by Kylie Scott
"What happened?"
"Same things that's happening now. He fucked it up with the band. He was always screwing around, never taking the group seriously. All he had to do was learn how to hit the fucking drums in time, but was he able to do it?" He held my hand to his chest, heart pounding away against the back of my hand. It felt strong, good, like the man it lay within. "Not a chance. I warned him, if he didn't get his act together then he wasn't coming west with us after graduation. Guess he didn't believe me. Time came and I had to tell him he was out. He didn't take it well."
I sucked in a breath, blowing it out between pursed lips. "Hell. That must have sucked. Now I know why you were nervous about showing up to work at the Dive Bar."
"Yeah." He said no more.
We lay in silence, holding hands, ever so slowly dozing off to sleep. Despite my busy mind, exhaustion called to me loud and clear. Sheets and pillow smelling of Vaughan, the heat of his body right next to mine and a cool early morning summer breeze blowing in through the window. My own personal paradise. God, if anything I was overtired. The weight of my body seemed to have tripled, and yet, it felt light as a feather at the same time. Like I could feel myself sinking through the mattress and floating off into the ether, attached to the earth only by Vaughan's hand. I wanted to float there forever, having sweet dreams.
I wondered how Chris and Paul were doing, living it up in Hawaii. Interesting, the thought could almost drift through my brain without me wanting to go into a berserker rage and set fire to shit. Almost. The time Chris and I had spent together, the wedding that never was, all of it just kind of free-fell through my mind.
Beside me, Vaughan's bare chest rose and fell in perfect rhythm. All of his immaculate ink no more than a blur in the low light. The eye that I could see was closed, his poor battered face relaxed.
"I didn't love Chris like I should have," I whispered. "I think I was just lonely and all the attention ... I don't know, it went to my head or something. But it wasn't real."
He didn't move. Nothing changed. The night went on.
I stared back up at his bedroom ceiling, my old friend. It made as good a witness to my confession as any. "In two and a half days I think I've honestly come to feel more for you than I ever felt for him. It's different, though. I thought I knew exactly how life would be with Chris. What we'd do, how we'd be together. He fit into this mold that I thought I wanted and understood, and you don't."
I rolled my eyes back, moaning at my own drama-itis. Nothing made sense. Everything perplexed me. Vaughan Hewson had my vagina on insta-dial if he could just figure it out. Pathetic, crazy, and all the rest. Hang my sad sore heart to dry and be done with it already. Gah.
"I guess what I'm trying to say is, I wouldn't give up a second with you for all the months of being lied to and manipulated by him, as insane as that sounds. That's all. The end."
There, it was out there, floating around in the universe. The truth as I knew it released.
God, it felt like some mammoth weight, some big cumbersome bastard, had been lifted off me and thrown into the abyss. Down and down into the darkness.
Let the new day begin and all of yesterday's crap go. I was done with it. It hurt, it cost me, and I was done with it. I'd lived, I'd learned, et cetera.
Wisdom came at a bitch of a price. But I'd paid it and now I'd move on.
"Babe," said a voice in the darkness, grasping my hand.
"I thought you were asleep," I said, voice weirdly clogged. I guess throwing off your emotional crap into the depths of space took a toll on your nasal cavities. "Are you in pain? Do you need me to get you something?"
"No. Just stay with me."
"Okay."
Silence.
"Are you drunk?"
"No," I said, feeling myself inside and out. "No, I don't think so. I think it wore off a while back."
"'kay."
Silence.
"Lydia, the band breaking up, having to come back here..." His breathing in the darkness sounded so loud, profound, even. The silence broken and my secrets revealed. Man, it was so always the way with him. I couldn't hide if I tried.
"Yeah," I asked, urging him to go on.
"Meeting you makes it almost worthwhile."
Almost. But his pain, his dreams had taken a decade or more than mine to grow and die. Our situations weren't the same. That was the truth.
"Thank you," I said, holding on tight to his hand.
"Go to sleep, babe. We'll deal with it tomorrow."
"Okay."
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Men were the weirdest.
