Rock & Release

by Riley Edgewood

"I spent the last two weeks convinced Jared found out I made out with Jeff. And dealing with my opinionated, pushy, condescending mother. You could have spared me some of that. You could've told me any of the multiple times we talked on the phone."

  "I know." I'm so ashamed I feel like I could be sick all over again. I'm not a very good person these days. "I'm really sorry, Vera. Truly."

  She stares at me, her face impassive, and the moment stretches out forever, until I'm certain I've just lost a friend. Then she sighs and wipes her eyes, sniffling. "Don't ever keep something like that from me again."

  I nearly drop to my knees in relief. "I won't. I swear."

  "I'm still mad."

  "I know."

  "But, I also know this is a shitty time for you, too. So you get a pass. This one time." She's not quite glaring at me, but she's not quite not glaring, either.

  "I'll never need another one," I promise.

  "Today fucking sucks."

  I agree.

  "Jared…God, what an asshole," she says. "And now that everyone's seen those pictures? I can't tell which of us has had the worst time of it."

  "Everyone…" I gape at her as her words sink in. Anxiety burns like acid under my skin, and I barely make it across the room before my knees actually do buckle. I collapse to the couch, facing her. "What do you mean everyone's seen them?"

  She takes a deep breath and bites her lip, looking afraid to say anything else.

  "Tell me."

  "He posted them all over BackBar."

  I can see it perfectly in an instant. A string of naked pictures lining the bar. On the walls. Hanging from the concession counters. Everyone looking at them. Everyone laughing.

  Mortification is a wave of fire crashing through me. Hot and rough. I can't get my head above it. Even when I spring up from the couch. "I have to go take them down!"

  "I tore them all down," she says. "Every one that I saw. I even checked in the bathrooms. I swear."

  "Thank you." But the relief of what she's said barely makes a dent in the chaos of everything else assaulting me.

  "At the moment, it wasn't exactly altruistic…"

  I wave away her words. I don't care what her reasons were. "Who saw them?"

  "I'm not sure." She reaches for a tissue on the coffee table and uses it to dab under her eyes, no longer overflowing.

  "What did Jared say about them?"

  "That you sent them to him, came on to him… That he posted them everywhere—that he did it for me, of all the fucking nerve—to get back at you."

  My gaze falls to the crumpled picture on the ground where she first confronted me. My pulse hammers in my neck. My face is numb. I don't know what to do. I don't know—

  "Did Gage see these?" Panic slams into my gut. I have to sit down. I drop onto the couch. No, I have to stand. I recoil back up to my feet, beginning to pace. There's such a buildup of anxiety running through my veins I can't figure out how to release it.

  "Cassidy. Sit down, it's okay." Vera's hand is cool against the skin of my wrist where she grabs me, leading me back to the couch. "I told you, I tore down every one that I saw."

  "But what if you missed some? What if he saw them first?"

  "There's no way he would leave those pictures up. And Jared would've had a bloody face," she assures me, and I know she's right. Not that he would've gone after Jared, I'm not sure he has that sort of violence in him. But he would've gotten rid of every last trace of the pictures. He definitely hasn't seen them.

  But, "Who else saw them?"

  Zach? Clark? Nicole? Any of the other employees I barely even know? Guests? No, if he posted them last night, it would've been after the concert ended—and nobody but employees would've been there yet today.

  God. It doesn't matter.

  I can never, ever go back to work. Ever. I am never leaving this apartment. I will live here until I die. Or maybe I'll move to Alaska. Or…somewhere I can hide out forever. Somewhere everyone hasn't seen me naked.

  "Let's go," Vera says, striding to where her car keys hang by the door.

  "Unless you mean to Alaska, I'm not going anywhere."

  "Not Alaska. BackBar. We're going to kick Jared's ass." Her eyes are wide, furious. "You can't just sit there and do nothing."

  "Yes, I can." I don't move from my spot. "I'm very good at avoiding things." I've been practicing all summer.

  "He can't get away with this!"

