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Modern technology affords me many other options besides running across town, but I owe him a grand gesture to make him see that I’m finally ready. I can’t let him go on tour without telling him that I love him.
* * *
After racing to get here,the monsoon had gotten the better of me. Not only is my hair plastered to my face from the rain, so is theGracelandshirt I made the mistake of not changing before I left the house.
I thought it was a cosmic sign, the rain telling me I was meant to be here, that I would make it in time. But when I look up at the stage, Adrian’s not here. In his place is Finlay, and he doesn’t look happy to see me.
Finlay narrows his eyes at me as he closes the guitar case. His posture is stiff and weary as he picks it up by the handle and walks towards me.
I’m too late.
Adrian is already gone.
“You look like someone threw you in the river,” Finlay says.
“Nice to see you too,” I say, jutting out my hip defiantly.
“He’s not here.” Finlay tries to squeeze by me, but I don’t move, and his guitar case is too big to fit by.
Cocking my head to the side, I ask, “Why aren’t you with him?” when I realize Finlay’s here and Adrian is not.
His features start to soften, and the carefree Finlay I used to know starts to emerge. Maybe he doesn’t hate me after all.
“Layla,” he scratches his head, “and Emma.”
They’re the reason for his smile, and the melting of his heart towards me.
“I didn’t want to leave them,” he shrugs.
“How did he take it?” I venture to ask.
“He understands.”
Of course he would.
“Do you have time for a beer?” I ask, expectantly.
To my surprise, Finlay nods. “Why not?” he smiles.
“Don’t go anywhere,” I say. “Stay right here, I’ll be right back,” I plead, and Finlay nods with a confused smile.
As I make my way to the bathrooms, I snag a butter knife off one of the tables and take it with me. At the sink next to the towels is the sharpie heart with mine and Steven’s initials, a twenty-year-old reminder of a person that no longer has a place in the dark corners of my mind. I’d let him have too much power over me for far too long. So I take the knife and chisel away at the five layers of paint and plaster on the wall.
A woman emerges from one of the stalls and she sidles up next to me to wash her hands, looking curiously as I stab at the wall with my butter knife. “Good for you, honey,” she says as she tosses the paper towel in the bin before leaving.
Stepping back, I look at my handy work. Only half the heart remains with my initials. I don’t want to erase the person I’d once been; I want to embrace her, and leave her intact. Satisfied, I leave the bathroom, excited that Finlay is still waiting for me.
When we step up to the counter, Gael meets my gaze from the other end of the bar. A smile spreads on his face and he sets to work pouring me a Russian beer. He doesn’t acknowledge that he hasn’t seen me in a long time, and instead just slides the beer to me as if I’d never been gone. He places a blueberry ale in front of Finlay.
“Really, Gael?” Finlay complains, looking at the beer with disgust.
“We both know you can’t handle anything stronger,” Gael teases, laughing.
“Of course, I can,” Finlay grumbles.
Gael looks down his nose at Finlay skeptically. “A guy throws up once,” Finlay holds a finger in the air at Gael, “on the pinball machine, and he’s labeled for life.”
“Once was enough, Finlay,” Gael says, and then saunters back down to the other end of the bar.