We'd been scheduled to work from noon until nine the next day. As soon as we entered the Dive Bar, Vaughan oh so casually headed behind the bar, moseying up alongside Eric, who was chatting with his brother, Joe. It was ridiculous. Five rounds with Godzilla couldn't have made the three men any prettier. Busted lips, black eyes, grazed cheekbones, they had it all. Ninety-nine percent of their faces were colored black and blue.
The men all looked at each other ... and nothing.
Absolutely nothing.
They did the manly chin-tip thing then got to work. If the fight had been between women, I'm pretty sure hostilities would have carried on for months. Which just goes to prove my point regarding women being the superior species, and having more commitment to things in general. We stick.
Today, the chalkboards hanging on the walls of the Dive Bar were all about tacos. The menu options were always based on whatever Nell happened to be in the mood to cook. Some staples were always on offer, such as steak, mac n cheese, sliders, and fries covered in every good thing you could imagine. Stuff like that. But outside of those, what might be available was a constant gastronomic mystery.
Got to admire a woman who respects Taco Tuesday, though.
Scrawled across the boards were shredded beef, chili lime chicken, spicy shrimp, and roasted sweet potato with black beans. Yum. I was getting high just off the smell. The Dive Bar was fast becoming my happy place.
I filled my tray with a combination of margaritas, a couple of Coronas, and a shot of Herradura tequila with a slice of lemon on the side.
"All good?" asked Vaughan.
"All good." I looked between him and Joe, smirking just a little. "How's fight club going, boys?"
"Can't talk about it," mumbled Joe.
I laughed and lifted my tray, heading over to serve the order to a group of older couples. They were on their second round of drinks--smiling, relaxing, and just plain having a nice time.
"You were right about the shrimp," said one woman. "It's got a definite kick to it. But the chicken is amazing."
"It's great, isn't it?" I handed her one of the Coronas while her partner got busy sucking down the margarita. "I wish I could cook half as well as Nell. I can't pour milk on cereal without burning it."
"Ha! You and me both."
I grinned. "Can I get you anything else?"
They responded with a chorus of no's and not yet's.
With a nod, I wandered off to check on my other tables. The lunch rush had dwindled and we'd moved into the hang-out-and-drink phase of the afternoon. At one table, a dude read a book with coffee and cake in front of him, at another, a group of girls around my age gossiped and giggled over many glasses of wine.
"Later." Joe passed me by, hands in his pockets, heading out into the street. He'd finished for the day.
"Bye."
Despite the revelry-turned-chaos of last night, today was turning out to be a good day.
... And I spoke too soon. "Hi, Betsy."
"Liddy." The Delaneys' real estate receptionist sneered more than smiled, looking me over with not even a vague sense of delight. "My, how the mighty have fallen."
"Mm. I don't see it that way."
"Good for you." Oh, the lack of sincerity in her words.
The woman was around my age. Much more country club than I'd ever be. When I used to work with her, it had crossed my mind a time or two that she and Chri
s would have made an excellent couple. I could just imagine them posing in matching Christmas sweaters and shit, wearing white linen. They fit. Luckily for Betsy, she'd been in town a hell of a lot longer than me and must have been in on the whole "Chris is gay" secret. Though I doubt it would have stopped her from nabbing the name or the money, if he'd been interested. Maybe admin level had been too low for Chris to go.
Who knew? And, turns out, I didn't care. Yep, my level of fucks given had definitely dropped. Go, me.
"What are you grinning about?" the woman snapped, probably dismayed by my lack of butthurt.
"What can I do for you, Betsy?"
She sniffed, head jumping up so far it's a wonder she didn't get whiplash. "Mr. Delaney asked me to deliver this to you."
A large envelope was shoved at me. "Thank you."
"Don't mention it. Anything that gets you gone. Well, I have to go. Some of us have actual important work to do." Another round of sniffs and doing her best to look down at me. Whatever made her happy. "I hear you're living with the neighbor, some failed musician wannabe."
"Did you?"
"A bit low, even for you."
