by J. Lea
Just as I’m about to leave, I feel a gentle touch on my arm. “I’m sorry to bother you.” Zoe, one of the bartenders, steps in front of us, worry creasing her face.
“What’s wrong?” Phoenix questions, his brows drawn together.
“The band that was supposed to start in fifteen minutes just called to cancel. Something about an awful car accident on the freeway. They won’t make it.”
“Shit. What do we do now? People expect live music.” Raking my fingers through my hair, I let out a heavy breath. Phoenix smirks, crosses his arms over his chest, and raises a brow suggestively.
“No. No way in hell, man. Keep dreaming. I’m not doing it.” A flicker of irritation runs through me.
“Oh, don’t be a pussy, Connor. You’ve done this so many times you could do it in your sleep.” He smacks my arm.
“Past tense, Phoenix, past tense. Not anymore.”
“We’ve talked about this before,” he reminds me.
“No, you suggested it once. And I said no.” I haven’t been on a stage in years, I can’t just walk up there and sing. “I’m not ready.”
“Stop whining and making excuses. It’s our asses on the line here. And the club’s future.” He waves his arm impatiently. “Put your nerves to the side and just go up there.”
I haven’t performed since Anabel died. I can’t do this without her. Can I?
“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Knowing I’m all out of excuses, I let out a heavy sigh. “Fine.” My voice is less than thrilled.
“That’s the spirit!” Phoenix rubs his hands together, feeling amused with himself. “Now go get your guitar!”
It’s been ages since I’ve sang and played my guitar in front of an audience. I must admit I’m nervous as hell, my palms are sweaty, and I can’t stand still. I swore, years ago, I was never going to step foot on a stage again, and now I’m going to break it. Not that I quit playing music altogether – I still write songs, and play music inside the walls of my house. In the evenings, when I have time, or when Ava wants to hear me sing instead of reading her a bedtime story, I give in to my passion. But doing it in front of a crowd, on a stage … That’s a different story.
I remember the rush I felt every time I stepped on a stage – my heart was pounding in excitement; my fingers were anxious to start. But it’s much more intense now because of the nerves and the initial panic. Anabel’s not here to listen to me now. Wiping my sweaty palms on my jeans, I sit on a bar stool on the stage. Resting the guitar on my left leg, I quickly run my fingers along its strings, tighten some pegs, and loosen others to make sure it’s tuned. This should do. The crowd is already turning toward the noise, and I close my eyes, mentally preparing myself for what’s about to happen. Let’s do this, I murmur to myself. Putting a confident smile on my face, I open my eyes.
“Evening, everyone! I’m glad there’s so many of you here tonight.” An awful high-pitched screeching sound resounds from the mic around the room, causing some people to cover their ears. “Have some patience with me, okay? It’s been ages since I’ve last performed, so I’m a bit rusty. But there’s no better stage to be making a comeback on than this one right here.” Shifting in my seat, I get a few whistles and claps from the audience. “I’m going to start the night with a song I wrote a long time ago and means a lot to me. The title is “Move on”.” At first, my voice shakes, but I quickly suppress my nerves as the music takes over.
They say just forget,
Forget about her.
Turn a new leaf
And try to move on.
Move on.
Move on.
Just move on.
Well, they can talk,
as much as they want,
But I just can’t do,
what they ask me to do.
Move on.
Move on.
Just move on.
I wish it were as simple as that,
But they just don’t get,
I don’t want to forget.
I don’t want to forget those big brown eyes,
Those lips so divine,
And that body so fine.
My heart beats for you,
nobody but you.
How to forget?
I’m hopeless like that.
Move on.
Move on.
Just move on.
Move on.
Move on.
Just move on.
As the last word leaves my mouth, and the final tune echoes from the guitar, I realize my eyes are closed and there’s an unbearably tight feeling in my chest. I wrote this song for Anabel, my late wife, after she died. Overwhelmed with grief, I didn’t know how to cope with the pain. Music gave me solace in my darkest moments, it was a cure I desperately needed. Yes, I quit performing, but the love for music never wavered. Every time I felt like life was weighing down on me music picked me up again. It was almost like Anabel was with me again. She loved music and was my biggest fan. The only person who ever heard me sing after Anabel died is Ava. She loved falling asleep to my soothing voice, still does.
