Because of You

Today was exhausting, from start to finish, but there is no way I can miss out on a night at the Red Door Saloon. I practically grew up in this bar. My father brought me here every weekend once I learned how to play the guitar so I could mess around with the band and get a feel for playing with other people and see how I liked it. June is like a second mother to me. Oh, who in the hell am I kidding? She’s like the only mother to me. She always made me homemade cherry cokes with real cherry syrup when I came in, and she’d grab me a bag of Cool Ranch Doritos from behind the counter to go with my Coke, even when my dad would tell me it would spoil my dinner.

I've kept in touch with her over the years, and whenever I come home, I always make it a point to stop by and see her. The bar is the epitome of a dive. It’s a hole in the wall with peeling paint and sticky floors, and if you order anything aside from Jim, Jack, Jose, or beer, you’ll get your ass tossed out on the sidewalk. My favorite part about this place is that it’s filled with regulars who have been coming here since the bar opened. They still listen to their music on 45’s, and if you ask them if they downloaded your latest song from iTunes they’ll reply, “What do you want me to tune?”

It’s the one place in the entire world I can go and not be recognized. They don’t care who I am as long as I thank the bartender and leave behind a tip. To them, I’m just another tourist stepping off of Broadway to get a feel for the real Nashville, and that is perfectly fine with me.

“Baby girl! I was hoping I’d see you here tonight!”

June, my long time friend and the owner of the establishment, shouts across the noise of talking patrons as she makes her way down to the stool I’m perched on at the corner of the bar.

“You know I wouldn’t miss a visit to the Red Door, June!” I smile brightly at her. “Thanks for stopping by the signing earlier. Sorry we didn’t have a lot of time to talk.”

June flings a white bar towel over one shoulder, quickly fixes me a cherry coke, and after setting the drink down in front of me, reaches across the bar to take both of my hands in hers.

“Nonsense, baby girl. I knew you’d be too busy to spend more than a few minutes with an old lady like me. I just wanted to see you in your element. I like watching you do things like that.” Her words are genuine as she smiles softly. “So, where’s Finn at this evening? He’s usually attached to your hip.”

I let out a deep sigh and glance behind me, my eyes finding Finn at a table by himself near the jukebox. We haven’t said one word to each other since the smack heard around the world this morning. We’ve never fought in all the years we’ve known each other, except for a few stupid little squabbles over nothing that were quickly forgotten within minutes. Regardless of our personal life, he’s still my bodyguard, and he has to be with me wherever I go, even if he won’t look at me or say a word. He knew without even asking that this is where I would go tonight, and when I got home after the meet-and-greet and changed into more comfortable clothes, he picked up his keys, walked out the door without a word, started up the car, and waited for me to get in. The ride here was long, quiet, and uncomfortable. I'm glad to be inside the noisy bar and not have to feel bad about us not speaking and how strange it feels.

“Finn is back in the corner making himself scarce,” I tell her with a smile that I don’t really feel as I lift the glass to my lips and chug the carbonated sweet drink that tastes like home. I love June but I don’t feel like getting into the whole Finn thing with her at the moment. I just want to do what I came here to do, what I always do: relax and enjoy being in the one place that truly makes me happy.

“I’m sure there’s a hell of a story there that you’re not telling me, but I’ll let it slide for now,” June says with a wink, leaning closer to me across the bar so she doesn’t have to shout. “It’s pretty dead here tonight, nothing new there. How about you get that pretty face of yours up on stage and do your thing so I can gush all over you.”

I drain my glass and jump down off of the stool with an excitement in my stomach that I haven’t felt since the last time I was here. Nothing ever matches the feeling I get when I’m in this bar. Well, except for having Brady’s body and lips against me the other night, but I’m not going to think about that right now. Brady isn’t here and therefore I don’t have to be distracted.

