The Friend Game (Games for Two #1)

Chapter 35

“HANNAH!” A LOUD banging on my front door startles me out of the stupor I’ve been stuck in. A stupor that involves sitting motionless on my couch, staring aimlessly at the ceiling.

If anyone ever asks me to describe said ceiling in explicit detail I’d be able to tell them that it has eight can lights, three ceiling beams, and a rather alarming cobweb in the far corner.

“Hannah, are you in there?” It’s Brooke.

“I do have a key, you know!” And Jill. Holly, who’d started barking at the pounding, gets up from her spot on the floor next to my feet and heads for the door, waiting expectantly for me to let them in.

But I don’t let them in. Nor do I answer them. They’ve been calling and texting me incessantly since they got out of the meeting an hour ago. I left the art room shortly after Luke, both because I didn’t want to get caught crying in there and because I was extremely desperate for the sanctuary of my house.

Or rather the sanctuary of Jill’s guesthouse. Where I am doomed to remain for some time now that I don’t have a job. That’s right. Somewhere in the mass of text messages they sent me it came out that the board not only voted against keeping me on, they also suspended George for a week for his role in all of this. Brooke claims everyone in the room was in an uproar about the decision, but that there was nothing they could do. The board had the final decision.

Honestly, it shouldn’t surprise me. They always were in Lexie’s pocket. Who was I fooling thinking I stood a chance? Even if Marshall hadn't shown up things probably wouldn’t have gone my way.

It’s hard to muster up the energy to care about being out of a job, though, not when I feel so utterly devastated by Luke walking away from me. The ache is so deep that I can’t believe my heart is still functioning.

“Do you think she’s in there?” Sydney’s voice joins the fray. Oh yay. Glad she’s here too. The more people around to witness me falling apart the better.

“Where else would she be?” Okay, Belinda too? Really? “We looked all over the school and her car is out front.”

“I’m getting my key,” Jill announces. I should move. They’ll be coming in soon, and I’d rather they not find me. Unfortunately my limbs aren’t cooperating. When did my arms get so heavy?

Oh right. That’s the weight of rejection.

I hear the sound of the key in the lock, then all four of them come piling into the room.

“Hannah?” Brooke flicks the light switch, and as all eight can lights come on I blink over at them. At least I’m not crying anymore. I ran out of tears about fifteen minutes ago.

I should probably rehydrate.

“Oh, honey,” Brooke says, then they all surround me, talking all at once so that I can only pick out bits and pieces of what they’re saying.

“Another job.”

“Their loss.”

“Chin up.”

“Don’t you worry.”

Apparently they all think that losing my job is what I’m upset about.

Also, I was wrong. I have not run out of tears. Here they come again, bringing snot with them .

Someone starts rubbing my back and a box of tissues appears in my lap.

“I'll get her a glass of water,” Brooke announces—her solution to every problem—and a minute later I’ve got that too.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Jill asks when my tears have finally slowed.

“H-he broke up with me,” I squeeze out, my shoulders heaving. My words jumpstart another round of them talking on top of one another.

“Another guy.”

“His loss.”

“Idiot.”

“Just a third-act breakup.”

This last one is, of course, from Belinda.

Their words only make me feel worse. I don’t want another guy. It’s my loss. I’m the idiot. And my life isn’t a romance novel where my happy ending is just a given.

“Okay, that’s it,” Brooke declares after we’ve sat there for another few minutes. “We’re taking you out.”

“Um, n-no ,” I sputter. “Are you crazy? I’m not going out. That’s the last thing I feel like doing.”

“Which is exactly why you should do it!” she declares. “Believe me, I have been through a lot of breakups and the best thing to do is to pull yourself up by your bootstraps and get right back on the horse.”

“I don’t know, Brooke,” Jill says uncertainly. “Don’t you think it’s wise in situations like these to allow yourself to process and work through your emotions? Not just stuff them down. I think we should stay here and talk all of this out. Hannah, tell me, what is your primary emotion right now? Let’s focus on that and then we can fix this.”

I stare at her. My heart is rattling around loudly in my chest. I don’t want to talk about my primary emotion. I don’t even want to think. I just want to sit here and wallow.

“Anger?” she prods. “Hurt? Sadness? Grief?”

“Grief and sadness are the same thing,” Brooke interjects.

“Maybe a better question is what do you want to do next?” Sydney pipes up. “When I’m upset, making plans always makes me feel better. So let's plan your next steps.”

