“I’m happy for him and the guys. I really am. But damn it, I hate the thought of him leaving again. I know this is what he wants but it doesn’t make it any easier when he has to go. I’m a selfish bitch, right?” she asked, looking at me for either total agreement or steadfast denial.
I lifted my shoulders in a shrug. “It’s okay to be upset about it, but you need to be supportive as well. Because you know if Jordan gets wind of how you really feel he’s likely to call the whole thing off. Then you’d feel like crap for holding him back,” I told her, proud of myself for doling out what I deemed to be pretty damn good advice.
Maysie nodded. “You’re right, as usual. Guess it’s time for grinning and bearing it. But you’re coming tonight. I need a swift kick in the rear if I start getting too morose about it,” she said, reaching out and squeezing my arm.
Focusing on someone else’s problems made it easy to forget about why I had been so upset when I got home. I could pretend that I hadn’t wanted to gut Garrett alive for being with my friend. I could ignore the insatiable homicidal urges that were unfairly directed at Gracie Cook.
Being needed by my best friend was the best medicine for a conflicted heart and mind.
“Sounds good,” I replied, giving her a smile.
The tiny, hole in the wall dive bar in the basement of a rundown building was the last place I expected Maysie and Jordan to drag me to. This was such a far cry from the crazy club and hopping bar scene they tended to inhabit that I had to look over my shoulder as we walked in to make sure they were still with me.
There was a small stage at the front and only around fifteen or so tables scattered around the dimly lit room. A bar took up most of the back wall and was lined with stools. There wasn’t a pool table or television playing sports in sight. And I for one found the atmosphere to be a nice change.
There were only about thirty or so people there. If this was the meat of their Friday night crowd then I couldn’t understand how it stayed in business. But the sign reading “Benny’s” over the front door had proclaimed it a local treasure since prohibition where it had started as a place to run moonshine on the down low.
Maysie and Jordan walked hand in hand toward a shadowed corner and I trailed behind them like the third wheel they swore up and down I wasn’t. A night spent watching two of my closest friends play tonsil hockey, now that’s what I call a fantastic time. (Cue the sarcasm.)
I was happy to see that I wouldn’t be alone in playing unintentional voyeur this evening. Gracie and Vivian as well as Mitch and Cole were seated at the only large table in the place. Three pitchers of beer had already been consumed and it seemed the party had started way before our arrival.
I glanced around the bar, looking for the one person who was noticeably absent. But I’d be damned if I would ask where Garrett was.
I sat down between Mitch and Gracie. I hadn’t spent an inordinate amount of time with the other guys from Generation Rejects (well aside from the naked kind of time I had spent with Garrett but that didn’t count since I could barely remember it). Cole had always come across as a crude, try too hard womanizer. Mitch was the cute teddy bear with the heart of gold.
I had never thought we’d have anything in common to warrant socializing. They lived in their townie, band dominated world and I was firmly ensconced in the land of academia. But since Maysie had jumped to the dark side, I had found the lines between the two worlds becoming more and more blurred.
Mitch poured a beer into a glass and passed it to me without a word. I inclined my head in thanks and took a sip, grimacing at the taste. Mitch smirked. “We could only afford the cheap stuff. It’s hard to live off playing at Barton’s every other week,” he explained finding my abhorrence of their chosen beverage amusing.