I walk away from the bar and head towards the small stage set up in the corner of the room. It’s not really a stage, just two steps up onto a platform in the corner of the room that's big enough to hold a small piano and a stool in front of the microphone stand. The jukebox is usually the music of choice in this place, playing anything from Willie Nelson to Guns N’ Roses, but on occasion when someone comes into the bar who knows how to play and sing, June lets them get up on stage, and the jukebox is unplugged for the night. This is the one and only stage where I can be myself. Where no one knows who I am, no one knows the songs I usually sing, and no one expects anything from me. I can sing what I want, and I can finally breathe.

I make my way up the two small steps and pull the bar stool closer to the mic stand. My eyes scan the crowd until they zero in on Finn. Even though we aren’t speaking, and even though what he said punched a hole in my heart that I don’t know how to fix right now, I still need him up here with me, and I know he wants the same thing. I can see him in the back of the room staring longingly at the guitar that's propped up against the piano directly behind me. I stare at him while I adjust the microphone so it’s level with my mouth, and his eyes meet mine. I offer him a small smile, nodding my head in the direction of the guitar. I’m nowhere near ready to forgive him, but this is what we’ve been doing together since we were teenagers.

I watch as he tilts his head up to the ceiling and lets out a deep sigh before placing his hands on the table in front of him and pushing himself up off of the chair. He doesn’t head towards the stage though. Instead, he turns and walks right out the door of the bar. My breath catches in my throat when I see the door close behind him, and I wonder if we’ve done so much damage to each other that it will never be salvageable. Before I even have a chance to wrap my thoughts around his actions, Finn is walking back through the door with a familiar case dangling from his hand. I stare in disbelief at the oblong box, covered in hummingbird stickers, as he uses it to maneuver his way through the crowd and up to the stage. He walks right by me without saying a word and flings the case up on top of the piano, flipping the locks open and lifting the lid.

My brain screams for me to do something, say something, stop him from doing what I know he’s about to do, but I can’t move. I’m transfixed by the sight of him wrapping his fingers around the neck of my guitar, using the muscles in his arms to lift my guitar from its case and bring it out into the open in front of so many people. This is MY secret, MY private love and obsession that I don’t share with anyone anymore. How dare he waltz up on this stage and reveal the one skeleton in my closet that can do me the most harm?

I watch him with wide, unblinking eyes as he cradles the guitar close to him and perches himself on the stool. When he strums a few notes and the sound reaches my ears, it lights a fire of fury under my ass, and I jump down off of my own stool and move to stand directly in front of him.

“What the hell are you doing?” I hiss angrily at him as he lazily continues to pluck the strings.

“I’m accompanying you on guitar. Isn’t that what the whole nod was for?” he asks nonchalantly without looking up.

His careless attitude just pisses me off even more, and I reach out and yank the guitar away from him roughly before he can play it a second longer.

He crosses his arms in front of him and stares me down as I stand there holding my guitar awkwardly, out away from my body like it has a disease and I don’t want to get it too close to it for fear that it will rub off on me.

“This is MY guitar. It stays in MY house and no one plays it but ME,” I tell him angrily, sounding like a five-year-old throwing a temper tantrum. I should just stomp my foot and hold my breath while I’m at it. I don’t care how juvenile I’m behaving. He knows how important this instrument is to me, and he knows why it stays hidden away in a closet where no one can see it.

“Then play it.”

Finn speaks softly, his eyes never leaving mine. The crowd in the bar has disappeared and now it’s only the two of us on stage: two friends who know everything about the other and who are slowly using those things to destroy years of love and trust.

“What?” I ask dumbly.

He nods in the direction of my outstretched hand.

“Then. Play. It,” he repeats again slowly, enunciating each word. “If that piece of wood means so much to you, prove it.”

My hands start to shake and the weight of the guitar is beginning to hurt my arm, so I bring it in close to my body, swallowing roughly and trying not to cry.

“You treat that f*cking thing like it’s the Holy Grail, but you never show it off. You want more out of your life, but you never do a God damned thing to make it happen,” he argues.

“You know why,” I whisper to him angrily. “You know why I can’t do this. You of all people should understand.”

He laughs cynically and shakes his head at me.