Loud cheers, hoots, and applause rouse me from my wistful thoughts, goose bumps covering my body. Glancing at the ceiling, my mouth curves into a smile.
“Thank you!” I haven’t felt this alive for years. “No one left, I guess that’s a good sign,” I joke. People laugh at my comment, women move closer, mesmerized. “The next song is called 'Autumn'.”
Chord after chord, word after word, song after song, people are enjoying the show, and a few couples even take a spin on the small dance floor. One thing is certain – I’m definitely returning to the stage. I almost forgot how much joy performing used to bring me. I didn’t expect to have so much fun tonight, not without Anabel’s excited face in the front row, cheering me on. After what I would call a pretty successful return to the music world, I put down my guitar, and, buzzing with adrenaline, stride to the bar.
“I had no idea you could sing,” Zoe gushes. “That was amazing.”
“I’m a man with many talents.” With a wink at her laughing face, and a smirk, I help myself to a bottle of cold beer. Wiping the beads of sweat off my forehead with the back of my hand, I drop my ass to an empty bar stool.
“No doubt here,” she agrees with a smile, but it soon falters. “You got a sec? I want to ask you something.”
“Yeah, shoot.” Zoe looks around, hesitating. She’s biting the inside of her lip. “Maybe we could talk in private?” I offer.
“That’d be great.”
We walk to my office. “What is it?” I kindly inquire, gesturing for her to sit on the couch, and I lean my hips against the desk, crossing my ankles.
“I know it’s late notice, but could I take tomorrow afternoon off?” Her voice is quivering. That’s new. I’m not used to seeing her like this. With her wild, rainbow hair, piercings all over her body and tats she always gave me an impression she’s a badass woman, always confident and strong.
“Is something wrong?” My brow furrows in worry. Zoe is an awesome girl, I hate seeing her worried, and I care for my employees. Mi Vida is a joint effort, and Phoenix and I wouldn’t be able to run the business so smoothly without all the people who work in the club.
“No, not really. It’s just that, …” she trails off. “I’ve recently reconnected with my aunt and … Umm, …” Looking up to the ceiling, she takes a deep breath. “Well, I want to talk to her. I need to see how she’s doing. I just don’t know if you could find a replacement for tomorrow,” she says quietly, cautiously. She’s told me about her life and the years of abuse she had to endure while living with her aunt and uncle, that’s why I can understand her restraint.
“I meant to spend the day with Ava, but you need your day off more than I do, so I’ll fill in for you.” That’s the least I can do. She is always there when we’re short on staff.
“Thanks, Connor. I really appreciate it.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
I walk her back to the bar where I find Phoenix
making out with some chick. Giving him a pat on the back, I head home since it’s almost midnight. I grab some Chinese food on the way. I’ve been starving for the last few hours. As I park my car in the driveway, I notice the light in the living room is still on. It could be Dolores, but would not be like her, she’s usually asleep by now. Lounging on the couch, wearing shorts and a baggy T-shirt, I find Everly. There’s a book in her hands, and a cup of milk on the coffee table by her side. If she weren’t holding the book up, I’d assume she was sleeping. Her hair’s in a messy bun, a few strands loosely around her face. I have to blink a few times at the image in front of me. The sight reminds me of Anabel when I was still working in construction and found her like this, waiting for me, every night I came home. A deep, sudden ache stabs my heart. Shit. As quiet as I can manage, I try making my way past the living room and up the stairs, but she glances up.
“Oh, you’re home, sir,” she softly says, her voice laced with surprise, rising to a sitting position. “I wasn’t expecting to see you so soon.”
“I’m beat, so I headed home early.” I throw my keys on the coffee table now that she saw me.
