Chapter Thirteen
Teenage Dirtbag
River only had a few moments to lament that Jem wasn’t wearing the shirt anymore—partly because stealing one of his own band’s T-shirts from the merch boxes and throwing it at him also tickled the possessive streak in his id and partly because he was busy letting Jem, via Nat, drag him down the hallway to the green room.
Nat left them there for a few moments to endure a series of catcalls from the band—Lara put in, “Told you he liked that shirt,” and Jem flushed delightfully—and then returned with a sharp knock.
“Someone to see you,” she said, and then the door swung open.
“Oh my God, Jem!” The woman who swung him up into her arms was a tall redhead in jeans and an older Flat Tires T-shirt, vintage from one of their first tours.
River noted with amusement that she didn’t even look at anyone but Jem.
“That was so amazing! What the hell!” And then she took a step back, held him at arm’s length, and raised an eyebrow.
“That is not the shirt you sent me for your pre-show fit check, Jem. You slut.”
Okay, yes, River liked her immediately. Jem ignored her commentary and just said, “Hi, Tori,” confirming that this was in fact his college-assigned lesbian bestie.
Which made the dark-haired woman behind her, whose tiny body seemed to be supporting a watermelon under her shirt, her wife and Jem’s lawyer, Ivy. “Hey, Ivy,” Jem continued, gesturing her inside. “Did you guys enjoy the show?”
“Not as much as you did,” Ivy said sweetly.
A holler went up around the room. When it died off, River prompted, “How about some introductions, sunshine?”
He hadn’t been sure what to expect from Jem’s friends, especially because these ones knew Jem and River’s acquaintance had stemmed from a financial arrangement.
But he didn’t get a shovel talk or even so much as a threatening look.
Ivy just gave him a grateful smile when he offered her a chair and laughed when River joked that she was basically carrying around a guitar she couldn’t take off.
“It’s more like a drum shape,” she said ruefully.
“Tori could tell you the one I mean.” She tapped out a rhythm on her belly.
The effect was definitely a bit conga-like, when she sat like that.
As if summoned, Tori and Jem reappeared from making the rounds of introductions.
Tori perched on the armrest of Ivy’s chair, leaned forward with her eyes locked on River’s, and said, “Okay, this has been bugging me for literal years—the musical allusions in ‘Tombstone.’” And for half an hour, they nerded out about music, ignoring just about everyone else except Lara, who joined in to offer her insight.
They might have gone on like that for another hour, except Ivy yawned like a sleepy lioness, and Jem said, “Oh shit, sorry, Ives, you must be exhausted. I can call you a car if Tori wants to stay…?”
Tori poked him in the side. “Hands off my wife, Anderson.”
Ivy gave a rueful smile and rubbed her eyes.
“Sorry. I really am having fun, I just—” Another yawn swallowed the end of her sentence.
“I just need to go to bed, I think,” she finished.
She shook her head and smiled. “But it was really great to meet you, River. Jem, you should bring him to the baby shower, okay?”
Tori cackled. “Oh my God, please, will you come? Ivy’s brother will shit a brick if Jem shows up with you.”
River turned to Jem. “Oh, the one who hates you?”
“He doesn’t hate you,” Ivy corrected.
Everyone turned to look at her.
“He’s just… super weird about you.”
“I think I have to see this in person,” River admitted. And also maybe mess with this guy a little. Who the hell didn’t like Jem? That was just unnatural. “If it fits in the tour schedule, I’ll be there.”
River, Jem, and Nat walked Ivy and Tori out to their car, and the rest of the Flat Tires’ extended family tagged along.
They didn’t do much of an after-party for home shows since Ward and Eric started families, but with the band’s expiration date creeping up on them, River felt the urge to celebrate.
But he could tell by the way Eric was holding his kid that a band party wasn’t in the cards for tonight.
They’d have plenty of chances on the road in the next few weeks, maybe something special after the next LA show—though River didn’t know how he’d get through that, knowing it would be the last one ever.
Maybe they should have a family picnic or something instead. It would feel less momentous.
But still, not quite right. They’d think of something.
“Hey.”
A touch on his arm. The parking lot had emptied; the goodbyes had been said. It was just Jem and River now, the night settling around them, still full of possibilities.
It struck him once again that Jem was in the same boat he was, or about to be, with his best friend starting her own family, with his mother on the other side of the country. But they didn’t have to be alone.