“Or we could try and focus on the positive,” Belinda suggests. “What are the good things in your life right now?”

“Good idea,” Jill chirps. “You’re obviously welcome to keep living here for as long as you want.” She catches my eyes. “Really, Hannah,” she says earnestly, “stay for as long as it takes you to get back on your feet. ”

Suddenly I’m back in that metaphorical beanbag chair, sinking down into it with no hopes of ever getting out again.

My life has become a series of me getting stuck again and again.

I swipe at the tears on my cheeks.

No. I refuse to be stuck again. Okay, I am once again jobless and boyfriendless, but that doesn't have to define me.

I get up off the couch. I refuse to just sit here. I don’t want to go out with them, but maybe I need to.

“Let’s go,” I grit out, striding shakily forward.

I don’t look back at them, so I can’t be sure, but I imagine the four of them exchanging bewildered looks on my account. They must decide it’s best to just go with it, because when I reach my front door they’re all behind me.

“Are you sure about this?” Jill asks me.

“Shh!” Brooke hisses at her. “She says she wants to go out, so we’re going out.”

“I’m not sure this is going to end well,” Jill mutters.

“Do you want to change?” Brooke asks me tentatively. “Not that the grunge look isn’t in,” she adds, eyeing the two-piece heather gray jogger set I put on as soon as I got home, “but we are going out… ”

“No,” I say flatly. My motivation to be unstuck only goes so far.

“I’ll drive,” Sydney declares; she looks at Jill. “Assuming Max doesn’t mind Caroline hanging out here a bit longer.”

“I already texted him earlier that she was going to be spending the night,” Jill replies.

“Great.”

The five of us traipse out to Sydney’s car and pile in. Brooke in the front, me, Belinda, and Jill in the back.

“Where to?” Sydney asks.

“Do you really have to ask?” Brooke replies.

“Of course, Twist and Shout here we come,” she replies, flooring it away from Jill’s curb.

“Mascara,” Brooke says, holding it back to me. I stare at it. She sighs. “Fine.”

“She looks just fine as she is,” Jill tells Brooke.

“Well, duh. She’s gorgeous,” Brooke says. “I just know that personally I feel more confident in a cute outfit and with at least a little mascara on.”

“That’s because you and I both have blonde lashes,” Jill retorts. “Hannah here got legit dark lashes somehow.”

The two of them bicker back and forth about this to the point that I wish I could go back in time and accept the mascara from Brooke just to shut them both up. Or so I could stab myself in the eye with the mascara wand. If my eye hurt, maybe it would distract me from the aching of my heart .

“Just ignore them both,” Belinda says, patting me on the arm. “I have Connor Wilhelm’s number pulled up. You want me to call him down to Twist and Shout? I’m certain he’d be willing to be your rebound. Or Mark Hancock,” she scans my outfit, then adds, “and you know as a gym teacher he prefers athletic wear.”

I shut my eyes and shake my head. “No thank you, Belinda.”

“Of course, dear.”

After what seems like an eternity we arrive at Twist and Shout. Thursday night isn’t as busy as a weekend night, but still usually attracts a sizable crowd. That’s good. The more people there are here the easier it will be for me to hide.

Sure I don’t want to be stuck, but I already came out tonight. That’s enough.

A first step.

Tomorrow I’ll think about putting on real clothes and mascara.

Or maybe the day after tomorrow.

At least sometime in the next week…or month.

I walk into the piano bar flanked on either side by my four companions. Brooke grabs a table for us in the back, and I sink down into the chair in relief .

Brooke, who knows me too well, orders us a round of Shirley Temples, and soon I’m happily sipping on the cool, sweet beverage.

Well, not happily. But the sugar hit does at least take the edge of the slight headache that was starting to form from all the crying.

It’s just past 9:30, which means the karaoke is starting to pick up for the night. Turns out one margarita is all it usually takes for most women to get up onstage and belt out “Man, I Feel Like a Woman” or some other power anthem. Men are a bit more stubborn, but a couple of beers often gets at least a few of them up on stage to croon Journey’s “Don’t Stop Believin’.”

Right now there’s a trio of women up there doing a very interesting rendition of “Wannabe” by the Spice Girls. It would be funny if I were in a better mood. As it is, I feel nothing but sadness. So I keep sipping my Shirley Temple until it’s gone, then pick the cherry out and start fiddling with a stem like my life depends on tying it in a knot.

