“It’s like beer goggles for music,” he’d say.
I shake my head at the thought and take my seat at the bar.
Marty’s lips are in a flat, unimpressed line. “What the hell are you doing here at midnight?”
My brows draw up. “Is my carriage at risk of turning back into a pumpkin?” I reply. His stoic face remains. “Do you talk to all of your customers like that?”
He tips his head. “Usually.”
Can’t say I’m surprised.
“Got any bourbon?”
He doesn’t move. “Kid—”
“Save the lecture,” I tell him. “Sometimes alcohol is the answer. Don’t turn this into some sit-com moment, because frankly I don’t have the patience for it.”
He raises his hands up in surrender and grabs a bottle of dark amber liquid from the shelf behind him. Pulling out a glass from underneath the bar, he fills the glass a fourth of the way and slides it to me.
“Talk to me.”
“Don’t want to,” I murmur, wrapping my fingers around the cool glass.
He scoffs. “Well I didn’t want my ex-wife to take the dog during the split, but that happened anyway.”
I chuckle. “Sounds like a country song in the making, Marty.”
He crosses his arms on his chest. “Too bad you’re not in that genre.”
I lean back. “I’ll get Ashton on it,” I muse dryly.
Dylan Hilton, our bassist, is dating country music’s top artist Ashton King. The two have only been dating for the summer, but the vultures have already made accusations that “Dash” will be married by next spring.
I’m happy for Dylan and Ash but knowing how opposed to relationships Dylan was before Ashton makes my current situation sting. Here I am at a bar, in the middle of the night, getting ready to drown my sorrows over a little girl.
My little girl.
How’d this happen?
“How did what happen?” Marty asks, snapping my attention to his.
I blink at him. “Did I say that out loud?”
“Well I can’t read minds.”
I sigh. “I’m sure you know.”
He presses his lips together.
Son of a bitch. “This whole fucking town probably knows. What ever happened to small town gossip? When I lived here you couldn’t keep people quiet about anything. There was no such thing as privacy or secrets.”
“You and I both know that’s not true,” he disagrees pointedly.
“Opal’s father had a say in those secrets.”
Those secrets happened to be the best kept one for years. The kind that hid the purple, yellow, and blue watercolors painted on Opal’s mother’s skin. They were the same secrets that hung locks from their lips and taunted them with a key that was just out of reach.
Their secrets dangled in front of the town for everyone to see. Her father made sure to sweep them under the rug, especially when he became mayor. His passing only made those secrets truths in the wind.
“We’re not talking about that, though,” he points out. “We’re talking about the very obvious one that seems to have dragged your ass here.”
“Where should I have gone?” I doubt.
“It’s midnight, kid. You should be in bed.”
“I’m twenty-four, Marty.”
“Still a kid.”
I roll my eyes.
He drops his arms to his sides. “I’m not saying you should go to her at this hour, but you shouldn’t be here.”
“Seems like the perfect place to be,” I counter.
“I’m going to tell you something important, so listen up,” he states, leaning forward. “This place is for cowards who can’t seem to differentiate what true pain really is. You’re in a bar on a Wednesday night, and you don’t even drink. You’ve let yourself believe you’re living some tragedy when you’re really just in a nightmare.”
My jaw ticks. “You’re saying that I don’t have a right to be angry?”
He straightens. “Two days ago, Mabel Ritter over on West Avenue lost her son in a car accident. Jeff Abrams on Main lost his house in a fire about a month ago. And Theresa Hawkins, the old elementary school art teacher, lost her battle with cancer over the summer. Let me ask you something, son. Do you see any of them, or their families, in here drinking away their sorrows? Their heartbreak? Their pain?”
I stay silent.
“Didn’t think so,” he concludes.
He walks away before I find my voice. I see what he’s trying to prove, and he succeeds. I remember Mrs. Hawkins, heard she had breast cancer, but didn’t know she died. And while I never knew Mabel or Jeff, what happened to them is something I can’t imagine going through. Before now, I never would have put myself in somebody else’s shoes who had lost their child.