For the life of me, I couldn't recall what I'd done to piss the girl off so badly during my four months at the agency. Our interactions had always been polite, friendly, even. I didn't need to be universally loved. But if I was outright hated by someone, I should know why.
Maybe she was just Team Delaney through and through. Good for her.
"Is that him?" she asked, pointing toward the bar.
"Yep." He'd tamed the usual mess of his golden-red hair into an old fashioned combed down style. Which he rocked. And the width of his shoulders stretched his plain black T-shirt just a little. God, his poor face, all gray, black, and blue. At least he hadn't been too badly hurt. Something about the tattoo on his neck worked for me. I wanted to kiss it and lick it and do all sorts of things. Things requiring an X rating.
"I can't tell you how great he is," I said, not bothering to face her. My view was far too good. "Vaughan is ... he's awesome. And it's not just the hot body and his whole tattooed rocker bad-ass vibe. Because let me tell you, most of the time the man is a total pussycat. The sweetest guy I've ever met. Loyal and supportive, open-minded, totally trustworthy. We can talk for hours about nothing, just hanging out together. He has his cranky moments, but hey ... don't we all? Not to mention he's sexy as hell. I'm too much of a lady to discuss what he's got in his pants, or how he can make me feel without even bringing that into play. But when the guy can light you up with just a kiss, not even any tongue, you know you're on to a good thing. Know what I mean, B?"
Betsy stared at me, mouth open. I'm reasonably certain a bug flew in. Oops.
"Anyway," I said. "I better get back to work. Oh, did I mention how much I'm enjoying waitressing again? It's different when your friends are involved and you're actually invested in the business emotionally. When you truly believe in the quality of the product, you know? Everyone's working together to achieve the same thing. None of the be-the-shark bullshit, constantly trying to outdo everyone else and get the best sales figures. Plus, you should see the leftovers I get to take home. Nell truly is the most talented chef."
And still, she stared.
"Anyhoo. Didn't you say you had to go?"
"You're ridiculous. A complete joke," she spat, turning on her heel and stalking out. Goodness. And her heels were a good four inches. That was one impressive skill.
"Buh-bye!"
"You okay?" a deep familiar voice asked me from behind.
"Yep. Want to go out with me tonight after work, Vaughan?"
First, a gentle tug on my ponytail, then his lips brushed my ear. Christ, I liked that. Goose bumps ran riot down my spine. It was all I could do not to give a happy-girl moan.
"You asking me out on a date, Lydia?"
"Yes," I said. "I am."
"Babe, I'd love to." His hand rose to the back of my neck, stroking, drawing me closer. Hot damn, did he have the moves. The man turned my mind to mush.
"Something you need to know," he said. "Before tonight."
"What's that?"
"I put out on the first date," he told me with a perfectly straight face. "That okay with you?"
"Oh, I'm counting on it." My face might have been aflame, but then so was the rest of my body. "I mean ... it would have been so awkward if you expected me to respect you for your mind or something. Yikes, how embarrassing. Between you and me, I'm really only interested in getting into your pants."
The corner of his mouth twitched.
"I'm sure you're a nice guy and all but, priorities, you know?"
"I know." The man's smile would have made a nun think twice. I never stood a chance. The way it lit his eyes seemed more magic than biology. "All right then."
"We're all set?"
"We are indeed."
No chance of containing my grin. "Until tonight, Mr. Hewson."
I was not standing idly by eyeing Vaughan's ass as he strolled back to the bar when the stranger approached. Deep inside my brain all sorts of things were happening. Work-related things. I swear. Sort of.
"Excuse me?" A neatly dressed young Asian man with a hipster mustache flashed me a friendly smile. "Miss Green?"
All happy thoughts fled as I snapped to attention.
"Lydia Green?"
"Who's asking?" I replied with my best fake smile.
He pulled a business card out of his shirt pocket, presenting it to me with a flourish. "Brett Chen. I'm a freelance reporter. I was wondering if we could talk about your recent split with Christopher Delaney and the wedding you walked out on last weekend."
"No, thank you." I held his card back out to him.
