chance of being forgiven for being an ass to him if he’s getting some from you.”
I blinked at his crude summation, but basically understood where he was coming from regardless. Then I shook my head. “No…we’re not…Asher’s not going to forgive me for this. I don’t stand a chance in hell with him.”
“Nonsense.” Ten waved out a hand as if my predicament were no big deal. “Just sex him up good enough, and he’ll forgive you anything.”
“Sex,” I snarled, scowling at him, “is how I got myself into this mess in the first place. If I’d just been able to keep my damn hands off him, I might’ve actually, maybe, eventually gotten him to forgive me.” But no, I just couldn’t keep my legs together, could I?
“Whatever.” Ten snorted. “Sex solves everything with a guy.”
“I don’t know,” Caroline murmured, chewing on her lip thoughtfully. “This is Asher we’re talking about. Not you.”
With a groan, her husband relented. “You’re right. Hart’s not normal.” Then he flopped back deeper into the couch as if he had no more ideas.
“I know!” Caroline suddenly cried, sitting up straighter. She whirled to me and grasped my hands. “How did you draw his attention in the first place?”
I furrowed my brow, thinking about the day I’d auditioned as Sticks, but Caroline answered her own question, saying, “Your voice. When you sang on stage that first karaoke night.”
I looked at her and suddenly knew exactly what she had in mind.
Even though the band didn’t play, I worked Friday night, needing something to do, not wanting to be home at my overly quiet apartment. I never found Mozart, and he never showed up at my door. When I saw a dead squirrel on the road on the way to Forbidden, I told myself that wasn’t him. He’d found a nice, safe park somewhere and was living out his dream, collecting nuts and climbing trees.
I still missed the hell out of him, though.
On Saturday, I showed up to work extra early, even though it was another miserable karaoke night. At the moment, I kind of felt as if I could go about the rest of my life without ever hearing another karaoke song played ever again.
But unlucky me, about half a dozen ladies lined up first thing to sing “All About That Bass,” every one of them wearing Incubus shirts, too. I hated it. It sucked even more so tonight, now that I knew who Incubus shirt girl actually was.
I was about to go out of my mind as yet another woman finished the song. It was on the tip of my tongue to tell Quinn and Knox I was going to head into the back and check our supplies when a familiar voice spoke over the speaker system.
“So I’ve been watching a couple of you try to imitate my original performance.”
I whipped around to see Remy—in tight blue jeans, a black snug Incubus shirt, and a guitar strapped over her shoulder with her long hair flowing down her back.
“And I must say, some of you…” She cringed and leaned closer to the mike. “Really suck.”
A lot of boos and catty comebacks rolled back, but she ignored them as she smiled at the crowd as if oblivious. “If you were curious, the exact Incubus shirt I was wearing that night looked like this.” She tugged at the sides of her shirt to display it. “Oh and the redhead who sang was with me… Right there.” She motioned toward the stairs up to the stage where Jodi was standing.
Jodi waved and blew kisses to everyone as Remy seated herself on a stool and positioned her guitar into her lap. “Now, I’m not going to sing ‘All About That Bass’ tonight because…well, Asher’s sick of hearing it, for one. And also, it’d just feel tacky to recreate my original show. So I’m going to play something a little different, and since this place doesn’t have karaoke music for this particular song, I brought my guitar to help me out.”
She patted the side of her Taylor—shit, she had a Taylor, too—and then began to strum. Perfectly.
“I didn’t know your girlfriend could play the guitar and drums,” Quinn said from beside me as he watched Remy begin to sing “Green Eyes” by Coldplay.
“She’s not my girlfriend,” I murmured, my voice hoarse. “But yeah, apparently she’s just full of little surprises, isn’t she?” Because I’d had no idea she could play either.
But she played amazingly well.
My gaze was glued to the stage, and I had no idea what I felt as her clear voice sang shit like I was her sea, but it made all the air inside my chest compress until I could barely breathe.
They were just words, I told myself, steeling myself against the sweetness of her attempt to get my attention. Lyrics of someone else’s song that meant nothing to me, like she wasn’t supposed to mean anything to me. I didn’t even know her.
Still. I couldn’t believe she was up there singing…for me. Trying to beg my forgiveness.
Sure, other women had been singing “All About That Bass” to me for months. But this was Remy. That made all the difference.