“Oh,” Brooke sits up straighter in her chair, “Grant is here.” She frowns and I follow her gaze to the door where Grant, the guy she’s been seeing the last month or two, is entering the piano bar. “I told him not to come,” she says to me with an apologetic glance my way, “that I was with my sisters. I’m sorry. ”

Grant has spotted us and is now heading our way. Lovely. Just what tonight needs, another spectator to my downfall. At this rate I should sell tickets.

“Hey, Brooksie,” Grant says as he reaches our table. Brooksie ? I wait for Brooke to jump down his throat about that horrible nickname, but she says nothing, just gets to her feet to give him a quick hug in greeting.

I exchange a look with Jill who rolls her eyes in Grant’s direction. I know what she’s thinking: Here Brooke goes again.

Brooke is to boyfriends like I am to jobs. They never last long.

All of the men she dates are carbon copies of one another too. Tall, dark hair, successful business types.

I swear she even dated a different guy named Grant before too.

“Mind if I pull up a chair?” he asks. Again I wait for Brooke, this time expecting her to tell him that unfortunately she does mind because her little sister is currently having a nervous breakdown, but again she surprises me.

“Of course not, babe,” she exclaims. “Go for it.”

Okay. She’s being really weird. As Grant turns to grab a chair from a nearby table, I catch sight of Sydney smirking at Brooke. She looks as if she’s fighting a laugh. Meanwhile Brooke is studiously not looking at Sydney.

Something is definitely going on there, but whatever. I have enough problems of my own at the moment to add figuring out Brooke’s weird behavior to the list.

“So is anyone going to actually sing tonight?” Belinda asks, taking a sip of her drink as she flips through the karaoke menu on the table. “I’m thinking about doing an old Olivia Newton John song myself.”

“I think Grant and Brooke should do a song,” Sydney announces a note of mischief in her voice.

“What?” Grant looks appalled at the very idea.

“Oh yeah, we totally should,” Brooke enthuses.

“Nah, I don’t think so,” he says nervously. “Karaoke isn’t my thing.”

“But you were singing karaoke the night we met,” Brooke protests.

“Yeah, but that was just a one-off. Plus, I was with my friends; I’d had a couple of beers.”

Brooke’s smile definitely looks pasted on now. “Right,” she chirps. “I see.”

“Aww, Brooksie,” Grant says with a frown. “Are you mad?”

“No,” she replies quickly with a glance Sydney’s way. “Why would I be mad that my boyfriend doesn’t like karaoke? Not like I own a karaoke bar or something.” She lets out a strangled laugh. “Anyway, I can just do a solo or drag Jill up there with me.”

Jill, who—like me—has been watching this whole exchange with interest, startles to attention. “Yeah, definitely,” she says. “I can get up there with you. Although if we do a guy/girl song it’s your turn to be the guy. What are you thinking—'Don’t Go Breaking My Heart'? Ooh, 'The Boy is Mine'?”

“You pick,” Brooke says. Jill grabs for the second karaoke menu and flips to the back where all the duets are listed.

“Let's go put our name in,” she says, her chair scraping against the floor as she gets to her feet and grabs Brooke.

“I’ll be back,” Brooke tells Grant who gives her a very enthusiastic double thumbs up.

Once they’re gone Belinda starts asking Grant polite questions about his work, and I sink back into my chair, resuming my attempts with the cherry stem.

“You okay?” Sydney asks me in a low voice.

I automatically start to tell her that I’m fine, but I can’t complete the thought. My voice just gives out after the word “I’m.”

My trusty mantra is broken.

Sydney gives me a sympathetic look .

“You want to hear something that will cheer you up?” I shoot her a skeptical look, fairly certain there’s nothing she could say that will cheer me up. “Fine,” she amends, “it may not cheer you up, but it will at least provide you with a temporary distraction.” She eyes Grant, still caught up in conversation with Belinda, then rushes out in a barely audible whisper, “I bet your sister she couldn’t date this guy for three months.”

“What? Really?” Suddenly Brooke’s tolerant behavior makes sense.

“Yup.” Sydney looks quite pleased with herself. “I’m so sick of her dating different versions of the same guy, always expecting one of them to somehow stick, then acting all surprised when she realizes she doesn’t want to keep dating her guy of the month. She needed a wake up call.” Her smile turns devilish. “And she’s getting one. You know how her relationships never last more than a month or so?” I nod and she jerks her head toward Grant. “Well these two have been going strong for ten weeks.” She rubs her hands together evilly. “And she’s going absolutely crazy. I can see it in her eyes. There’s no way she’ll make it for two more weeks and when she fails, I get to pick her next date.”