“You can’t use Eve as an excuse. Not this time. She’s not here. It’s just you, me, and a handful of people who just want to drink and listen to some good music. Stop being afraid for once in your f*cking life. Stop listening to all of the voices in your head telling you why this is a bad idea and just listen to your heart. Bring out that firecracker I saw this morning that stood her ground, told me where to go, and smacked me across the face.”

Shame washes through me when he brings up what I did this morning. Shame for letting myself get so worked up over his words and letting my emotions take over.

“Wipe that look off your face right now,” Finn reprimands as he unfolds his arms and leans towards me. “I said some things I shouldn’t have, and you put me in my place. I deserved it. End of story. Do you want to always be the woman who does what she’s told or the woman who does what she loves and to hell with everything else? Because now is your chance to make that decision. Who do you want to be, Layla?”

My heart is pounding and the hands wrapped around the neck of my guitar are sweating as I contemplate his words. I know who I want to be. I’ve always known who I want to be. Could it really be as simple as making a decision and jumping off of the ledge into the unknown?

I turn away from Finn and scan the crowd. They are all laughing and having a good time, slinging back drinks with friends, and listening to the music piped through the sound system. They have no idea that a monumental decision is being made up here on this stage.

“Who do you want to be, Layla?”

I want to be free. For one moment in time, I just want to be free.

I clear my throat, my decision made, and perch on the edge of my stool with my guitar resting in my lap, one foot hooked on the top rung of the stool to balance my guitar and the other one planted on the ground. I hum a few warm-up bars softly to myself while I hear Finn tinkering with the strings of the extra guitar, making sure it’s in tune. I see June walk out from behind the bar and over to the jukebox, unplugging the machine and giving me a huge smile and a thumbs up. She glances at the guitar in my hand questioningly, silently asking me if I’m okay, and I nod confidently in her direction. I’m okay. This is okay. I can do this.

In a normal bar when you turn off the music, people will boo and complain and shout profanities. But in June’s bar, everyone just goes with the flow. They continue downing their shots of Jack and sipping their drafts of beer, and once in a while, they glance around to see why the music isn’t playing. They don’t care if a stranger is up on stage, and they don’t bat an eye when the music starts back up again, switching from recorded music to live music. They have no idea the woman standing on the stage in front of them is petrified. They are unaware that for the first time in years, she will be playing an instrument given to her by her father and she's putting her heart and soul right smack in the middle of the stage for all to see and judge.

It’s absolutely perfect.

I take a deep breath and a grin of excitement takes over my face as I wrap my arms around my guitar and pluck a few random chords to get my fingers warmed up. Finn chooses the first song, just like he always does when we’re here, and I smile to myself as he strums the first few notes to Janis Joplin’s Piece of my Heart and starts us off. This is our song―the first one we ever performed together at June’s bar and the first time I ever found out Finn could play the guitar. He is amazingly talented and I never understood why he settled for the military instead of pursuing a career in music. The many times I’ve asked him about it, he just grunts and replies that I'm the star, not him, and that’s the way it should be.

I close my eyes and let the beauty of Finn’s playing wash over me. With my eyes still closed, I forget about the fact that I haven’t played on stage since my father was alive; I forget about the fact that I’ve kept this part of myself locked behind closed doors for so long that I almost lost it. I've almost allowed the one part of myself that I actually love to be snuffed out like a candle.

I gently rest my fingers on the strings and familiarize myself with the rough texture of the wire and how natural it feels to have it brushing against the tips of my fingers. I listen to Finn’s playing with my head cocked to the side, waiting for the perfect moment to jump in with him, like a child standing on the playground as her friends swing the Double Dutch jump ropes. Almost, almost, one more time around, there it is: the perfect opening.

I take a deep breath and join in with Finn’s strumming, flawlessly. The vibrations from the guitar work their way up my hands and arms until I can practically feel them wrapping around my heart and shocking it back to life like a defibrillator. Easing into the first line of the song while I play, I use my real, raspy voice instead of the bubble gum pop voice I usually use.