  "You were more than willing to let him get away with it when you thought I'd sent him the pictures. Coming back here to yell at me instead of letting him have it." I shouldn't be snapping at her, not when I've made such a colossal mess of our friendship. "I'm sorry. Forget I said that, okay?"

  Her mouth folds down. "You're right—I made a mistake, but God, Cassidy. Cut me some slack. The guy broke my fucking heart."

  "He sucks."

  "No shit."

  "I know I have to do something," I admit, the truth wiggling its way through the cloud in my mind. "But give me a night, okay? I…need to process this. I need to figure out how I want to handle it."

  "What about work tonight?"

  I don't want to let Zach down yet again, but there's no way I can go in. Not now. "I'll call out sick."

  "Okay," she says. "I will, too. I'll tell Zach we got food poisoning." She watches my face, and I see her thinking the next part through. "We'll figure this out together." The last part comes out awkwardly. Forced.

  She's trying to forgive me. I'm not sure I deserve it, but I'm not going to push her away.

  So we change into pajamas—even though it's barely three o'clock. We order pizza—I'm certain my stomach's too upset to eat any, but I manage a piece—and we talk. And we talk. And we talk. Until the tension between us is less like a jolt of electricity and more like the whisper of a memory.

  And when there are no more words, we watch horror movies until we fall asleep, cuddled on the couch, too scared to go to our separate bedrooms.

  My last thoughts are of Gage, who pushed me into facing things I needed to, and Vera, who fell asleep holding my hand. And it's because of them that I wake up with the strength to do what I need to.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

  I get to my shift half an hour early, making sure to walk into the patio with my chin held high. It helps that Vera's next to me, but once we're inside, even with her right there, it's hard to keep my chin up. VIP ticket holders are already crowding the patio. I should've come before the doors open, but…I kept chickening out.

  And now I'm fighting every instinct yelling at me to turn back around. Clark won't meet my eyes. Nicole will, but her face is filled with so much pity, I feel sick all over again. Especially when a kitchen worker whose name I don't even know walks past us, glancing at me and snickering.

  Vera squeezes my hand, and the comfort of her support outweighs the sting against the scrapes on my palm, so I keep moving.

  Jared did this.

  To both of us. Showing her face here isn't easy for Vera right now, either. What he did to me makes a fool out of her, too.

  Neither of us deserves to feel uncomfortable.

  He does.

  Actually, he deserves a hell of a lot worse than just discomfort.

  Which is why I seek Zach out immediately.

  He's by the deck stage and when we see him, Vera gives my hand one more squeeze before releasing me. "You've got this."

  I've got this.

  I do.

  I head toward him, intending to ask to speak privately with him—but when he notices me, he closes the distance between us first, a frown across his mouth. "Can I speak with you in my office?"

  My stomach flutters into a bit of panic. Does he know what Jared did? Of course he does. Obviously, everyone does. Does he blame me? But I nod and follow him. Back to the office where Jared hit on me. Where I told him to fuck off. Where he stole the pictures from my phone.

  I sit in the same seat.

  I begin to shake.

  But then I notice Zach's le
ft the door open. And he's sitting behind the desk instead of right in front of me.

  And he's looking at me with worry. Compassion, even. "Cassidy, I owe you a huge apology. This entire establishment does."

  "I… What?"

  He shifts in his seat, a little uncomfortable, maybe. "I tried to call you last night."

  "I haven't looked at my phone since yesterday afternoon." Not since I found the outgoing text messages to Jared. I haven't even wanted to touch it since then.

  "You're aware of what Jared did?"

  I nod. But, then, wait. "You know it was him?"

  He told Vera he did it, but I can't believe he would've told anyone else; I can't believe he'd willingly put his job at risk that way—just because I rejected him? It doesn't make sense. Not that any of this does.

  "Nobody knew at first, but Clark heard Vera yelling at him about it." He leans forward, toward me. "You don't deserve that—nobody does. I… Before this conversation goes any further, do you want me to call in someone from human resources? Or a lawyer—for you, of course, not me."