What if that had been me? What if I lost my daughter before I even got to know her?
The grip on my glass tightens until my fingertips sting. I don’t even know the kid, but I can’t fathom what losing her would be like. Hell, I can’t imagine what it would do to Opal.
Fuck.
Whether I want her to or not, Opal will always have a hold on me. The love I have for Opal may be strong, but the one I could have for our daughter will be infinite.
A glass slams on the bar in front of me, and Marty gives a pointed stare at what I presume is soda. My focus drifts to the carbonation bubbling at the rim of the brown liquid, but I keep my hand around the bourbon in indecision.
I don’t know how long I sit like that before somebody slides into the seat on my right. The familiar scent of aftershave causes me to glance over at Ben’s ink-colored eyes. He nods his head, causing his black bangs to fall over his forehead.
“Hey,” he greets, eyeing my drink skeptically.
I grip it tighter.
He says, “You don’t drink.”
I stare at the untouched drink, irritated that everybody keeps telling me what I do or don’t do.
“Now’s a good time as any to start.” I take a swig and try holding back the disgusted face over the bitter burn as it slides down my throat.
He chuckles. “Convincing. So, are you done pretending to drown your sorrows?”
My jaw ticks. “I have a right to be here,” I inform him. “Despite what everybody thinks, I deserve to be pissed off. And why are you here, anyway? Did Marty call you?”
“What do you think?” Marty calls from across the bar. I want to tell him I don’t need a babysitter, but I bite my tongue.
“Opal keeping this from you sucks, man. Nobody is going to deny that. But sometimes you have to let the past go and take advantage of the present.”
If only it were that easy.
He seems to read my disbelief. “Did you even let her explain? We all know you left to give her a chance at living her dreams. What if her keeping Addison from you was her way of doing the same thing?”
Jaw ticking, I rub my clammy palm down my face. It’s been over a week since I watched my world unravel in front of me. Every night, little round silver eyes haunt my dreams. All my hopes drained that day at Sal’s. Like everything else, they were just out of reach.
I curse under my breath. “I’m an asshole.”
He snickers. “Can’t disagree with you there, buddy.”
I give him a side-eye, causing him to grin.
“I’ve been waiting this whole time for her,” I tell him, like he hasn’t been watching me pine after her for years. All the guys have seen me jump down the rabbit hole—watched me build impossible expectations for the day I came home.
Six years.
After all this time, I expected Opal to still be in love me.
Ben shifts in his seat, causing the stool to creak. “We’ve known Opal forever. She doesn’t do things without a reason. She doesn’t hurt people intentionally.”
Tugging on my disheveled hair, I say, “I know. I know. But, Jesus, Ben. A kid? A little girl? She didn’t hide something small! She hid a human being from me. My life.”
Pinching the bridge of my nose, the familiar features of her innocent face pops into my head. How I didn’t see the resemblance sooner is beyond me. I guess I was blinded by old love, never believing that Opal was capable of holding back something so important from me.
Ben’s sudden laughs breaks apart my train of thought. “Who would have thought that you’d become a dad before Dylan? We all thought he’d knock someone up ages ago.”
I cringe at how impersonal that sounds. I didn’t knock up Opal. It wasn’t like I slept with her for the first time and left right after.
But you did leave eventually.
I groan. “Fuck, man. This is fucked up.”
“Yep. But it’s happening, so you can’t avoid it by staying here and drinking. Gotta deal with it sooner or later.”
My eyes study him as he stares off in the distance, thinking about something entirely different. It’s hard to figure out what’s going on in his head. Ben’s the quiet type, the tortured soul in the corner of the room. He never says more than needed during band meetings, and free time away from practice, recording, or concerts is usually spent on his own unless we drag him out with us against his will. No matter how many times Dylan tries setting him up with a beautiful woman, Ben always leaves alone.