“Wow.” I glance over at Grant then up near the stage where Brooke and Jill are talking to Donny, the piano guy playing tonight. They must be up next. “That’s actually pretty genius,” I tell Sydney.

“I know.” She sighs happily, then catches sight of something over my shoulder and gasps. “Oh my gosh, Will is here.”

“Will?” I turn to the door and see the worship director exchanging some words with the hostess at the front. My stomach clenches, the sight of him reminding me too much of Luke. I look away quickly. “What is he doing here?” I hiss. I don’t want him here. He might see me and report back to Luke. I can just imagine what he’d tell him too.

She was throwing back Shirley Temples and her eyes were all red and puffy like a pink eye patient who waited too long to get treatment.

I sink lower in my seat.

“I don’t know,” Sydney says. “I’ve never seen him here before.” Her eyes are still fixed on Will like he’s a puzzle she’s trying to figure out. “Brooke and Will,” she murmurs thoughtfully. “Now that’s a thought.”

“And now welcome to the stage our lovely owner Miss Brooke Garza and her sister Jill,” Donny’s voice booms from the piano. “They’ll be performing 'Party For Two' by Shania Twain and Billy Currington.”

I shake my head at my sisters as they walk onstage. Jill and Brooke love to sing duets of all varieties regardless of the content. For them if there are emotional moments, high notes, or Shania Twain is involved they’re game. Serenading each other is a strange but normal thing they do. Last time I saw them onstage together they hit up the emotional moments and high notes, so it makes sense that tonight is a Shania night.

Donny begins to play the familiar tune and my sisters turn to face each other, mics at the ready, but then Jill frowns and fumbles for something in the pocket of her jeans. Her phone.

“It’s Max,” I hear her tell Brooke, since she says it into the microphone.

“So call him back,” Brooke replies, also speaking into her microphone.

Jill looks torn. She and Max have this never ignore each others’ phone calls rule. Having pseudo-lived with them for so long, I know all about it. Jill is the main proponent of said rule, which means there’s no way she’ll ignore his call. Sure enough she shoots Brooke a very apologetic look then says into the mic, “Sorry, it’s my husband. I have to take this.” Then she hurries off stage, tossing Donny her mic as she goes.

Brooke stares after her, her annoyance evident.

“Well, well, well,” Donny actually sounds pleased by this turn of events. “It looks like we have ourselves a karaoke damsel in distress! ”

The crowd cheers excitedly. Brooke shoots Donny a furious look. He may well pay for this later.

“No, no,” she begins, “I’m fi—”, but Donny cuts her off.

“We’re looking for a gentleman, any gentleman at all, to sing with our lovely Miss Brooke here. Only requirements,” he adds as Jerry Dolber—a regular with a penchant for getting up onstage and making people cover their ears—starts to get up, “is that the man in question be able to carry a tune.”

“Oh, Grant, honey,” Belinda exclaims, “you should go up there! Save your lady love!”

“Yes, you should!” Sydney is quick to cotton on to this idea.

“Oh no, I couldn’t,” Grant says hastily. “She should probably just come back to the table.” He looks up at her and starts gesturing with his hand for her to come down. Unfortunately Brooke is too busy looking at Donny and forcefully moving her hand horizontally across her neck in the universal signal to cut it out, to notice Grant beckoning to her.

“Not you either,” Donny says to a guy at a table in the front, ignoring Brooke. “No offense, but your rendition of Styx’s 'Lady' was a bit pitchy. It’s not your fault,” he adds as the guy plops down looking dejected. “Those are some tough notes. Brooke is right next to the piano now, but as she removes the mic from near her mouth to say something to Donny, his eyes light up and he looks right past her, continuing to ignore her protestations.

I wonder if Donny too will be out of a job after tonight. If so, he and I can start a support group.

“Look at this!” he exclaims. “We have a winner!” Brooke freezes, then, along with everyone else in the room, turns to see who it is walking up. I drop my cherry. It’s Will.

He saunters onto the stage with his signature amiable grin on his face. Brooke is staring at him like she recognizes him but can’t quite place him.

“What the he—” Grant starts to say, but his words are cut off by Sydney whooping.

