Lu frowned. “I think—we all think—that Bridget coming back to town has…unnerved you. Hell, it’s unnerved us all. Are we friends with her? Are we not friends?”
“I already said it was fine if you guys want to be friends with her.”
“Yeah, I know. Can we please just sit and eat here?”
“Fine.” But only because Lu didn’t ask her to promise she wouldn’t go on alone afterwards. Alex sat on the forest floor, her back against a tree.
Lu chose a fallen trunk, slung off her pack, and pulled out a sandwich and a bottle of water. Soon enough, the snow would come, and hiking would have to wait until spring. Alex wasn’t looking forward to being cooped up all winter with nothing much through which to expel her energy. Maybe she’d take up skiing.
“I talked to Bridget last night,” Alex said, finally getting it off her chest. If someone other than she knew, that meant the conversation, however brief, had been real.
The words hung in the air, and she could practically see the gears turning in Lu’s head.
“No kidding?” Lu said.
“That’s not all,” Alex said. “She came to see me at the bar, to give me my coat back, and we… We kissed.”
Lu’s eyes went wide, but she reined in her tone. “Who kissed who?”
“She kissed me.”
“So…did you kiss back?”
“Sort of.” It had been instinct, muscle memory. That was all. So why did she feel so guilty about it?
“Oh.”
“Oh?”
Lu swigged from her water bottle. “So, this is why you insisted on hiking today. Your awkward ass has all this anxiety to work off because you can’t handle how you feel.”
“I don’t feel any way except angry.”
“So you’ve said—and showed. I don’t think that’s true, though.”
“I don’t—”
“Okay, so you’re not in love with her,” Lu said, holding up a hand to shut Alex up. “But you’ve obviously got leftover feelings of some kind. You can’t just let that shit fester. You gotta deal with it one way or another.”
Alex closed her eyes, dropped her head into her hands, and breathed deeply. The cool air helped clear her head. She’d been pushing all her feelings so deep down that she’d thought they’d stay buried forever. They hadn’t, though. Instead, she was dealing with a whole big mess of emotions she couldn’t make sense of.
Except she wasn’t dealing with it at all, was she?
When she looked up, Lu had a knowing expression on her face. Not pitying, though, which Alex appreciated.
“Being angry all the time is…exhausting.”
“You could try being not angry?”
“It’s not that simple, Lu.”
“Why not?”
Alex took a drag from her water bottle. Out of all her friends, Lu was the one who would read into what she said next the least. Without taking her gaze from the fallen leaves scattered on the path, she said, “Because feeling anything else scares me too much.”
It took most of the day for Bridget to feel like her head wasn’t going to explode at the slightest noise, and she spent it lying on the couch. Max lazed at the other end as they watched cartoons with the volume low. When she felt more like normal, she ventured into the kitchen for a glass of water and some soup.
As always, the feeling that she should be writing songs nagged at her. But this was kind of a vacation; she didn’t have to be writing every minute of every day. She was allowed to take a day off, allowed to let herself relax, and rest would help rejuvenate her creative juices.
She’d always had trouble with that, though.
She brought soup for Max, too, and they made it until the first commercial break before he said, “You’re freaking out that we haven’t gotten anything done today, aren’t you?”
She frowned. “I’m not freaking out. I’m just…” The truth was that she needed to keep busy. She needed to keep her mind on something that wasn’t Alex because if she didn’t, her thoughts would take her somewhere she didn’t want to go. Not at all.
Like that kiss last night. That brief, shining moment was the first time she’d felt alive, truly alive, since they’d broken up. How pathetic was that? She’d tried. She really had. Along with success as a musician, she’d found something approaching contentment. But there was no hiding from the fact that Alex still had power over her—power to make her happy, or sad.
She sipped the soup, which had cooled just enough not to burn her mouth.
“I like to keep busy,” was all she said.
Max snorted. “It’s okay to take a day off, you know.”
She hadn’t had one of those in five years. When she wasn’t touring or performing or shooting music videos or attending award shows, she was writing or practicing. At least a handful of hours each day. Sitting around didn’t suit her.
Even if she tried, though, she wasn’t in the headspace to get any writing done. Some days were like that. You couldn’t force it. So they settled in for a movie marathon.
Around six, halfway into the third movie, her mom came into the living room, coat and hat on. “All right, kids, you’re on your own for dinner.”
Bridget sat up. “Where are you going?”
“To the town hall meeting.”
Oh. Right. Her mom had an interest in those things. “What’s this one about?”
Evelyn sighed. “The fall festival. And the school.”
“What’s up with the school?”
“Yeah, didn’t it just get the money for a new roof?” Max asked with a smirk in Bridget’s direction that she decidedly ignored.
“Well, yes, and that was a generous donation, but in the grand scheme of things, a roof doesn’t take all that much money. The teachers’ contract is up soon, and there’s talk of a strike if their demands aren’t met.”
“That sucks,” Bridget said.
Unexpectedly, Evelyn brightened. “Is that interest I hear? Does that mean you want to come?”
“Ugh, Mom. No.”