I’m pretty sure I’m the only one who sees his guarded eyes and nervous ticks when he’s in a crowded room. In front of an audience he focuses solely on the drums, losing himself in the beat of the music. He breathes lyrics, lives the pain, and harbors the heartache.
He’s the wallflower of the group, who observes everything from the shadows.
But I see him.
“What about you, man?” I question. “You gotta deal with shit, too. But you’re not. You’re hiding just like me.”
His eyes dart to mine in panic. “W-what do you mean?”
I give him a doubtful look. “Listen, you know I don’t give a shit about, you know, things. Who people like. I think love is love. I’m not trying to out you or anything, but I’ve seen how you act around guys. When you’re on that stage, you’re not performing for the chicks screaming your name. When you let yourself absorb the moment, you’re performing for everybody but them.” He quickly peers down at the counter, going rigid. “And I’ve seen how you look at Ryder Harding, man. I’m not judging, okay? I just want to let you know that it’s cool. I get it.”
He pales, and I don’t know if it’s over the mention of Will’s little brother, or the fact I have the balls to call him out on what he won’t admit to anybody. Maybe not even to himself.
But when we visited Will the other day at his parents’ house, I couldn’t help but notice the way Ben’s eyes trailed to Ryder every chance he could. I’d gone for Will, but Ben looked like he was there for somebody else.
I nudge him. “Chill, I think I’m the only one who suspects anything. We hang out more. But the guys won’t care either. We’re family, dude. Just be careful, okay? I don’t know Ryder well, but he’s young. A lot younger than us.”
His Adam’s apple bobs as he takes my glass of Bourbon and downs it. His eyes remain glued to the empty glass like he’s willing the liquid to reappear.
“Guess we both have to figure shit out, huh?”
He orders another drink. Despite Marty’s disapproving look, he fills the glass anyway. Maybe he knows more than Ben wants him to.
“Me and Ryder,” Ben croaks, “we’re not like that.”
I put my hands up. “If you say so.”
He glances at me. “You really don’t care?”
I shake my head. “If you find somebody who makes you happy, then I’ll be happy for you. Guy, girl, alien. Whatever.” I shrug.
He cracks a timid grin. “Can’t say I’ve ever considered getting with an alien.” He grins.
I chuckle but sober out of lingering curiosity. “But have you ever considered being with somebody you’ve known for a while? A male somebody.”
He winces, fingers twitching on the glass. “If you’re worried that I’ve thought about you—”
I snort. “Relax, bro. I was hinting at Will’s brother, because no matter what you say, you looked like a damn lovesick fool when he showed up the other day.”
His cheeks burn red, and I narrow my eyes in suspicion. “Something happened, didn’t it? Did you two …?”
“No!” he says quickly. “Jesus fuck, no.”
A loud laugh burst from me. Ben rarely swears, so seeing him so flustered is a welcome distraction from my own life.
“I mean, if you did think of me I wouldn’t be offended. Let’s be real, out of all the guys, I’m the most attractive.”
He gapes at me in disbelief, blinking a few times before he collects himself. “Are you … I mean …?”
I grin. “Unless you’re into the blue-eyed thing, then Ian’s got the advantage. And Dylan can pull off messy hair. The asshole has the whole James Dean thing going for him. Hey, wasn’t James Dean gay?”
He’s speechless.
I lean back, shaking my head. “And I guess I’m out. Apparently, I’ve got a kid. Most people don’t want to be tied down to that kind of commitment.”
We sit in silence just staring at each other.
He breaks first. “I’m not sure what to say.”
I shrug. “Just tell me the truth.”
His nose scrunches. “About what? Which one of you I’d pick? No offense, Bash, but you guys are like my brothers. Incest isn’t my thing.”
I smirk. “You just don’t want to admit that I’m better than the others. It’s cool.” I state nonchalantly. “But let’s get back to the main topic. Ryder. You got all squirmy and weird, so what happened?”
The color is back on his cheeks. It makes him look sixteen, not twenty-four.
“I, uh, saw something I shouldn’t have.”
