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“Shut up.”
Shane sticks his ice bag to my forehead. I keep it there even though the cool isn’t soothing at all. I shouldn’t have come. I shouldn’t be here in the first place. The moment Juliette made it known she was in love with him, I should’ve peaced out of her life. She would be all right. Shane would’ve filled every gap that my absence could’ve created, and I would’ve been… Laurel was right all along.
Laurel… I swallow the odd, heavy lump in my throat and shove the ice bag into Shane’s chest.
“You can’t leave,” he repeats and grabs my wrist. “I won’t argue with Juliette. You’re out of the Venom Guitars business, but you have to stick around. She needs you, no matter what she says. You’re her family, and even though I shouldn’t support you, I do agree with you. She’s very emotional thanks to all the baby hormones. Wait out the hurricane. Don’t let it carry you along. You’ll regret it too if things end like this, won’t you?”
“Why do you care whether I’ll regret it or not? I almost bashed your nose into your brain.”
“You’re my friend.”
All I can manage for a while is to gape at him.
Shane grimaces, sniffles wetly, releases my hand, and presses the ice bag to his nose again. “We’re the same. We love Juliette and we want to make music.”
“It’s that simple? You and I both play guitar, so we’re friends?”
“Didn’t you tell me what’s past is past?”
I slump onto my side against the door. “I lied.”
Many, many nights ago, after Shane had a misunderstanding with Juliette and she cried in my arms, I wanted to kill him even though I knew it wasn’t the answer. Still, I went to his place and made myself clear, then I acted all cool and elevated, and what a steaming pile of crap that was. “I lied, all right?”
“Well, unlie it.”
I scoff. “Unlie? I’ll get you a thesaurus for Christmas.” I know what he means though.
“Good. That means you’ll be celebrating with us. Give Juliette two days to wind down then come over for dinner.”
I chuckle, stumped by this plan. “She’ll punch us both, and I don’t think your nose can take another hit. She’s strong.”
“Oh, I know.” He grins. “She’s kicked me before. Either way. Show up when I tell you to. It’ll be often, so brace yourself. And come lift with me. Your music doesn’t sell because rock stars made of toothpicks don’t sell.” He leans his elbow onto the middle compartment between our seats and pretends to adjust the ice bag on his nose, but what he’s really doing is flexing that upper arm of his that’s twice as thick as mine. “Muscles sell. And I’ve seen you eat. Clearly it’s not a caloric deficit that’s keeping you from bulking up.”
I laugh, long and hard, and start the engine. “Get out.”
He does, but he holds the door open for another minute. “You can’t quit Juliette, you hear me?”
It’s beyond tempting to drive away and never come back to this city, but I nod. “I won’t.” Juliette is emotional, but so am I. I’m broken. This isn’t a good time to decide on anything drastic.
Shane appears to be happy with my answer. “Good.”
I return home. On the way there I come up with a plan I never thought I’d resort to.
Step one: learn to coexist with Shane. For real this time.
Step two: fix my relationship with Juliette by accomplishing step one.
Step three: groveling lessons. Apply to step two, liberally, as a preventative measure.
Step four… Step four is hopeless and impossible, so it’s not even a step, but a broken-hearted wish—go back in time, knock some sense into my head, and instead of breaking up with Laurel this morning, tell her I’m hers forever and do something, anything, to help her fall in love with me for good. A wish that will never come true.
Track 32
Other Options
Laurel
(early October)
