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"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.
