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After all, who better to draw the crowd and raise some college funds other than her boyfriend and best friend from when she was alive?
Not to mention, the Lost Boys—their band—has acquired a pretty big following for being a small, middle of nowhere cover band. People from all over Northeast PA come this way to see them, seeing as they rarely play anywhere else but O’Leary’s. I asked Mason why once, and he just shrugged, and said it’s where they feel most comfortable. “It’s home.”
Home…
Despite having lived in Allentown for the better part of two years now, the thought of Shiloh as home never fails to send a pang to my chest. For as much grief as this town has given me…it’s hard to let go. Nothing short of cutting off everyone I once knew—my family—would free me from this place.
“I see,” Mason says in an unreadable tone.
“What?”
“So, when they summon you, you come running,” Mason says slowly. “But when I do…” His lips twitch with humor.
At his implication, I roll my eyes. “They’re my parents. Plus, I was just in?—”
“Three months ago. And I barely even saw you.” The words are spoken teasingly enough, but I don’t miss the slight hitch in his voice, or the flicker of hurt in his eyes.
I open my mouth. Close it.
He doesn’t have to spell it out—we both know I was avoiding him. Just like the other times I visited Shiloh this last year. Hell, I don’t even think he knows I stayed for a weekend back in May. Save for visiting my sister’s grave—somewhere that has zero chance of running into him—I hardly left the house. Unless it was to go out to eat with my parents in another town.
Clearing my throat, I lift my chin, and before I can think better of it, I say, “It’s not like you can’t come visit me whenever you want.” Now that I have an apartment all to myself—a single-room shoebox of a place, but an apartment nonetheless—I’ve loosened up some. Just a little bit.
“Since when?”
I frown at that.
Despite the small smile teasing his lips, I don’t miss the lingering tightness in his features.
Oh, did I forget to tell him that?
“It’s okay,” he says, but his eyes still say otherwise. He shrugs, and looks around. “Been busy anyway.” And as if perfectly timed, a customer around the corner of where I stand waves him over.
Wincing, I click my tongue, and say to myself, “Yeah…”
It’s not like it’s not true. He has been busy.
In the last year, Gavin’s taken a huge step down from running this place. Mason’s now on the deed, making him officially a co-owner of O’Leary’s Pub.
Not sure what this means for the band, seeing as I’m pretty sure the goal is still to record, and tour one day. I know behind the scenes, they’ve been working on an album for over a year now. But who knows? Maybe this is all it’ll ever be for them, and maybe they’re okay with that.
They make a killing here. The crowd loves the music they cover, as do I—it’s exactly my kind of cover band, unlike so many out there who insist on only playing the same, overplayed shit that’s been sitting on the Billboard Top 100 the last ten years.
But I also can’t help but wonder what they themselves have created.
To this day, even I’ve yet to hear an original song. I don’t think anyone outside the three of them has. And when I asked him once what that was about, he just said, “Not ready yet.”
I let it drop at that, assuming it had to do with Izzy, and the fact he and Shawn were just shy of a year sober when I’d asked.
Plus, I get it. It’s not like I’ve put myself out there really with my art. Hell, I’m not even majoring in it, though lately I’ve been debating changing that. Business is practical and all, but it wears on me. Sure, I still draw…but not nearly as much as I used to, and when I do now, it feels like…like I’m betraying some part of me by not pursuing it.
Mason rejoins me, and leans against the bar. With his arms outstretched, and hands gripping the edge, it’s impossible not to notice the slopes of corded muscle straining his thin white t-shirt, and rippling under the exposed, lightly tanned skin of his forearms and biceps.
He’s got a couple more tattoos since last I saw him—not quite a full sleeve, but enough to stand out. There’s what looks to be a compass now, buried between roses. Some added script woven into the leaves and thorns. I can’t make out what they say. I’m too far away, and I’ve already stared long enough.
Fortunately, Mason’s too busy chatting with the guy seated next to me to notice my ogling. So I give myself one last second to check him out before I tear myself away.
Mason’s always been attractive, but more so in a boyish, devil may care kind of way.
