Not that I’ve tried.
Sean and Sonny have become friends over the last few months, and Sean is probably closer to that whole crew than I am.
Which tracks.
Sean was student body president. Captain of every team.
I was the weird band kid that coaches shook their heads over, mourning my wasted athletic potential.
Rusty and Lou keep talking, and something twists low in my gut—sharp and stupid.
It’s nothing.
Two friends catching up.
Still, seeing her so unguarded—when I’ve only seen her with walls up—makes my hand tighten around the plastic shoulder strap of my duffel bag.
I look away, focusing on the crew members nearest me unloading front-fill speakers and subwoofers.
I don’t have time to think of this.
Whateverthisis.
I’m not here for Lou.
I’m not even here for Lucy Jane.
I’m here for me.
My family.
My bar.
No complications.
No distractions.
CHAPTER FOUR
LOU
“Give Ash an extra hug for me,” I tell Rusty. Then I turn to Patty, and suddenly, I don’t know what to do with my hands. Do I reach one out to shake his? Do I hug?—
My pulse stutters at the thought.
Nope. No hugs.
I try to stick my hands in my pockets, but my denim mini skirt, the same style I’ll wear in concert, doesn’t have any. My hands slide awkwardly down my sides, and I recover by patting my legs like it’s a completely normal thing to do. I square my shoulders and hold my head high, fully committing to the leg-patting. Nothing to see here.
Rusty snorts, but my eyes jump to Patty’s. I catch him glancing away, all casual indifference. Then he slips his hands into the pockets of his naturally distressed jeans, and something flares in my gut, like kindling catching fire.
He might not think he’s acknowledging me, but those hands in the pockets? Dead giveaway. They tell me more than heknows. That both steadies me and ignites something I can’t explain. It’s an itch to prove myself—not to the world, but to him. To the guy who went to NECM and who has bands all over the South lining up to play at his bar. Then, the second I have his attention, his approval, I’ll stop caring. I always do.
That’s my pattern: the thrill of the chase. But everyone knows, once you catch the rabbit, it’s time to move on.
I recognize it’s not a healthy view of attachment. I don’t care. It keeps me safe. It lets me stand close to the fire without getting burned.
I pat his firm shoulder. “See ya on the inside,” I say, and with a wave to Rusty, I stride into the theater. I don’t look back, but I feel Patty following three steps behind me.