  I can't even process the last two questions. "I just want to know what's going to happen. I only have a few more weeks here. I don't want to quit, but I also don't want to work with Jared."

  He's shaking his head before I'm finished. "No. You don't even have to see him again. He was fired on the spot earlier today."

  "Good." Relief is silk across my shoulders. Some of the tension there fades. Some of my anxiety, too. My eyes fall heavy, suddenly, like I might actually be able to sleep—something I barely accomplished last night. Jared's fired. I can stay.

  "Listen, Cassidy, whatever you want to do about this situation, you have my support. BackBar is lenient with relationships between its employees—it'd happen regardless—but there is absolutely zero tolerance for what Jared did."

  I don't know how to respond. "I've never been in a relationship with Jared."

  "I know—I'm sorry if my words implied otherwise. What he did is a form of sexual assault, posting those photographs without your consent."

  Oh. I hadn't thought of it that way. Not that that perspective changes anything about what happened. It's wrong, no matter how it's labeled. Not to mention when he shoved his tongue in my mouth. God. That memory will make my stomach churn for the rest of my life.

  "If you want to press charges, you have the full support of management—all the way up the chain here at BackBar." He pauses, his expression warm and kind, supportive. "Do you want to press charges?"

  "I…don't know." I'm not sure I have the capacity to make that sort of decision right now. Maybe not having to work with him anymore will be enough. "Can I have some time to think about it?"

  "Of course." He waits, watching to see if I have anything else to add, but this has gone so much better than I expected that I'm a bit shell-shocked. "About tonight. The rest of the week, actually. You said you don't want to quit—and your job is yours as long as you want it. But if being here is too hard for you, you can take as much time off as you need. Paid time off."

  It's tempting, especially given the way people acted when I walked in. But…maybe I wouldn't know how to react to someone in my situation either. And taking paid leave is just another version of running away. "I want to work."

  "Is there anything else I can do to make this easier for you?"

  I start to say no, but change my mind when an idea forms. "Actually, there is one thing…"

  And after we discuss my request, I leave his office much happier than when I arrived. Especially when Gage shows up to sing and greets me like nothing traumatic's happened. He doesn't know. More silky relief, traveling down my entire body this time.

  Except halfway through my shift there's a scuffle at the side of the patio, and when I glance over toward the employee entrance, Jared's shoving past a BackBar bouncer, stalking straight toward me.

  "You bitch." His voice rings out over the steady hum of conversations and laughter, over the clinking of glasses, over the sound of Gage performing across the patio.

  It's one of those moments where you might think time would stand still.

  But it doesn't.

  "I'm a bitch? I don't fucking think so." I duck under the bar and head right toward him, too. The edges of my vision are a deep red, almost black. My hands curl into fists, and suddenly all I can see in my mind is the way his mouth will look with a few less teeth. Adrenaline inflates every movement in my stride. Punch him. That's what I'm going to do. Over, and over, and over.

  But Gage beats me to it.

  He flies past me so fast, wind from his movement flows over my shoulders. And he slams his fist into Jared's face.

  Over, and over, and over.

  Shock freezes me where I stand. It's brutal and raw and savage, what I'm seeing.

  Guess Gage has that sort of violence in him after all.

  Guess he knows about the pictures.

  And then Jared's hitting him back and Gage goes down. They both do. A second later, the bouncers are pulling Jared away and Gage is back on his feet hurtling toward them. But so am I, and this time, I get my hands around Gage. "Stop. It's not worth it."

  Every muscle in his body is tense, ready to attack again. "You are scum," he spits at Jared. Who's bleeding, I note with a bit more satisfaction than a good girl might.

  "And Cassidy's a whore," Jared spits right back.

  Of all the reactions I could possibly have, laughter is not what I'm expecting. But it happens. I start to laugh, and I can't stop. "Jared," I say between breaths, "you are the biggest douchebucket in the history of all douche containers. Call me whatever you want—it means nothing coming from such a complete fucking failure."