My brow quirks. “Like a murder?”
He rolls his eyes. “No. Like …”
I wait patiently.
“Shit,” he murmurs under his breath, putting his forehead in his hand. His shoulders are tense as he slumps down. “I walked in on Ryder jacking off, okay?”
If I had a drink, I’d choke on it.
Or spit it all over him.
He groans. “Do we need to talk about this?”
“Well it’s got you flustered, so yeah.” I pop my lips. “I’m sure that was embarrassing, but how many times have we walked on the tour bus and saw Dylan rubbing one off?”
He glares at me. “It’s not the same.”
“Why?”
He doesn’t answer.
I nod once. “Because you’re not attracted to Dylan,” I conclude.
He takes a sharp inhale.
“Listen, dude,” I tell him. “It’s not a big deal. Shit happens. We get crushes, and sometimes they don’t work out.”
“It’s not—” He locks up.
I wait for him to tell me whatever he’s trying to hold back. “This stays between us. It isn’t that I don’t trust the guys, because I do. But if Will finds out …”
I cock my head.
He blows out a heavy breath. “I didn’t walk away.”
I shake my head in confusion. “What do you mean?”
He closes his eyes. “When I walked in on Ryder, I didn’t walk away. I didn’t apologize. I was frozen, okay? I freaked out. When I saw what he was doing, I couldn’t look away.” He winces at the statement. “I watched, okay? I fucking watched him touch himself. And it made me feel sick and guilty. And … other shit.”
Can’t say I expected that. He always seemed like the innocent kind. Not the type who would watch anybody touch themselves. Of course, they say the quiet ones are the real freaks.
He hesitantly meets my eyes, and there’s guilt etched into them. “He let me, Bash. That’s why I don’t want Will to know. He’s protective of his little brother.”
Understanding creeps in. “Oh.” I drum up something to say. “Will says Ryder’s kind of a chick magnet. Do you get any, I don’t know, vibes from him?”
He shoulders drop defeatedly. “I would have thought he was straight, but when he saw me in the doorway, he didn’t stop from, uh, finishing. He looked right at me. It was confusing.” He tilts his head back. “Not one of my finer moments, huh?”
I consider it for a second before shaking my head. “I got a girl pregnant right out of high school, so, I’d say you’re not that bad off.”
He lets out a small chuckle. “We’re both kind of fucked, aren’t we?”
Before he came here, I would have said yes. In fact, I would have agreed in a heartbeat. But between him and Marty, I realize that things could have been worse.
“No,” I answer. “I don’t think we are.”
I grab the forgotten soda that Marty gave me earlier, taking a swig to get rid of the remaining aftertaste of bourbon.
“What are you going to do?” he asks me.
Tapping the cup, I reply, “I’m going to make sure I don’t miss out on any more of Addison’s life. Honestly, if the band hadn’t taken off, this is exactly where I pictured myself being. Living with Opal and having a family.”
“Our break is only for a year,” he points out, reminding me of my limited time. A year seems so mundane in the grand scheme of things. I planned on settling into my new home, working on music, and visiting family. Opal has always been my end game, but I wasn’t hers anymore and I have nobody to blame but myself.
“I’ll figure it out,” I say.
Hell, I’ll quit the band if I have to.
Age 17
There’s a soft crack from the tree branch under my foot as I climb the final limb of the old maple outside Opal’s window. The same sound I hear every night when I get close to the chipped paint of her bedroom window. My knuckles tap lightly on the glass. It takes her only a few seconds before she’s sliding the lock open and letting me inside.
“Hey,” I whisper, knowing the chance of her parents still being up is high. Her dad works long hours in his office directly below her room, and her mother usually stays up with him.
I pull her into me, nuzzling my nose in the side of her hair. She burrows into my chest, wrapping her arms around my waist.
“You weren’t in school today,” I observe, leading us to her bed. She sits cross-legged at the end, so I kick my shoes off and lean my back against the headboard.
The Choices We Make (Relentless Book 4) Page 13