He ignored it. "As you'd be aware, the Delaneys and their real estate agency are well known throughout the area and have strong connections to some key political figures. But I believe that a sensational story such as yours could have a much wider reach. A national, if not an international one."
"Wow. The opportunity to have strangers all over the world sticking their nose into my business." I waved the business card beneath his nose, growing impatient. "No."
"The money involved could be big, Lydia."
"No. Again."
Frustration furrowed his brow. "As I told Mr. Ray Delaney, I'll be going ahead with my piece with, or without, your cooperation. But I'd very much prefer it was with."
I crumpled up the jerk's business card and about-faced, heading for the counter.
"The police report states you hit Mr. Christopher Delaney. Would you like to comment on that?"
"Nope." Behind the counter was a bin, and in went the journalist's card. I huffed out a breath, avoiding his eyes. "Please leave. I'm not going to answer your questions."
"Multiple sources have confirmed that Chris Delaney is currently in Hawaii with his best man, Paul Mueller." Chen faced me across the counter, going nowhere, apparently. Dammit. "There's been much speculation that Mr. Mueller and Mr. Delaney are in fact secret lovers. Is that the reason you refused to go through with the wedding?"
"No comment."
"Why are you no longer employed by the Delaney Real--"
"No." I held onto the edge of the counter, fingernails pressing into the old wood. On the other side of the room, Vaughan served a customer. I couldn't hear anyone in the kitchen behind me. But I also didn't want to start crying for help, causing problems for Nell. This guy had to give up and go away eventually without me getting vocal and disturbing our customers. He had to.
"Lydia, is it true there was a video of--"
"No."
"What the fuck is this?" Eric stood beside the reporter, his bruised face lined with annoyance. "Who are you? No, don't answer that. I don't want to know. Just get out."
Mr. Chen's mouth worked, his eyes suddenly anxious. "But if I could just have a minute with Miss Green."
"Miss Green clearly wants nothing to do with whatever you're selling. Get out."
"But-
-"
"Management reserves the right to refuse anyone entrance to the business premises. From this moment on, that's you," said Eric, going toe to toe with the man. And winning. "You're harassing a member of my staff. Leave now or I'll be forced to remove you."
"Call me, Lydia," he said, slapping down another business card. "Opportunities like this only come along once in a lifetime."
"Get out," growled Eric.
Flashing a final covetous look my way, the reporter did as told.
Damn. Chin tucked in, I tried to calm both my breathing and my temper. What a bastard. A story bringing attention to the whole damn disaster was the last damn thing I needed.
"You okay?" asked Eric, rounding the counter.
"Yeah. Thanks. I could have gotten rid of him myself, I just didn't want to cause a scene."
A nod.
"What was that?" Vaughan stormed up to us. "Babe, who was that guy?"
"Some reporter." I swiped the second card he'd left, letting it join the first in the bin. "Doesn't matter. Eric got rid of him. Thank you again for that."
"Thanks, man," said Vaughan.
Eric nodded, heading back into the kitchen.
"Hey." His finger curled beneath my chin, raising it gently. "Okay?"
"Just angry." I crossed my arms, pressing my lips tightly together. "Opportunities like this only come along once in a lifetime. Like I should be grateful that the guy I was about to marry was a closet homosexual and using me. It was so much damn fun finding out the first time, let's go through it again! Asshole."
He gave me a small smile.
I groaned. "Sometimes it feels like I'm never going to put it behind me."
"It only happened on Saturday." He trailed his fingers over my cheek, smiling more broadly. "Today is Tuesday. This shit is going to be behind you, it's just going to take a little more time. Three--four days ... is not so long."
I destroyed him with my very best death glare. "Stop being reasonable, Vaughan. Who even asked you?"
He sighed, then came around the counter and planted a kiss on top of my head. I leaned into him, taking much more comfort in his presence than I should have. Soon he wouldn't be there. I needed to learn how to stand on my own. Deal with my own crap. But, gah. Soon was soon enough to stand alone.
"Forget about that asshole," he said, rubbing my back, kissing my cheek. "Think about what makes you happy, like our date tonight or something."
"Okay."
"I better get back over there."