We make our way through the song effortlessly, and I put everything I have into belting out the song and strumming the guitar, letting the words and the music flow through me and take me away. As Finn closes out the song with the last few guitar notes, he barely takes a pause before jumping right in to the next song. By the time we finish a half hour later, I’ve played and sung covers from Brandi Carlile and Sheryl Crow, to Johnny Cash and Nine Inch Nails. I finally let my eyes scan the crowd after singing the last note of Something in the Way by Nirvana and a huge smile takes over my face as I see the patrons in the bar standing on their feet, hooting, hollering, and whistling for me.

For ME. Not Layla Carlysle the pop singer. Layla Carlysle who sings whatever the hell she wants and enjoys every minute of it.

I tip my head forward in thanks but when I look back up, my heart skips a beat, and I feel my face flush with nerves. Standing right in front of me, with a look of awe on his face, clapping and whistling louder than everyone else, is Brady.

I stand there like an idiot, clutching the microphone tightly with one hand and my guitar with the other, while he shakes his head at me in surprise. I come here to sing when I’m home because I can be anonymous. Having Brady here watching me enjoy what I do without having to put on an act sets a swarm of butterflies loose in my stomach, and I have to let go of the microphone and press my hand against it to calm my nerves. It suddenly means more than anything to me that he likes what I just did. I realize I want to impress him. I want him to think of me as something other than a pop princess who sings shitty songs that a teenager can write in her sleep. I want him to see that I have talent, even if I rarely exhibit it.

As the crowd continues to shout and demand for more, my eyes don’t leave Brady’s as he walks the few feet needed to bring him right up to the platform I’m standing on. He’s so damn tall that it’s strange to be standing above him looking down. It makes me feel powerful all of a sudden, and all I can think about is being above him somewhere else, preferably a bed, where I can be in charge, taking him inside me, and riding us both to the edge.

He crooks his finger at me, and I lean forward until his lips are brushing up against my ear.

“You up on this stage singing your heart out with a voice dripping with sex is the hottest f*cking thing I’ve ever seen. Did you seriously just rock out a Nirvana song? And play a God damned guitar better than Jimi Hendrix?”

I pull away from him just enough so I can look at his face and give him the most seductive smile I can muster, running my tongue slowly across my top lip before biting down on the bottom one. He lets out a heavy breath as his eyes zero in on my lips. I don’t know what’s got into me tonight, but I feel a boldness flowing through me that isn’t usually there when I’m not pretending to be The Layla Carlysle. I want to jump down off of the stage, drag him to the back room, and rip his shirt off of his body. I want to push him against the wall, drop down on my knees, and take him in my mouth. I want to do everything to this man, and I don’t care about the consequences.

“You keep looking at me like that, and I’m going to haul you off of this stage and bury myself inside of you before we even get outside,” Brady groans softly, reading my mind as he finally tears his eyes away from my mouth.

Without answering him, I stand up and lean the guitar against my stool. I turn around and give Finn a nod of thanks for playing for me, for bringing my guitar, for knowing me better than anyone else, and for pushing me to finally take a stand. He smiles softly at me, and it makes me happy to know that no matter what happens between us, he will always have my back.

Turning back around, I jump down off of the stage, grab Brady’s hand, pull him through the bar and out the front door, and wave goodbye to June as I go.

I guide us across the parking lot to Brady’s dark blue Ford F150 extended cab and let go of his hand to walk around to the passenger side and climb inside.

Brady gets in behind the wheel and looks over at me with a confused raise of his eyebrows.

“Did I offend you in there or something? Because―”

Leaning across the seat and hooking my hand behind his head, I pull him towards me and crash my mouth against his, cutting off his words and letting my tongue say everything that needs to be said.

Without moving my mouth away from his, I deepen the kiss and slide one knee underneath me on the seat, pushing myself up, and swing my other leg over his lap until I’m straddling him.

He recovers quickly from the shock of me taking over like this and wraps both of his arms completely around me, pulling my body tightly against him.

Both of my hands go to the back of his head, and I clutch handfuls of his hair in my fists as I sink my body down lower on his lap, thankful that I decided to wear a fun, short, flowing black skirt tonight.

