I sallied forth even though both of them were staring at me, silent.
“I cut a record six years ago. It did well. I toured with it. I did well. Then my drummer overdosed. He was a good guy. A good friend. He’d been with my dad before he went on the road with me so I’d known him years. He was part of the family. It tore me up. On tour, I hooked up with another guy in my band. He was into that shit and us losing someone didn’t make him stop. He wanted me on that trip with him. I wanted nothing to do with it. The pressure was heavy because the life is extreme and there’s a lot of times when you just need something to keep going. We weren’t serious but it was an ugly break. That tore me up too. A lot of the shit I did and saw and had to eat to live that life tore me up. So I left it.”
Jim-Billy and Krystal kept staring.
I kept blathering.
“Dad died of an aneurysm four months ago. No warning except he ate anything he liked and drank all he wanted and didn’t take care of himself, but he ran around onstage like he was still twenty-one, so the doctors said if it wasn’t that, he’d have a stroke or a heart attack and not later, but sooner. He was Johnny Lonesome but to me he was just my dad. I loved him. He loved me. A lot. And I miss him.”
“Jus,” Jim-Billy whispered.
I knew why. I felt the tears brimming in my eyes.
I focused on him because Krystal looked pissed.
“I didn’t tell you because I wanted peace,” I whispered back to Jim-Billy. “Just some time where I was Jus. Not Justice Lonesome, not Johnny Lonesome’s daughter, Jerry’s granddaughter. I wanted you to get to know me. And lots of stuff is happening since Dad’s died and it’s a pain in my ass. So I wanted that peace. I’m sorry I didn’t share right off the bat. But can you understand why I wouldn’t?”
“Of course, sweetheart,” Jim-Billy said immediately.
“Justice Lonesome,” Krystal said over him.
I looked to her and braced.
“Heard Johnny’s daughter cut a record. Heard a song. It was slow and sappy. So, hope you don’t mind, but I gave my cake to your old man. Bought every album he put out seein’ as he was a goddamned rock ‘n’ roll genius,” she declared.
“I don’t mind,” I told her quietly, warmth stealing around my heart at her words about Dad, still braced because she wasn’t sending warm vibes to me.
“Saw him in concert twice. Two best concerts of my life,” she stated.
“Yeah. He was great live,” I agreed.
All of a sudden, her hand came out, palm flat on the bar in front of me.
She didn’t touch me, not even close.
What she did was look me in the eye and say in a tone in my not-very-long acquaintance with Krys I’d never heard or suspected she could take, “His loss was a great one.”
And there was the warmth.
I couldn’t hack it.
Grief was a tricky thing. When we lost Granddad, I’d learned that, for me, it wasn’t those who gave you sorrowful looks, gazing on you with understanding, keeping their mouths shut.
It was the folks who offered sympathy.
It meant the world and it was necessary to have to file away and take out at a time when the loss was less raw and those words could be soothing.
But when the loss was raw, it tore the wound wider.
“Thanks,” I replied shakily.
Krystal knew my kind. She saw exactly where I was at.
“You need a beer,” she decreed, pulling her hand away.
I cleared my throat. “Yeah.”
Jim-Billy moved and he didn’t stop short of touching me. He took my hand on the bar and gave it a lovely squeeze before letting it go.
I gave him a lame smile.
I’d done right, picking that crazy house in this crazy town with these crazy people.
So right.
Krys came back with my beer.
I kept on mission.
“If you guys could, you know, not lie but not spread it around. I’ll share and all. If you know Shambles and Sunny from La-La Land, well, they listened to my stuff so they already knew me, obviously, before we met the other day. But, you know, a little bit more of that peace would work for me.”
“Babe, you’re gonna get peace. Any motherfucker fucks with your peace, they got my buckshot in their ass,” Krystal declared.
My eyes got wide.
“Not to scare you or anything,” Jim-Billy leaned toward me and stage-whispered. “But she ain’t jokin’.”
“Damn straight,” Krystal said and indicated my draft with a quick movement of her ebony-flame-tipped-haired head. “Holler, you need a refill.”
She wandered off.
“Bubba shoulda knocked her up years ago,” Jim-Billy noted, watching her go.
I shook off the emotion their kindness left with me and gave him a grin.
It wasn’t the pregnancy.
It was and it wasn’t.
It was just that Krystal, as hard as she was on the outside, was not stupid.
She, too, recognized bounty.
And it felt fucking awesome she saw it in me.
Chapter Five
Bad Timing
Justice