Except I started thinking about every confidence I’d shared with her, how I’d poured my heart out to her and she’d only lied in return. The bitterness of that deception warred against the part of me that was melting and wanted to forgive her.
I turned away as she finished the song, glad it was over—no more mental war to keep me away. But then she went and said, “Oh, no. Sorry, honey, but I’m setting up my own little filibuster of sorts. I’m staying right here and singing until the message I’m trying to deliver reaches the ears I want to hear it. I’m not leaving this stage until Asher Hart himself comes up here and makes me.”
I whirled around to glare at her just as she shooed away the three women who were trying to take their turn next. When she turned back to the crowd, her gaze caught mine and she winked with this knowing smile, as if she knew she was getting to me.
I hated that she knew me so well, so I scowled back, setting my hands on my hips to show her I was not amused.
But she blissfully ignored me as she started in on “The Reason” by Hoobastank, where she told me she was sorry she’d hurt me and wished she could take all my pain away.
For a minute, I stared, captivated by her beauty and her voice, by the words she was telling me. Then I remembered how she’d purposely made me think she hadn’t known English and I began to wonder what the hell she was doing here, trying to torture me with her presence when the chorus came up, and it finally became clear.
She really thought singing was going to just…get me back.
“Fuck,” I muttered as her gaze found mine and held on. I narrowed my eyes ominously, but she just kept singing, so I whirled away, mumbling something to Quinn before I hightailed it from behind the bar and down the back hall. Once I reached the storage room, I paced and cursed under my breath, commanding myself not to be affected.
After a couple minutes, I eased open the door to see if a new song had started yet. I breathed easier when I realized it had, but then…I heard her voice. She was still up there, this time singing “Please Forgive Me” by Bryan Adams.
Christ. There were a lot of fucking apology songs; she might just keep her word and sing all night.
If I didn’t stop this now, I might end up doing something really stupid, like forgiving her.
So I marched out into the bar, determined. When I caught sight of Pick sitting on a stool, watching her performance, I stopped by him.
“Are you going to do something or not?” I demanded.
He turned to me, eyebrows lifted in surprise. Then he shrugged. “You heard the woman. The only person getting her off that stage tonight is you.”
I opened my mouth to tell him it was his damn bar; he could kick her out if he wanted to, but then he grinned. “Besides, I already gave her permission to sing the whole night if she wanted to.”
“Oh, you fucker,” I breathed. “No wonder you’re still here so late on the night before your wedding. You knew she
was going to be here and you just wanted to see me suffer, didn’t you?”
Pick scowled. “No, I do not want to see you suffer. I wanted to watch my brother make amends with someone who’s been a good friend to him this past month and made him very happy in the process. And she apparently has.”
I wanted to argue. But I couldn’t stop remembering all the good times Remy and I’d had together…as both Sticks and Elisa.
“She isn’t—” I started to tell him she wasn’t the same person who’d befriended me. Sticks had been my friend. Except she was supposed to be Sticks now. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that. But the irritation brewing inside me kind of took over.
I marched toward the stage.
Her eyes lit up with hope when she saw me approaching. But I didn’t smile back or give her anything to hang that hope on. I turned my gaze away and focused on the karaoke station. After I called up the song I wanted, I hopped on the stage, and tugged the microphone from her startled fingers.
She blinked at me, frowning slightly even as a smile lingered on her face. She thought I was going to sing something about forgiving her. But instead, Taylor Swift’s “Bad Blood” came on. And I sang it directly at her.
Her mouth came open as shock flooded her features.
About the fourth time I told her we had problems and couldn’t solve them, she puffed up her chest with an annoyed scowl and hurried off the stage. I watched, thinking that was that, but she only paused at the karaoke machine and picked something else from the list.
I didn’t want to be, but I was curious what she’d chosen.
So when Elton John’s “Sorry Seems to Be the Hardest Word,” broke over Taylor’s voice and Remy stole the microphone right back from me to sing the lyrics, I shook my head. Stubborn-ass woman just didn’t know when to give up, did she?
So I chased her lyrics with “Better Things to Do” by Terri Clark.
For some reason, I expected more angry determination from her. I was kind of getting into the game, relishing the back and forth and impatient to hear what she’d come up with next.