As soon as Brady spoke against my ear in the bar, I felt myself getting wet with need. He groans into my mouth as I slide the wet satin of my underwear against his denim covered erection. The smoothness of my underwear combined with the roughness of his jeans creates the most amazing friction that causes a shiver to run through my body.

With his arms still wrapped securely around me, he slides one hand inside the back of my skirt until he’s palming my bare ass, pushing and pulling me back and forth over him. His other hand moves up my back until his fingers slide under my hair, wrapping it securely around the back of my neck. I angle my head and push my tongue deeper into his mouth, rocking my hips and grinding myself harder against him.

I’ve never been the outrageous type of person that just screws someone in a car in a dark parking lot. My handful of sexual encounters have all been in a bed, soft and slow, and lacking something I never knew was missing until right this minute: all consuming passion. There is a fire burning through my body, and I need this right now; I need him and only him.

I bring my hand down from the back of Brady’s head and wedge it between us, lifting my hips up just enough so I can jerk open the button of his pants and quickly slide his zipper down.

Brady pulls his mouth away from mine and breathes heavily against my lips as I reach inside his pants and pull his erection free, pressing it against my soaked panties and thrusting my hips, moving against him a few more times until he groans.

“We need to stop before I lose my mind and can’t stop.” His voice is shaky, and I let go of him long enough to shove my panties to the side and bring his cock right back where it was, this time having no barrier between my wet skin and his hard length.

“Son of a bitch.” He hisses as I move my hips faster and coat him with my arousal.

“We’re not stopping,” I whisper against his lips as I gently bite down on the bottom one and tug it into my mouth.

Without giving him a chance to protest, my hand slides down to the base of his cock and I angle him towards me. I lift my hips, line the tip up with my entrance, and push myself down roughly until I’m seated fully on top of him and he’s deep inside me.

“F*ck!”

Brady lets out a guttural shout as I hold myself still, letting my body get used to having him inside of me so quickly. He’s big and he’s full, and I’ve never felt anything so amazing in my life. There’s a tingle shooting through my core, begging for me to do something to ease the ache, so I pull myself up the length of him and quickly push back down, both of us groaning in unison.

Brady squeezes his eyes shut tightly and lets his head fall back to the headrest as I begin quickly moving up and down on him, riding his cock, and loving every minute of what I’m doing to him. I never knew I could be this assertive or in control, and it’s a heady feeling— one I never want to end. I want to give him pleasure just as much as I want to achieve it.

He lets go of the back of my neck, and his hand joins the first one, clutching tightly to my ass and guiding my movements, pushing me down harder on him and sliding me up faster until we’re both panting and moaning. I smack my hands down on the back of the seat on either side of Brady’s head and use them to hold on tightly and ride him harder.

We’ve long forgotten about kissing at this point. I’m f*cking him too hard and too fast for our lips to stay in contact for more than a second, but Brady makes sure to quickly touch my lips to his every single one of those seconds. Staring at his face and watching how tightly he clenches his jaw to keep himself in control is the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. Unable to help myself, I lean forward to suck and lick the side of his neck, letting my teeth graze his skin. He hums and moans his approval, and I can feel the vibrations against my lips as I move faster and harder, up and down on top of him.

My orgasm is building quickly; I can feel it pulsing just within my grasp, and it makes me take him in deeper, hold him in place, and grind my hips roughly against that perfect pubic bone of his that hits just the right spot.

My lips continue kissing and sucking at his neck until he speaks softly to me.

“Let me see your face. I want to watch you when you come.”

I immediately pull my head back and stare down into his eyes. I force myself to keep my eyes locked on his even though I want to roll them in the back of my head as I push, thrust, and swivel my hips. He's buried inside of me to the hilt, his hands squeezing and kneading my ass as I move.

“That’s it, baby.” His voice is breathy and soft as he moves one of his hands off of my ass and brings it between us. His thumb finds my *, and he immediately slides it back and forth over top of it. “Let me feel you come.”

His quiet, whispered words and his thumb moving in small, frantic circles makes me tumble quickly over the edge, my orgasm rushing through me so strongly it forces my toes to curl and keeps my body frozen on top of him, only my hips jerking slightly against his hand as I come.

