The guy with the Star Trek poem took the stage and I cupped my hands around my mouth and gave him a loud whoop. He looked at me startled, the group I had just left, watching me in disgust. I pumped my fist in the air.
“Rock it, dude! Star Trek rules!” I yelled, wanting to laugh at the look on Damien’s face.
Without another word, I hurried out of the coffee shop, laughing hysterically the whole way. Thankfully I had driven that night. Perhaps I should have asked Damien if he was cool getting another ride, but I’m sure one of his dickhead friends could give him a ride. You know, after they eviscerated everyone’s poetry and declared they were the coolest kids in the room.
I had realized while I sat at that horrible reading that the person I was striving so hard to be again, wasn’t someone I necessarily liked. I knew I could be rude. I knew I could be overly obsessive when it came to following through on things. But damn it, I never thought I was outright cruel.
But I knew that was exactly what I had been one too many times before. How often had I cut someone down without a second thought? Poor Maysie had been on the receiving in of my vicious tongue more times than I could count and I considered her my best friend! What was wrong with me? I used sarcasm like a shield. Because god forbid anyone see that I was vulnerable under all this bitch.
And how I had behaved toward Garrett was perhaps my worst crime. In that moment, I needed to make it right. I needed to tell him I was sorry. We had been down this road before, when he came with me to Maryland. I had apologized, he had accepted, we had come to a place that felt fresh and right.
And what had I done? Gone and shit all over him again.
I knew to expect him to forgive me was perhaps reaching too high. I was pretty sure that ship had sailed. I knew he and Gracie were spending time together and I had already stomped over enough hearts to get in the way of whatever was developing between them.
But I needed him to know that I realized I sucked and that I was truly sorry.
Because I’d rather he be a guitarist without a plan than a jerk with his life laid out ahead of them.
I broke several traffic laws in getting to Barton’s. The place was packed so I had to park on the street. Walking into the bar, I knew that I stuck out like a sore thumb. My going out gear consisted of patchwork jeans and peasant top, paired with my Doc Martins. I had missed the dress like a hoochie memo.
I strained up on my tiptoes, trying to find Maysie’s dark head in the melee. Finally, I spotted her over by the bar. She was sat with Vivian and Gracie and for a second I considered turning around and hightailing it out of there. But then I glanced at the stage and at the boy who played his guitar as though possessed and I felt the steel in my spine.
Pushing through the craziness, my ears were already ringing from the music. Cole’s screaming vocals were always grating, but tonight, when I felt more than a little raw, they threatened to undo me.
But over it all I could make out Garrett’s guitar and that somehow made it all better.
“Hiya, ladies,” I yelled, once I had reached them. Maysie turned around and gave me a big smile.
“You made it!” she squealed, hugging me. She looked behind me. “And without the ass stain, I see,” she commented, making a face.
“Nice one,” Gracie piped up, giving me an almost genuine grin. “Hey, Ri!” she said, teetering on her stool and I realized why she seemed so relaxed with me. She was three sheets to the wind.
“Hey, G. Feeling good, I see,” I remarked dryly, knowing she wouldn’t pick up on the sarcasm. Gracie tipped her drink in my direction, dumping half of it on the floor in the process.
“You know it!” she hollered. Maysie grimaced and gave me a knowing look. Vivian was decked to the nines and gave me a preoccupied wave as she focused on the front of the stage and no doubt the hordes of barely clothed women jiggling their goods for the charismatic lead singer.