But Max prodded her thigh with his bare foot. “Come on, Bridge. It’ll get us out of the house, maybe make you feel like you’re being productive.”
Bridget gestured toward her day-old clothing. “I look like a mess. And I smell. I think.”
“Well, hurry up and take a shower!” Evelyn said, clapping her hands. “Go jump in. I’m headed to the fire hall now to help set up, but you can meet me there. There will be cookies!”
Bridget rolled her eyes. Getting clean and out of the house would be good for her. So she nodded. “Fine. We’ll see you there.”
Alex filled a stein with beer and slid it over to a customer.
Lu, Jordan, and Owen, with little Keiko strapped to his chest, approached the bar.
“You coming to the town hall meeting?” asked Jordan.
On any other night, sure. As a local business owner, she tried to keep up with what was happening around town, tried to be a good citizen even if she was mostly disinterested. Tonight, though, her head was reeling with the ghost of Bridget’s lips on hers and that thing inside her chest that had gone from an ember to an inferno in the space of a few days.
“Not tonight,” she said.
“But you always come, and there will be cookies,” Owen said.
“I’m just kind of wiped. Take notes for me.”
“Fine, but don’t expect us to bring you any cookies.”
She chuckled through her nose. “Of course not.”
An hour later, once the town hall was well under way and the dinner rush had died down, she let Riley know she was taking her dinner break, exchanged her apron for her jacket, and headed home. An hour wasn’t much time to run home, fit in a workout, hop in the shower, and get back to the bar, but she was buzzing with excess energy, and it needed to go somewhere.
Once she was in the door, she quickly dressed in basketball shorts and a tank top. Setting her phone in the speaker cradle, she blasted upbeat music, then wrapped her hands, put on her gloves, and started her heavy-bag routine. When she had more time, she preferred running, preferred that ache in her chest and the sting of the cold autumn air. But the heavy bag was a great way to tire herself out in a short amount of time.
She let the music pound in her ears, let her heart rate skyrocket, let her fists fly. All she felt was the pop of her gloves against the bag. That was all she’d let herself feel.
When it was done, when the sweat was dripping down her face as she headed for the shower, she still couldn’t hide from the truth. As much as she’d tried to stay indifferent to Bridget, she wasn’t. She couldn’t be. There was too much unfinished business left between them to be ignored.
What the hell was she going to do about it, then?
She shed her workout clothes on the way up the stairs and dropped them in the laundry basket in the corner of the second-floor hall. Then she slipped into the shower, making sure the spray wasn’t too hot. She should be exhausted, but she felt like she could run a good ten miles right now and still not wear off all this excess energy.
Sighing, she worked up a lather with the soap and washed off the layer of sweat. If she scrubbed hard enough, maybe she’d wash off all the regret and uncertainty she carried.
She soaped up her hair next, working her fingers through her locks. This had been her way of life—keep her hands busy to keep her head busy. For years, she’d been able to pretend that was enough.
Here, standing in this shower, she knew Lu was right. She had to let go. Her hands had been cramped, and so had her heart. She needed to let go in order to breathe easier, laugh easier, love easier.
The thing she had to let go of wasn’t about Bridget, though. It wasn’t the ability to care for another person, to see the best in them, to lower her defenses and let them inside. It was none of that.
The thing she had to let go of was her anger, this monster that had been perched on her back all this time, preventing her from opening up. Her anger was a sullen, hateful thing born of all the pain she hadn’t been able to deal with, the heartache. Born of the truth she hadn’t wanted to face—that she shared the blame in this mess.
It was time, though. If she carried this anger any longer, she would lose out on so much of her life. She would never know what it was to love again, to be happy again.
So, as the shower washed away the soap on her skin, she willed her anger to go with it, to swirl down the drain and leave her in peace. Maybe, just maybe, she would be able to pick herself up and get on with her life.
In the back of the fire hall, a folding table held refreshments, mostly cookies and punch. Rows of metal folding chairs faced two tables with white plastic tablecloths over them. In the center sat June Withershaw, the mayor. The rest Bridget didn’t recognize. Probably city officials.
After they’d helped themselves to punch and cookies, Evelyn led them to a trio of middle chairs a few rows from the front.
An older woman named Mrs. Yackovich leaned around Evelyn to say, “Why, Bridget, how nice to see you again. It’s been so long!”
Bridget’s smile was strained. The woman didn’t mean anything by it, didn’t mean to call her out on not coming back for so long, but she still felt the sting of it, the underlying accusation that she hadn’t done enough for this town. “Hi, Mrs. Yackovich. How are you?”
“Same old creaks in my joints! Congratulations on all your success.”
“Thank you. This is my friend, Max.”
“Ooh, what a handsome fellow. Are you two dating?”
Max laughed.
Bridget colored. “No. We write songs together.”
“Ohhh. Making music so often leads to making other things.”
Bridget sank lower in her seat as Evelyn changed the subject. Even if she were interested in Max like that, it didn’t matter while she was still hung up on her ex. That was why her relationship with Patrick had fallen apart. She groaned. As much as she wanted to stay and see Alex every day, feel that sweet ache that came with their interactions, maybe she should cut this trip short.