  From somewhere behind me, Vera rushes toward him and tosses an entire glass of beer in his face. Her timing is impeccable and her expression is fierce. Jared, dripping with beer and blood, is a sight I'll treasure for a long, long time.

  I dart forward, too, swiping his phone out of the pocket of his shirt. Thank God there's no password. Idiot. Guess he's doesn't think anyone could pull the same shit on him that he pulled on me—and a moment later I'm in his photo album deleting every single picture of me. I hate looking at them. I hate remembering why I took them. But I hate even more that he thought he had the right to steal them from me. I check his texts, deleting them there, too. The whole time he's snarling at me, still held back by the bouncers.

  "Do you have copies anywhere else?" I ask, and when he glares at me without answering, "I haven't decided whether or not I'm pressing charges yet—tell me the truth and maybe I won't."

  He's still sneering, but his eyes are a little wider and I think maybe my words are sinking in. Finally, he shakes his head. "Those were the only ones."

  I throw the phone at him. It ricochets off his chest, and one of the bouncers grabs it—then he's hauled away and thrown out the side employee entrance.

  And the entire patio erupts in cheers.

  I turn, realizing only at this moment the spectacle we've created. But nobody looks mad. Clark catches my eye from behind the bar, where we've been working silently together, and mouths, "Good girl."

  "Next round's on the house," Zach calls out.

  Someone else yells, "It was already free," to which Zach replies, "Exactly!" People laugh and a few minutes later things are back to normal. Except Nicole's in Gage's spot on stage and Clark's manning the bar solo for now. Because Zach wants Gage and me in his office.

  I hope Gage isn't in trouble, but damn if that wasn't completely worth it.

  He cradles his hand while we walk together, and I see the knuckles are bleeding. His lip is, too. I want to reach out and wrap his injured hand in my own still cut-up palm. "Are you okay?" I ask, instead.

  "God, that felt good."

  "Really? The fight felt good?"

  "My fist connecting with his face is the best I've felt in weeks…"

  "Why did you hit him?'

  "You know why." He glances at me from under those long, thick l
ashes. "He deserved it."

  "Well…" I pause to swallow and combat the attraction seeping furiously under my skin. It's hard. I don't think of myself as someone who loves violence, but something about seeing Gage lose control over me, something about the rage he took out on Jared on my behalf…It's making me hot. Or maybe it's just Gage altogether. Being around him in general makes it hard to control myself. "Thank you."

  He shrugs. "You looked like you were about to handle him yourself—sorry I cut you off. I couldn't help it."

  "You took him down way better than I could've."

  We sit next to each other in Zach's office. He doesn't even yell at Gage. Just throws him an ice pack for his hand and asks if we're okay. And apologizes that Jared made it back in at all.

  A few minutes later, I'm behind the bar. And Gage goes home, his hand too swollen to hold his guitar for the night.

  I can't help but hope that something between us is changing. That the one glimmer of light in this otherwise entirely shitty situation is that he's working toward forgiving me.

  Toward letting me back in.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

  Yeah. No. Gage isn't letting me back in.

  He's friendly at work, a little less stiffly polite, but that's about as far as we get. He sings each shift, but his hand is too swollen to play guitar the first few nights so Nicole does it beside him. He doesn't stop by my apartment again. He doesn't mention hitting Jared again. I ask him about Katy, and it sounds like she's slowly working her way through the hard-hitting first few weeks of grief.

  But that's it. I get nothing else from him.

  And I have to be okay with it.

  I mean, I'm not. But I'm trying my hardest to respect what he wants, which is apparently nothing more than friendship in the loosest of terms.

  "He still wants you," Teagan swears, when we're out to dinner with Vera a couple weeks later—after promising me she has zero hard feelings about the time I spent with Gage. I had to check, though, after what Vera said to me in all her anger over the photos. "A boy doesn't do the things he's done for you without some serious L-O-V-E in his heart."

  "Or he's just a good person," I counter and sip the whiskey I've ordered, enjoying the heat against the back of my throat, the ice clinking around the glass as I set it down, reminding me of my father. But that's another sadness for another day. One that I have plans to fix. At least a little…