Page 93 of Backlash

I ignore this rational observation in favor of self-pity. “She can’t even be nineteen. How did she get in here?”

“She knows the owner’s best friend,” Poppy points out. “Or, maybe, she just walked in after them!”

I stare at her. “Is it perpetually sunny in your version of reality? I’d like to visit. The real world sucks.”

“It is not always sunny,” she says, “but it never rains long!”

“Must be nice,” I grumble.

“Nope. You will not let him get to you,” her voice rises, competing with the music seeping through the bathroom door. “Chin up. Tits out. Never let him see you cry.”

A few girls shout their agreement, and I close my eyes. She’s right. Part of being stronger is choosing stronger, even when I’m not sure I really am. It’s the only way that—one day—I will be.

I do as directed, following her out of the bathroom and back into the bar. But now Cyrus isn’t the only one at our table.

“Bloody hell,” Poppy mutters. “I’m going to murder him.”

I don’t know if she means her boyfriend or Sterling. He’s sitting, talking with his old roommate, and I’m struck by the memory of the first time we were here. They sat and talked about something I couldn’t hear that night. Then, the Barrelhouse was a total dive joint. The kind of place minors aren’t carded. Someone had been playing blues that night. That memory is a million miles away from the remodeled bar and the catchy song Kai is crooning on stage.

“Sorry,” Sterling calls, spotting us. “Did I take your chair?”

“Nope.” I swing onto a stool across from him and turn my attention to the stage.

“I should get back to my sister. She can’t be trusted for long.” Sterling tips his head. “Catch you later, Cy. Poppy.” A hand closes over my shoulder and lingers a second too long to be a friendly gesture. “Adair.”

I hate how my name sounds on his lips: regret mixed with longing and something that sounds dangerously like hope.

As soon as he’s out of earshot, Poppy grabs my arm. “His sister!”

I wish this felt like a victory. Once, I might have wanted to meet Sutton, but that was before I discovered she thought I was a bitch, and before I found out about Sterling’s plan.

“It doesn’t matter,” I call to her and turn my attention to the stage, where Kai is performing a new song I haven’t heard. Try as I might, I can’t keep my eyes from sweeping the bar until they land on Sterling. He’s completely absorbed in the show. He’s not looking for me—not wasting his time. Maybe he senses that it’s really over. My gaze flickers away and locks with the girl sitting next to him.

Sutton is staring at me, and, from the looks of it, her opinion of me hasn’t changed. I force a smile. She flips me off. Obviously, we’re meant to be best friends.

The rest of the show, I feel her eyes burning into my back, and I force myself to focus on the stage. I’m not about to let Sutton Ford win this round. I survived Sterling. I can survive his kid sister.

When the set ends, I dare a glance to discover she’s sitting at the table alone, still glowering at me.

“I’ll be right back,” I say to Poppy. She nods, continuing her conversation with Cyrus.

I take a minute to work my way through the crowd, but when I reach the table, she’s waiting for me.

“I’m Adair,” I say. I consider holding out my hand, but that feels a bit too friendly given that she looks like she would bite it off.

“I know.”

I’ve encountered this brand of disdain before. It runs in the family.

“You missed the show,” I say to her.

“It’s hard to pay attention when you know there’s a rapid bitch on the loose.”

“My thoughts exactly,” I say. “What exactly is your problem?”

“I don’t like you.” Sutton takes a long draw off her beer bottle and flashes me a toothy smile. It’s incredible how much she looks like her brother. Right down to the wicked intent gleaming in her eyes.

“You don’t really know me.” I don’t know why I’m bothering to argue with her. She made her mind up about me before she stepped into the Barrelhouse. The texts she sent Sterling proved that.