Max leaned over to murmur, “I think I should get a shirt that says, ‘I’m just the best friend.’”
“Honestly, not sure that would help.”
“You know what would?”
Don’t say it. Don’t say it. Don’t say it.
“Actually dating someone,” Max said, putting enough emphasis on the last word to communicate that by ‘someone,’ he meant ‘Alex.’
God, could everyone just shut up and leave them alone? This situation was hard enough without unsolicited advice. She elbowed him in the side, hard enough to shut him up until June got the meeting going. They discussed how Craft Street tended to flood when the rains increased, the budget for fixing potholes, and the impending teacher strike. That topic put a crease in Bridget’s forehead. It was ridiculous that teachers got paid a pittance and, on top of that, were expected to buy supplies for their classrooms. How were they supposed to get any teaching done when they were stressed out by finances? If only she could do more than pay for a new roof for the school. Maybe she should anonymously contribute to a teachers’ fund? That wouldn’t solve the underlying problem, though. For that, the money would have to be a constant pool and come from the city.
“Now, on to the fall festival,” June said.
The crowd stirred, like this was what they’d been waiting for, a chance to talk about the biggest event of the year.
“I’m sure many of you have heard the bad news,” June said. “The festival hired Last Chance to play at the concert. However, the Chance siblings were in an ATV accident this past weekend. They’ll be fine, but they’re in the hospital if anyone would like to pay them a visit or send them well wishes. Obviously, though, that leaves the band without half its members and therefore us without a band. So, if anyone has any suggestions, let’s hear them.”
Murmurings arose as people discussed options.
Then an older gentleman raised his hand and said, “What about the church choir?”
Bridget snorted and, judging by the answering boos, more people were on her side than his.
“That’s a lovely suggestion, Tom, but people can hear the choir every Sunday. We’re interested in showcasing local talent that doesn’t have a weekly place to perform,” June said.
“Not to mention we want an act that will draw a crowd,” someone added.
The silence was broken by whispering as people thought aloud or conversed with their neighbors.
Max leaned over again. “You want to contribute to the town? This seems like a pretty good opportunity.”
As soon as he said it, Bridget knew it was the right thing to do. She studied his eyes, so sincere. “I’d need you with me.” She’d performed without him, loads of times, and on tour, she performed with a full band, too. She’d just prefer not to be alone on the stage, not for her first concert in her hometown since she’d made it big.
“And I’ll be there.”
She took a deep breath, ignored the way her palms were sweating and her heart was racing. He was right. Alex and all their friends were right, too. She hadn’t given back enough, not to this place that was so dear to her heart. This would be a big chance to show that she still cared, to show that she wasn’t so famous that she’d forgotten about the people who’d raised her and nurtured her talent.
And maybe, along the way, she’d be able to prove something to Alex, too. Was it still a good deed if you were doing it to prove that you were a good person? But she didn’t care if the entire town thought she was a good person. The only person whose opinion she cared about was Alex.
She raised her hand. June indicated that she could speak.
Bridget stood, pressing sh
aky hands against her thighs. “I know the festival is supposed to showcase younger talent, but this festival, this town, gave me my start, and I’d love to give back. If the council agrees, I would be happy to perform.”
Later that night, as Bridget lay awake in bed, her phone buzzed with a single text message:
It wasn’t you I’ve been mad at all these years.
For the first time since their post-dinner conversation, her heart unclenched.
Chapter Eight
Then
Bridget fixed them cups of tea while Alex sat on the couch, going over their calendars and budget. This weekly meeting kept them both on track and ensured they didn’t overspend on trivial things, so they could pay their rent and student loans. Even with their tight budget, they had no savings to speak of.
Having to think about money all the time was exhausting, and Bridget felt it in her bones. She tossed the teabags out and crossed into the living room.
Alex accepted her mug with a tired smile. “Thank you. Did you get Saturday off?”
“Uh…” Bridget sat down on Benny’s other side and gave him a good ear-scratching. “Saturday…”
“It’s my dad’s birthday dinner. Remember?”
“Oh. Right. God, I thought that was next weekend.” Sighing, Bridget rubbed her eyes. “I’ll see if I can switch with Jackie.”
“Thanks. I know he’ll be happy to see you,” Alex said.
Bridget would be happy to see him, too. He had a gentle heart, and she was so grateful that he loved and approved of her, just as her own mom loved and approved of Alex. They were lucky that way. Lucky in a lot of ways, but especially that one.
Alex set her tea on the coffee table and peered at her spreadsheet. “I think we should reduce our grocery budget.”
“By how much?” Bridget asked as she ran a hand down Benny’s side. He leaned into the touch. He was such a good dog.
“Mm.” Alex tilted her head. “Maybe ten dollars a week? That should lessen the squeeze for utilities every month.”
That would mean even more cheap meals of noodles or peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Tasty every once in a while. Every day—not so much. Maybe Bridget could pick up an extra shift at the diner every other week. That could help cover the groceries.
Always a Love Song Page 10