I don’t even know if I’m making a sound or if the shouts and exclamations are all in my head because my ears are ringing, and I can’t think of anything but the way my body squeezes and pulses around Brady. He grabs onto my hips tightly with both of his hands and slams me up and down on top of him three more times until he thrusts his hips up and holds himself suspended inside of me while he curses through his own release.

“F*ck, Layla! Oh f*ck!”

He pulls out and pushes back in roughly one last time before his ass slumps back down on the seat and I collapse on top of him, burying my face into the crook of his neck.

We remain like that for several long minutes, both of us breathing heavy, not saying a word. He’s still inside of me, and I can feel myself pulsing around him. It just makes me want him even more.

The ringing of Brady’s cell phone cuts through the euphoria, and I push myself up from his chest and off of his lap, wincing as he slides out of me. Brady zips up his pants before lifting up his hips and pulls his cell phone out of his back pocket, wrapping his other arm around my shoulders and pulling me against his side.

His kisses the top of my head before he answers, and I have to smile to myself at the sweet gesture.

“Um, yes. She’s right here. Would you like to speak to her?”

I tilt my head back to look up at Brady’s face and he mouths, “Your mother.”

I roll my eyes and sigh, holding my hand out for the phone. He gives it to me and I bring it to my ear, regretting that decision as soon as I do it.





I roll onto my side and check the clock on the nightstand, realizing it’s only one in the morning. I’ve been lying in the king size bed in Layla’s spare bedroom, staring up at the vaulted ceiling for what feels like days, but it’s only been about a half hour.

I flop onto my back with a groan, scrubbing my face with my hands.

Normally during a case, I would be restless from thoughts about the job and what I could be doing better, who I need to talk to the next day, and follow-ups that need completed.

Not this time. This time, my thoughts are occupied with a blonde-haired, blue-eyed enigma of a woman. Every time I drive my truck from now on, I’m going to picture her sitting on my lap, taking me inside of her. I’m going to remember the way she felt wrapped around my cock and the noises she made when she was close to coming.

I don’t know what the hell got into her tonight and I don’t care. I just know that I want to do whatever I can to make that Layla—the confident, sexy, take-charge one—come out to play every single day. Watching her own that stage and the smile that lights up her face makes my dick swell and my chest ache. She doesn’t look anything like that when she does a concert. I haven’t known her very long, but I’ve become very well acquainted with the two different Laylas. One only acts confident and happy. The other actually is.





When I first walked into that bar, I had no idea what to expect. I assumed June invited me there to keep an eye on Layla while she drank away her troubles. F*ck, was I wrong. I walked through the door just as she sat down on the stool behind the microphone. I stayed to the back and kept to the shadows so she wouldn’t see me. I have no idea why I did that. I could have just walked right up to her and asked her what she was doing, but something told me to hang back and watch what unfolded. It looked like she was having words with Finn at first—angry words. I cheered a little inside because she was giving him hell again after the shit he pulled with her that morning. I saw her grab the guitar from his hands and turn around to face to the audience, looking like a deer caught in the headlights, and it killed me to not know what was going on in that head of hers. As soon as she began playing the guitar and the first couple of words left her mouth, I sagged against the back wall with my eyes bugging out of my f*cking head and my mouth gaping open and shut like a fish out of water. I remained that way for the entire thirty minutes that she sang.

After the third song, a cover of Hurt by Nine Inch Nails, June walked over to me.

“Ah, you made it. Good to see you again, Mr. Marshall,” June said with an easy smile as she patted me on the shoulder and brought me out of my stunned stupor.

“What the f*ck is that?” I asked dumbly, my hand gesturing to the stage where Layla currently thanked the crowd and told them she’d be doing a little Sheryl Crow next.

“That, my dear man, is our girl doing what she was made to do.”

I had to forcibly remove my eyes from the woman on the stage to turn and look at June.

“If she can sing and play like that, why in the hell does she put on concerts like the ones she does?” I demand.