“Yeah, Will!” she shouts, then lets out a whistle.

“Woo!!” Belinda joins in on the cheering. “Go, Will!”

The rest of the room catches on to his name and soon everyone is chanting his name.

“Looks like we have ourselves a karaoke knight in shining armor!” Donny couldn’t be more thrilled. Brooke not so much. She’s standing motionless by the piano, seeming unsure what to do. Will offers her his hand to shake, and she stares at it for a long second before finally accepting it. His grin widens and he uses his grip on her hand to pull her back toward the center of the stage. The crowd loves it.

Donny starts playing the song again, but Brooke looks less than enthused and misses her first line. Luckily the crowd supplies it for her, altering the first name a bit to fit the situation.

“Hey, Willy,” they chant.

“Yeah,” Will drawls back, but Brooke still isn’t having it. The crowd has to both tell Will about the party she’s having and ask if he wants to come. But then it gets to the singing part of Will’s part and Brooke’s head positively whips around as he croons, “Aww, baby.”

Will, as could be guessed based on his profession, has a really good voice. Brooke is a total sucker for a good voice. My kryptonite is athletic prowess; hers is vocal talent. Up onstage her shoulders start to shimmy and she steps closer to Will to declare that she’s having her a party.

Will, who’s been in this since the beginning, makes a show of saying he can’t come. Brooke goes all the way up to him now to convince him he’s going to want to come to this party. He crosses his arms and plays up his disinterest. When she says it’s going to be hot, he drops his arms and gives her his full attention.

They’re face to face now, both singing their hearts out. They make it through the refrain and as Brooke mentions him looking sexy in his socks, Will makes a grand show of kicking his shoes off, then slides across the floor.

The crowd is going wild, and I even see Brooke fighting a smile at his antics.

The only one not enjoying their performance: Grant. His jaw is clenched and his posture is growing tenser with every passing lyric.

“C’mon,” they croon back and forth as the song draws to a conclusion. They’re only inches away from each other now, and I have to say I can’t really fault Grant for being upset. The chemistry between them is palpable and undeniable. If I didn't know better I’d think these two wanted to kiss each other up there.

Donny plays the final notes of the song and for a second both Brooke and Will remain in position, staring at each other, chests rising and falling in tandem. The audience is up off their feet hooting and hollering.

“Give it up for Brooke and Will!” Donny shouts. His words must break whatever spell they were under, because they both hop apart, Will looking a little sheepish and Brooke looking completely mortified. I see her scanning the crowd for Grant, but he’s risen from the table and is stalking toward the exit. Brooke spots him and makes a mad dash after him shoving her mic into Will’s chest as she goes .

“Oh, um,” for the first time Donny sounds unsure, like maybe he’s finally realizing he made the wrong call pushing Brooke into singing a duet with a stranger. He clears his throat. “What a performance,” he says. “Thank you, uh, Will. That’ll be a tough act to follow, but we do have someone on deck brave enough to give it a try.”

Will nods at Donny, setting the mics back in their stands then striding over to the stairs. His grin is gone and he too looks concerned. He stops in the shadow at the bottom of the stairs to speak to the next singer. Thanks to the darkness, I can’t make out who it is, but goosebumps erupt across my arms and legs as some sort of sixth sense kicks in. A moment later my suspicions are confirmed as Luke sets foot on the stairs, bounding up them with the air of someone doing something they’re very nervous about.

“Is that—” Sydney gasps. “It is! Hannah, that’s Luke!” she tells me completely unnecessarily, grabbing me by the arm in her excitement.

I can’t even answer. I’m too stunned. Jill appears in front of me, a wild look on her face.

“Hannah, Max said Luke showed up at our house looking for you. I think he’s on his way over!”

“Wrong,” Sydney replies, pointing up onstage. “He’s already here. ”

“Up next,” Donny begins as Jill whips around, “we’ve got Luke Abbott singing—” Luke stops next to him and puts a hand on his shoulder, halting his speech as he bends down to whisper something in his ear. Donny nods, then completes his introduction as Luke continues to the center of the stage. Jill sits down in Brooke’s vacant seat and shoves mascara into my hand.

“Maybe just a little bit,” she hisses at me. I ignore her. My body is way too jittery to apply mascara.

“Actually,” Donny booms, “my friend Luke has something he wants to say before he sings, so let’s give the man our listening ears!”

Luke gives him an appreciative nod, then speaks into the microphone.