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Chapter Thirty-Eight
Lena
It was finally Monday. I thought it would never come. Jackson spent the next two nights with me upstairs, and he put the music to the beautiful lyrics he’d written. It was amazing how he got me. The comfort of his body next to mine while I slept was soothing.
I managed to leave the hammer on the floor instead of under my pillow. I didn’t think I’d be able to sleep without him again. He never tried to kiss me again, but I knew he wanted to. He was the kindest, most understanding man I’d ever met. Well, I didn’t know many, but my track record up until then hadn’t exactly been the best, other than Weezer. But Weezer was just a friend. Not someone I’d ever want to be sleeping next to me. He’d been too much like an older brother, always trying to protect me, and sometimes, I had to admit, worrying about me.
I suppose I should have listened to him when he begged me not to marry Troy. He’d been right but never, ever said those awful I-told-you-so words. I realized that Weezer and Jackson were a lot alike. Except Weezer always treated me like a little sister, and with Jackson, there was never any I-want-to-be-your-brother attitude going on. With Jackson, I always got I-think-you’re-hot-and-want-to-hold-you-next-to-me kind of vibes.
My first day at the bar went by without a hitch. Brodie had me clearing tables and delivering drinks mainly. He seemed pleased to have me there and was more than willing to go out of his way to make me feel comfortable. I’d wondered what I’d done to change his mind about me.
There weren’t very many customers, so the day sort of dragged on, but I was happy to be out and seeing what little of the community I did. Jackson said that Mondays were busier during the football season but assured me that business would pick up again once the hockey playoffs started in April.
The days were flying by, and most nights after work, Jackson let me use his spare guitar, and we played together. We usually played down at his place. But I always insisted that I go upstairs to sleep. And even though Jackson insisted on coming with me, claiming that he knew I slept better when he was there—I couldn’t argue with that—I still wanted to go upstairs to give Brodie the privacy I knew he wanted.
Brodie liked having a variety of women at his disposal. Sometimes he brought them home to spend the night and made no apologies for his actions. Despite his sexual habits, I started to like Brodie, and I think the feeling was mutual. I worried about his promiscuity, but I’d never had the nerve to mention it. That was Jackson’s job, but he only got on his case jokingly, though I knew from conversations we’d had that he didn’t think Brodie was doing himself any favors with how he treated the ladies. He wasn’t mean to them at all. In fact, from what I’d witnessed, Brodie was charming to them but always noncommittal. Brodie was handsome, looking similar to Jackson, so I understood the lure, but I didn’t understand the why. Local girls knew about Brodie’s lechery and still flocked to his side, wanting his attention. They still came home with him, knowing that he’d most likely be with someone else the very next night. Jackson had joked more than once that Brodie should take out stock in one of the larger, well-known condom companies.
* * *
The month flew by,and before I knew it, I was waiting tables and taking orders as if I’d been doing it my entire life. I was having a blast. Before I knew it, one month turned into two, and I hadn’t forgotten about my promise to myself to leave after I’d paid Jackson and Brodie back for their hospitality. I was sad that I needed to leave. It was going to be one of the hardest things for me to do. Jackson and I spent every night together playing songs and then later retreating upstairs to sleep, but usually, the first thirty minutes or so of that turned into a grand make-out session. We’d never go any further than kissing. He’d never pushed me to go any further, and quite frankly, I didn’t think I was ready anyway.
Friday nights were the busiest at the bar, and Jackson usually played with his band. I strolled across the room, a tray balancing on the palm of my hand as Jackson began to speak through the mic and the entire room grew quiet.
“I have a treat for you all,” he began. A smile twitched on his face. We have a lovely guest performance tonight.” My eyes instantly flicked up to the stage to see whom he might be talking about, and he was looking right at me. My face grew hot even before he said my name. Well, he used my fake name, but still. “Ladies and Gents, if you will help me give a warm welcome to the lovely Lana Martin.” My heart leaped into my throat, and I shook my head. “Come on up here, baby, let’s show these folks what an angel sounds like.”
I stood staring at him until someone took the tray from me. I smiled briefly in surprise and looked back up at the stage. People started yelling and clapping, and then I felt a hand at my back giving me a little push. I turned around to see Brodie smiling at me. “Go ahead,” he coaxed as he stood there, holding the tray I’d been carrying.
I approached the steps slowly, taking Jackson’s outstretched hand. I sat on the chair next to him and strapped on the guitar he handed me. “You ready?” he asked. I nodded.
We sang one of the songs we’d been practicing, the Christine Perri and Jason Marz duet of Distance. It had become one of our favorites to sing together and one he knew I was very familiar with. After the song, everyone in the bar stood and clapped.
“See that, baby? That’s for you. A standing ovation.”
I beamed proudly. I’d missed performing so much, and that night made me remember why.
