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If I’m going to dip my toes into poisonous water, I had better make it good and fucking hot. I may not honestly believe his intentions are pure, but I’m all about living in the present. Fuck the future. Fuck the past. This is where it’s at. He’s here. I’m here. And if he breaks my heart into a million pieces, then so be it.
Breaking the intense stare, I huff if I can’t handle a look without wetting my damn panties. How am I supposed to handle him kneeling in my office? Shit. I shake my head, turn to the bustling bar, and instruct another worker to stand guard at the door.
“All good?” I shout, leaning over the bar toward Ode. My hips dig into the edges of the bar, and my feet dangle off the floor.
Ode grins, slinging two bottled beers at the men standing beside me. Sweat beads on her brow, but she looks happier than ever with a glow on her cheeks.
“All good,” she says with a wink, taking their cash. She smirks when they walk away, stuffing her tip down the front of her bra. “It’s been a happening night tonight, boss lady!” she says with a genuine grin. “I can’t believe the number of tips I’m getting. You did damn good bringing them in!” She nods toward the ladies rocking out on stage.
Some of the weight eases off my shoulders again, and I swear I can breathe for the first time tonight. Since Ma told me about her diagnosis and how her doctor’s visit went, I’ve felt the entire world on my damn back. Not only do I have to carry our household now, but I have to worry about her health, too.
Ode grabs my hand, squeezing my fingers in hers with affection. The woman staring back at me is not my best friend right now; she’s playing the part of my dotting sister. Of course, not by blood—by bond. “You’re a good manager, Riv. I swear to God, as much as I want you to stay around, you’ll get out of here and live your damn dreams. CaliState, here she comes! You better make room for River Blue West!” A small smile pulls at my lips, and I squeeze her hand in return, letting the terrible full name slide by. Just this time. Because, yeah. I might just live my damn dreams, after all.
“I’ll bring ya with me, babe!” I shout back with a giggle, and she releases my hand, taking another order.
“Nah, bitch! I’m good here. You go live your California dream. I’ll stay here, living my dream,” she shouts back with a grin, winking when the other bartender, Marcus, passes by, giving me a thumbs up.
“Thanks so much for the night, Central City!!” I grin, watching the six-foot-tall red-headed woman banshee screech through the microphone. She stirs up the crowd, promising she’ll be back for the second half of her set after a thirty-minute break.
I smile when she approaches the bar and comes right toward me with intent. She taps the bar, grinning with a wild look dancing in her green eyes.
“You!” she shrieks, pointing directly at me. “This place is amazing!” she says, looking me up and down until her brows furrow. “You know, for a manager, you’re kinda tiny,” she quips with a tiny laugh.
I snort, shaking my head. “Yeah, well, thanks, I guess?” Pursing my lips, I inspect my five-six self and shrug. “Maybe you’re just kinda tall,” I joke back, leaning back until I can look her in the eyes.
She barks out a laugh, throwing her curls over her shoulder. “Touché, little manager!”
Sorcha and I met at a May-Field festival at the end of last year. It was the time of my life getting to see so many unsigned bands performing on ten stages in the middle of nowhere. There was nothing but music, food trucks, and tents. Call us hippies or whatever; I never wanted to leave that place. But it brought me something better and the connections I knew I needed. I met with every band as they mingled with fans and took pictures. I got their email addresses and phone numbers, showing them the card I had made up for the event. It was the event that pushed me into the manager’s position. It was the same event I saw those four bumbling idiots from Whispered Words playing their songs for the first time. They stumbled through everything, looking like nervous wrecks on stage.
Their music called to me, though. There was something about Kieran’s voice that had always drawn me to him. Even under the stars as a kid, he made my insides flip inside and out.
“Hi,” his deep voice echoes the large speakers, echoing across the cornfields surrounding us.
The sun beams down on our sweaty bodies, but we don’t mind. Vendors line up along the outskirts of the festival, selling drinks and food. People have popped tents up in the fields to the left, hiding from the sun, but still able to hear the various acts performing today.
My breaths shudder in my chest, looking up at the tall stage. I haven’t seen any of them since they graduated two years ago and ran off into the sunset together. I had heard they started a band in Kieran’s garage, but I never thought I’d see them perform. Let alone here, of all places.
I swallow hard, rooting my feet to the ground. Raising my hand, I block the sun from my eyes, squinting to glimpse the man who was once the stars to my moon—my other half. The boy who played me melodies for the hell of it and calmed my nerves. Here he is in all his rock star glory, waltzing across the tall, curtained stage.
His jet-black hair plasters to his sweaty forehead as the sun beams down. Lifting an arm, he pumps his fist into the air, capturing everyone’s attention when he rips his shirt off. Holy mother of pickles on hamburgers—he’s ripped as hell.
“We’re Whispered Words,” Kieran rasps with raw confidence into the microphone. “I’m Kieran.” His smirk is visible from a mile away. “This is Asher, Rad…” My heart pumps double time at the hero sitting half-naked behind the drum kit, waving to the crowd with that glorious smirk. “And Callum.” Kieran finishes their introductions, twirling back toward the stage. Not once does he fumble over his words, like he’s done it a million times before.
“And this is our first ever live performance,” Rad interrupts, stealing the microphone from Kieran with a light laugh.
“So, give us a little grace?” Kieran asks, surveying the crowd with a grin.
The crowd cheered, chanting them into their very first bomb of a performance. Kieran had several microphone issues, cutting out his beautiful voice. But they played on, earning whistles and claps after the twenty-minute performance. I knew then they’d become something big.
And that’s how they came here. It’s how I knew they were playing and garnering attention from the public. And why I secretly used my full name to get them to come. I thought maybe Kieran would see it and recognize it, but he didn’t. To him, I was always River Blue—never River West.
“Seriously though, River! You didn’t tell me how many people would be here. I swear we’ve never sold out a show before, and this…this is…beyond my expectations. My guitarist, Libby, swore we shouldn’t come here, but I promised her I had met a Kick-Ass representative in you! And see! Libby, you bitch!” Libby meanders forward with a grin, nodding with a chuckle.
“Yeah, yeah, Sore, you really showed me,” she says in a sing-song tone, leaning against the bar. “You must be the little manager that convinced this bitch to bring us here. Love this place; it’s so unique!” she says, jerking her head to all the décor hung up on the walls and the dark skull wallpaper behind me.
“That is me,” I say with a smile, eyeing Asher as he makes his way beside them, examining them up close with the same calculating stare he always wears. “So, what can I get you guys to drink?”
Sorcha bites her lip, grinning when Libby rolls her eyes. “We’ll both have a Jack and Coke. It’s our on-stage tradition.”
