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A few feet away, Pick murmured, “If you love someone enough, you find you can forgive them for just about anything, because living without them is more miserable than any grudge you could hold.”
I glanced at him, but that was apparently all the sage advice he had to offer. Pushing away from the keg, he patted me on the shoulder and departed the stockroom to let me stew in peace.
Fucker, I wanted to call after him. How dare he even bring the word love into this? I didn’t love Remy. I didn’t even know her. But even as I told myself that, my brain called up all the times we’d laughed and bickered over Call of Duty.
The night we’d shared corn nuts and written a song together.
The time she’d picked me up after my bike problems and how she worried about my dad, and how she’d driven me to Mason’s when I hadn’t been in the right frame of mind.
Making love to her two glorious nights in a row.
I did know her. And I’d liked her.
Plus I missed her.
When I returned behind the bar to actually work, I was no longer pissed, but I still wasn’t sure what I was. Pick had planted a seed in my head and the damn thing was growing.
Could I forgive her?
Could I go back to being just her friend as I’d been with Sticks?
Could I be her lover again? My body stirred at that idea, but I quickly pushed those thoughts aside, because I wasn’t sure of my answers. The biggest conundrum was...
Could I live without her?
When a couple approached the counter to order drinks, I didn’t pay much attention to them. They murmured lovey-dovey shit to each other in Spanish, making me curl my lip with irritation, reminding me how Remy had used Spanish to keep me from figuring out how familiar her voice was as Elisa.
But then the guy said something like, “Eres mi nena, mi chica. Te amo,” and I paused, squinting at him.
Te amo?
Remy had said that to me...a lot, as Elisa. But she’d—as Sticks—told me it meant good job, while the guy who was gazing at his lady love didn’t seem to be telling her she’d done a good job. Before I knew what I was doing, I moved back to them.
“Excuse me.” When they both looked up, I shook my head. “Did you just say te amo to her?”
The man scowled. “What?”
“What does te amo mean?”
He stared at me as if I was insane for even asking while the woman giggled and cuddled against his side, wrapping her arms around his one arm. “It means I love you,” she said.
The breath felt knocked from my lungs as I stumbled a step back, gaping at her.
I hadn’t been expecting her to say that. It just...my mind was too blown to form a proper thought.
Nodding in thanks, I spun away, and I think maybe I fixed their drinks for them, but I don’t really recall doing it.
The rest of that night kind of passed in a blur. I couldn’t seem to concentrate on anything except the fact that te amo meant I love you.
On Sunday afternoon, I stood beside Pick and watched him marry the love of his life in the back reception room of the Forbidden Nightclub. I guess he’d first met her in this building, just as I’d learned he was my brother here, and I’d first seen Remy on stage here.
Life felt as if it had truly begun the day I’d stepped foot inside this place. I’d laughed a lot here, made lifelong friends, formed a family of sorts, and yet...at the moment, it was the last place I wanted to be.
As soon as we walked out of this room and down the hall into the main part of the bar where the reception would take place, I knew I’d see her. I was sure she was already here, setting up the sound system, making sure everything was ready to go. She was dependable like that, or at least the Sticks version of her had been.
And what do you know, as soon as the I do’s were over and the wedding party moved from the ceremony to the after-party, there she was in a dark dress that hugged her curves as she brushed her hair out of her face while she bent over the soundboard.
When someone paused next to me and slugged me companionably on the back, I glanced over, shocked to find Ten staring at Remy too. He heaved in a great sigh. “Yeah, I’d probably cave and forgive that too,” he said before glancing at me and arching an eyebrow, “just like you’re going to forgive me for being an ass the other night. Right?”
