“It’s just the alcohol,” I lied.
He dipped a fry in ketchup. “Is this your song?”
Caught up in my own daydreams, I hadn’t even realized it had started to play.
“It is,” I said, the first verse of “Welcome to the Black Parade” by My Chemical Romance filling my ears.
A genuine smile spread over his face. “This is one of the best albums of all time. They’re my favorite band.”
“Mine too.”
They had also been my brother’s. After Brennan died, I clung to anything he loved as a way of keeping a part of him with me.
“There’s this My Chem cover band that plays around town sometimes,” I said. “Helena’s Sweet Revenge. You ever heard of them?”
He shook his head. “No, but that sounds cool. Are they any good?”
“They’re amazing,” I answered. “I never got to see the actual band, but I feel like these guys sound pretty close. It’s been a while since they’ve been here. I wonder if they’re playing anytime soon.”
I grabbed my phone off the table and opened up a browser to see what I could find out.
“If they are, maybe we could go,” he said, his tone casual as though he’d just told me it was raining outside.
I was sure he didn’t mean anything by it, but my body reacted anyway, my heart fluttering like a wounded butterfly. Even with the odds stacked against me, there was hope.
The Helena’s Sweet Revenge website loaded, and I scrolled through their tour updates. My pulse thudded in my ears when I landed on the current date.
What the fuck.
I’d looked only a couple of months ago to see if they’d be in town anytime soon, but the closest venue had been somewhere in Alabama.
“I can’t believe this,” I said. “They’re in Nashville tonight.”
“No way.” He paused with his burger in front of his perfect mouth. “Really? Where? What time?”
“At The Basement in East Nashville. Doors are at nine.”
“We could make that,” he said. “If you want to go.”
It felt like a sign from the universe or Brennan orsomething.
“I do,” I blurted. “But you don’t have to if it’s not your scene. I know you were probably just being nice.”
He snorted, dropping his burger on his plate. “That’s the first time anyone has ever accused me of doinganythingto be nice. I want to go. It sounds like fun.”
He signaled the bartender and pulled his wallet out of his pocket.
“Hey, man,” he said as Freddy approached. “Can I go ahead and pay our tab?”
“Wait, I’ve got mine,” I insisted, digging in my pocket for my card.
“It’s on me.” Luca pinned me with a look that told me there would be no arguing, and I was too flustered to try. “This is the second time you’ve gotten me to do something fun, so I kind of owe you.”
“Oh. Well, thanks,” I managed, averting my eyes to my drink to keep from staring at his profile and chiseled jaw as he chatted with Freddy.
I slurped down my cocktail, and Luca finished his burger while Freddy told him about his cousin’s glam rock band. When we were finished, Freddy moved on to another table, and I rose to my feet, snatching my hoodie off the seat as my brain splashed around in a pool of alcohol.
Guess I’ll be leaving my truck here.