“I’m going to my room so you’ll have your peace and quiet. Dolores told me I could use the library, so I took the opportunity to read one of the books.” Lifting a book, she throws me an apologizing look. Placing the book on the table, she grabs the cup of milk and springs to her feet, as if she can’t wait to get away from me. Gently, I wrap my fingers around her forearm to stop her. She glances down at where my hand is touching her.
“Don’t leave because of me. And please, call me Connor.” Every time she calls me sir I cringe.
She cracks a sleepy smile, swiping her hair out of her face with one hand, and my stomach rumbles loudly.
“Okay. Connor.” Everly nods in agreement. “I can quickly whip up something to eat if you want,” she offers.
I raise the takeout bag. “I grabbed some Chinese on the way home. You’re welcome to join me, there’s more than enough food for both of us.”
I still can’t believe how awkward our first encounter was, and how badly I messed up by mistaking her for a go-go dancer. Partly, I blame Phoenix and his bad practical jokes he likes to play on me. But Everly definitely looks the part with legs that go on for miles, sexy, round ass, narrow hips, perky tits, lush lips, and those big blue eyes. Anyone could make the same mistake. I acted like an ass, which I regret. That’s not like me. I’m usually way nicer. In my defense, I was awake half the night, dealing with paperwork at the club, and I forgot to set my alarm. I wasn’t expecting a model-like woman waiting at the door when I dragged my ass out of bed. Everly caught me off guard.
“I already ate, I’m not that hungry.” Making an excuse, she avoids my gaze, and I don’t blame her. She doesn’t trust me. Why should she? But then her stomach betrays her, making a rumbling sound.
A grin splits my face. “I see. Well, I insist. It would be nice to have some company.”
Everly hesitates but eventually nods. “Okay.” She fiddles with her bracelet, a lock of her hair caressing her cheek. “Just let me run to my room for a second.”
I place the bag with food on the coffee table, saunter to the refrigerator and pour two glasses of wine. As I return, Everly is already back. She changed from shorts to long pajama pants. Such a shame, her legs are incredible.
Everly settles down on the couch cross-legged, and I plant my ass on the floor with my knees bent. My back is leaning to the coffee table, so we can talk. Since I’m sitting so close to her, I can’t help but to notice the way she smells. Fresh and floral, I really like it. And she looks so gentle. Not a quality I see in many women I hang out with, which is a good thing, and refreshing.
I take a sip of the chilled wine. “So, you like to read?” Jerking my head in direction of book she’s been reading.
“Yeah, this one is pretty good. Have you read it?” She picks it up and traces her fingers over the cover, turning it to me.
“No. I’m not into romances and if I know Dolores well…” I point a finger to the book she’s holding, “…that is a romance.”
“You’re right, it is. I will read almost anything, but I prefer romances.”
“I bet you were a nerd in school.”
Her mouth curves into a smile. “Actually, I was. So what? You have a problem with that?” She lifts her brow in challenge.
“Nope,” I chuckle. “I actually find nerds sexy. Female nerds to be exact.” There’s something about women who know how to use their brains. It’s a huge turn on.
That catches her by surprise. “Oh. Well, good.” She shifts in her seat. “Have you lived here long?” She puts some chicken with bean sprouts in her mouth.
“It’ll be six years in a few months. First, it was just the three of us – Anabel, Ava, and I. Dolores and Carlos moved in a little over a year ago. Dolores needed help with Carlos, and I needed help with Ava. Things worked out for us.”
She drops one leg to the floor and reaches to a coffee table for her wine glass. “You have a beautiful daughter. She’s such a sweetheart.”
“Isn’t she? I’m a very proud father,” I agree. “Ava’s been through a lot. She lost her mother when she was a toddler, so I had to teach her things, and learn along the way. I couldn’t have done it without Dolores, though.”
“Why do you think that?” Her tongue runs over her bottom lip. “I bet that’s not true. You’d just take a different approach if you had to.”
“Maybe.” I never really thought about it. But I’m glad there’s a woman in her life. Dolores will teach her things I won’t be able to. Things about dressing up, make-up, menstruation, and stuff like that. I know shit about those things.
“May I ask what happened to her? To Ava’s mother?” She bites her lip as if she regrets her question. “You don’t need to answer if you don’t want to.”