June let out a huge sigh and shook her head sadly as she stared up at Layla belting out the first line to Strong Enough.

“I’ve asked myself that exact same question for years, son. I used to think she really liked what she did. I mean, it’s not exactly what her father had in mind for her, but I figured she found her niche in life and ran with it.”

I cocked my head and looked at her quizzically, thoughts of what I’d read in the tabloids and the research Gwen did on Layla coming to mind.

“What do you mean it’s not what her father had in mind for her? He was a record executive mogul who had a talented daughter. Why wouldn’t he have wanted to cash in on that?” I asked.

June took a minute to ponder my question before finally answering me.

“I’ve known Layla her entire life. I’ve been around for her highs, and I’ve been around for her lows. I never butt in or gave my two cents because I always just assumed she was doing what made her happy, and that was all I’ve ever wanted for her. She’s not the type of person to complain or do the whole ‘woe is me’ bull crap, but I figured if things were really bad, she would tell me. She would tell someone,” June explained, wringing her hands together nervously. “This is the first time I’ve seen her in person in over a year since she’s been on tour, and I’ve got to tell you, something is wrong with that girl. I can see it all over her face, and I can practically feel the misery coming off of her.” I watched the emotions play across June’s face: sadness, worry, and fear. Her eyes got misty and she turned away from me towards the stage. I wanted to reassure June that Layla is okay, but I couldn’t.

I glanced up at Layla as she sang about being broken down and not able to stand. She asked the audience, who listened with rapt attention, if they were strong enough to be her man, and I wanted to run up to that stage, grab her by the shoulders, and tell her that I’m strong enough. Pick me.

I knew that was a lie, though, so I turned my attention back to June.

“You’ve heard about what’s been going on with her and the crazy fan, right? Maybe she’s just overwhelmed by that right now,” I told June, knowing as soon as the words left my mouth that I didn’t believe them. Layla was a fighter, even if she didn’t believe it. Jesus, the night he attacked her she demanded that I teach her how to fight back. Thinking back over all the concert videos I watched of her before I even took this job, I realized now that what I saw on her face wasn’t a diva attitude or the look of someone who was bored with her charmed life. It was the look of someone unhappy and searching for a way out.

“I wondered that myself,” June replied. “But that’s not what it is. She doesn’t look like herself anymore. She doesn’t smile easily and that scares the hell out of me. She’s a beautiful girl, inside and out, with the biggest heart out of anyone I’ve ever known. She’s closed herself off, and I don’t know why. Her father never wanted this life for her. He knew how stressful and demanding it could be, and he always told her that as soon as it became a job, you shouldn’t do it anymore. You should only do it if you love it. If it’s a passion that burns inside of you, and you feel like you’re going to die without it. She doesn’t love what she’s doing, and it makes no sense to me.”

Layla closed out the song to a roar of applause from the bar, and even though I didn’t know that much about this June person, I could tell she really cared about Layla. She was genuinely concerned about her well-being, and it occurred to me that Layla really had no one in her life like that right now.

“I think it’s because of Eve. She treats her like shit, and Layla just takes it all without batting an eye. I tried questioning her about it, but she got really defensive and just shut down,” I explained to June as Layla takes a small bow.

“I always hated that woman. She got her claws into Jack and never let go no matter what he did. He was miserable with Eve, but she didn’t care. She just wanted his money,” June seethed angrily, her eyes narrowing and her lips pursing.

“I don’t mean to be so forward, June, but it’s my job. Mind if I ask how well you knew Layla’s father?”

Her face immediately reddened and she rubbed the back of her neck with one hand nervously.

“Jack was a good friend. He used to come in here a lot to get away from Eve. He’d bring Layla when she was just a little girl, and I took to both of them right quick. What happened to him was shameful, and I will always regret not telling someone about my suspicions.”

June’s words set off warning bells in my head but before I could ask her more about what the hell she was talking about, what she meant about having suspicions, one of the waitresses rushed over and grabbed June’s arm telling her two of the kegs were empty and new ones needed to be tapped immediately. June walked away with a promise to talk to me again soon.