And Jem looked too good, in a stolen merch shirt and those jeans, to just go home.
River said, “Hey. Let’s go dancing.”
Jem’s laugh echoed through the parking garage. “All right,” he said. “Sounds fun.”
For once, River was up before Jem the next morning.
Not that he was particularly useful. He made it as far as the kitchen and thought about making espresso, and then instead of doing that he opened Uber Eats and ordered a keg of coffee and enough greasy breakfast to give a polar bear a heart attack.
His feet hurt. His arms hurt. His face hurt, a little, like he’d spent too much time smiling yesterday.
Also, he was starving, which was weird. Clearly Jem had spoiled him, if his body was giving him noticeable hunger cues now.
At least he was mostly just old, and not hungover and old.
Jem rolled out of bed just after River brought in breakfast, either roused by the door buzzer or through some very convenient internal clock.
Unlike River, he wasn’t moving like he could hear his own joints squeak when they bent, though his eyes were sleep-hazy and his hair looked like it had lost a fight with an electrical socket.
“Hmm. Morning,” he said, and slid onto a kitchen stool.
River kissed his cheek and set a mug and plate in front of him. “Morning. No swim today?”
Jem squinted at the clock. His glasses, which he only wore at home, were smudged to hell. “No time.”
It was ten thirty. They’d managed about six hours of sleep. “Oh yeah?” He filled the mugs, rummaged in a drawer for some decent forks. “Big plans?”
Jem rooted around in the paper bag and made a happy noise when he encountered the box of hash browns. “Not big.” He stuck a fork through two patties and passed River the carton.
River went right in with his fingers, like the heathen he was.
“Just… lunch.”
From the way he was filling up his plate, he wasn’t going to have much appetite later. “You need to save some room?”
Jem snorted. “Rather be able to make a quick escape.”
“Sounds ominous.” River glanced at him between piling bacon and sausage on his plate. “You need backup?”
Finally Jem looked up long enough to flash him a smile. “No. But I promise I’ll call if it starts looking rough.”
Whatever this meeting was, he didn’t seem to want to talk about it, and at the moment, River didn’t have the energy to drag it out of him. Besides, he had pancakes to eat. “Deal.”
They finished breakfast together and put the dishes in the dishwasher, and then Jem smacked a syrup-sticky kiss on River’s cheek and went to shower off the remainders of last night.
Jem parked the Subaru in a garage a few blocks down from the bistro and made himself take a few deep breaths before he reached for the door handle. It was just Andrew. Jem had known him his entire life.
Well. Maybe he hadn’t really known him these past ten years or so. But that didn’t count since it had definitely been on purpose.
He knew he had to get out of the car or he’d chicken out entirely, so he pocketed his phone, ran a hand through his hair, and started walking.
Fuck, he should’ve brought River with him for moral support. Or Tori; Tori gave the cold shoulder like a goddamn Yeti. Even Ivy would’ve been kind of fun. She was mean when she wanted to be, and no one could say shit to a woman who was going to pop like a balloon any minute.
But in the end, this was Jem’s family shit, and he didn’t think going into it with backup would set the right tone. Now if he got there and dear old Dad was waiting too—
The worrying took him all the way to the patio at the bistro, where a host took his name and informed him the rest of his party had not yet arrived.
She showed him to a table near the corner, which part of Jem noted was convenient.
If Andrew pissed him off, he could just hop the little fence and escape. Easy peasy.
To kill time, he pulled out his phone. TikTok was always a good distraction, and he’d brought his earbuds. But he didn’t even get that far; sometime between the walk from the car and sitting down at the table, he’d missed a text from Tori.
Don’t look now but you’re famous! She’d sent him a screenshot from some celebrity gossip website with a photo that showed Jem in the box with Beca and Amy. Somehow they’d taken it when the words on his shirt were visible.
The headline read Flat Tires Guitarist Makes It T-Shirt Official. Not the most inspired, Jem thought. But they had identified him by name this time—he didn’t know if Amanda had released that information or if someone had recognized him from the school or what. Not that it mattered.
Jesus, he hoped Andrew didn’t read celebrity gossip blogs. Monday at work was going to be interesting enough. He wouldn’t put it past Janice the admin to print out this dumb article and post it in the teachers’ lounge. She loved giving him crap.
He flipped back to the text thread. At least they got my good side.
And then a shadow fell over the table, and Jem put his phone down and looked up.