“No, it’s fine,” I wave her off. “Ava makes me tell her about Anabel every day.” That brings a smile to my face. She loves listening to me telling her stories about her Mom.
Everly pulls her feet underneath her. “Talking about her with Ava is good. I like that you’re open with your daughter about it.”
“Yeah, I know. Ava was Anabel’s whole world.” I remember coming home from work and finding my girls on the living room floor, building houses from Legos, how Anabel used to comb Ava’s hair and create intricate braids, how they shrieked and laughed every bath time, and how in the end, all three of us ended up soaking wet even though it was just Ava who was taking a bath. I smile wistfully at the bittersweet memories. “When Ava was one year old, Anabel decided she wanted to go back to school. Her classes were on Friday evenings and Saturday mornings. One Friday night, when she was driving home, she had an accident. They assume some animal crossed the road, and judging by the skid marks she swerved to avoid it and hit a tree in the process. Even though the paramedics arrived only minutes after, she died in the hospital after some complications the next day.” I swallow the lump in my throat. It’s still hard for me to talk about it even though it’s been years since it happened. I’ve never talked about my wife with someone I don’t know; if I think about it, I actually haven’t spoken to anyone other than my closest friends about her.
“I’m sorry for your loss.” A flash of … something crosses her features. Pain, maybe even sadness. I can’t read her.
Room fills with awkward silence. That’s why I never talk about deep stuff – it makes for a lousy conversation. “What about you? Is there a boyfriend waiting for you at home?” I doubt she’s single, there must be men standing in line to win her heart, if it’s not already taken.
Everly takes a gulp of her wine before she answers. “No, I’m single.” She absentmindedly traces the pendant on her necklace with her fingertips. Her expression turns darker, but she brushes it off. “So, I hear you run a bar?”
I rest my elbows on my bent knees. “Yes, it’s called Mi Vida. My best friend and I opened it two years after Anabel died
. It’s a dedication to her.” Mi Vida means ‘my life’ in Spanish, it’s what she called Ava and me – that we’re her life. Her parents, Dolores and Carlos, are originally from Spain, they immigrated to the States when Anabel was just a baby.
Everly’s leans back, her eyes soften. Until this point, she was guarded toward me, but I can feel the more we talk the more relaxed she’s getting. Maybe I’m wrong, but I think I see admiration in her eyes.
“That’s so nice. I’m sure Anabel would be thrilled. How is Ava coping with her mother’s absence? It must be hard for her.”
“Actually, she’s doing quite well. Probably because she was so little when Anabel died and doesn’t have many memories of her.”
“There are lots of paintings hanging around the house with the initials A.M. Is your wife the artist who painted them? They’re stunning works of art.”
“She loved to paint and yes, she made them. I also have a few at Mi Vida.” She not only loved to paint, she was really good at it, too. That’s why I was happy for her when she suggested about going back to school, she never got her degree.
We talk and laugh and talk some more long into the night. It’s been forever since I’ve just talked to a woman. I don’t even realize how much time has passed since we sat down to eat until Everly yawns and stretches her arms above her head. I can’t help but to notice she’s not wearing a bra underneath, her nipples poking through the thin material of her T-shirt. I scratch my head and avert my gaze before she notices me looking.
“We should go to bed, I’ve kept you up all night. I can’t believe it’s already two in the morning.”
“It’s that late?” Her eyes widen in surprise. “I guess time does fly when you’re in good company.”
I smile at her. We pick up the empty containers and our glasses and head to our rooms.
L ying in my bed on my back, I stare at the ceiling, my mind buzzing with new information. I can’t stop thinking about Connor, how strong he is, facing a great tragedy in his life and being there for his daughter, the greatest gift life gave him. He’s nothing like the grumpy, rude man I met my first day here. I guess I caught him on a bad day, tired and sleep-deprived. It could happen to anyone. I’m not a ray of sunshine in the mornings either. Without a big dose of coffee, I’m probably worse. Connor is actually a strong, yet sensitive and caring man. I like him. A lot.