Chapter Seventeen #2
He hadn’t seen River in person in almost two months, which made it hard to tell if the hollowness to his cheekbones came from life on the road or life after Jem.
His favorite fidget spinner ring sparkled on his finger, but he wasn’t wearing the bracelet that matched Jem’s watch.
Jem touched his wrist and told himself it didn’t have to mean anything.
River pulled out the stool with one foot and slung himself up on it, then adjusted the mic stand. Briefly, his fingers danced over the strings, and he listened with his head cocked. Checking the tuning. Jem had watched him do it a hundred times.
It didn’t usually feel like this.
River plugged in the patch cord. Lara set down her guitar and took her seat at the keyboard. She and River exchanged glances again. Jem hated that he couldn’t decipher their wordless communication.
Then River spoke into the mic. “How you doin’, Steamy Bean?” He kept his voice coffee-shop chill. He didn’t have to command his audience’s attention. They’d give it to him as soon as the music started. “This song is called ‘Real.’”
Jem had heard bits and pieces of the guitar part—it was an upbeat, kind of poppy love song—but not much of the substance.
River sang about McDonald’s french fries and soft grass and sunny days, fishing and cold drinks, TV shows that didn’t make you think too hard.
Dino nuggets and romance novels and Taylor Swift.
Snapbacks and cream-colored sweaters and people who liked things, unapologetically, because life was short and joy was integral to survival.
It took Jem back to a first date in Santa Monica, melting ice cream cones and the Santa Anas: I’m so fucking glad you teach kindergarten. His throat tightened. He lowered his gaze to hide his burning eyes.
Tori reached across the table and put her hand over his watch band. “Jem….”
He shook his head mutely. He couldn’t speak, and he didn’t want comfort. He needed to hear every word.
As Jem had known they would, River and Lara had captured the room by the third verse. Several people were using their phones to take video, or frantically text. Jem hoped no one recognized him, if only to spare River another round of rumors.
The customers applauded when the song finished, not with cheers and whistles, but more than just coffee-shop polite.
“Thank you. We are Road Noise”—River winked at a girl taking video and Jem hated it, hated that he could see through the cheerful front River put on, hated that he needed to do it—“and that was ‘Real.’”
People continued to trickle in. River and Lara threw in a couple covers of other artists, but the Road Noise originals kept Jem riveted in place.
River was pretty in the zone. Jem had seen him work a crowd from the stage, but today he focused on the music, responding to the audience’s energy. His attention barely seemed to stray from his hands and his guitar.
He didn’t speak much between songs, except to credit other songwriters. But finally he lifted his head and said, “We’re gonna end the set with a Fleetwood Mac tune,” and Jem’s stomach flipped. Surely he didn’t mean “Songbird”….
I could never get it right, he remembered River telling him. The emotion of it. Great song, though.
River didn’t look up again until the last refrain. Lara slipped flawlessly into the harmony: I love you, I love you, I love you—
And then River met Jem’s eyes.
Oh fuck.
To his credit, River didn’t falter. He finished the song. Lara leaned into her mic and said, “Thank you, we’re Road Noise!”
But Jem scarcely heard it, or the noise of his fellow patrons applauding. He hadn’t touched the brownie. He couldn’t do anything but watch as River stood and bowed and turned toward the back room.
Tori kicked him under the table. “Jesus Christ, what are you waiting for?” Her eyes were as glassy as his. “That man as good as confessed he still loves you. Go fix it!”
Fuck.
Jem wiped his eyes on the shoulder of his T-shirt and fumbled out of the booth.
Of course, every other patron had stood too. Half of them were wandering toward the stage.
Wait. The word stuck in his throat. He could barely squeak out “excuse mes” as he tried to work his way through the crowd.
There were too many people. He’d never make it before River and Lara left.
Then suddenly he pushed through. River stood only a few feet away, dark eyes caught on Jem’s.
Jem wet his lips. Between them, time stretched out.
“I’m sorry.”
River flinched just enough that Jem knew he’d heard.
Before he could lose his nerve, Jem went on. “Can we talk—”
“Sir, this area is for employees only.”
Startled, Jem realized he’d followed River behind the coffee bar toward what had to be the staff room. He shook his head and made himself focus on the woman in front of him. “Sorry,” he said again. “I just really need to talk to—”
Behind her, a door opened and closed again. When Jem looked back, River was gone.
He closed his eyes. Took a deep breath. Opened them again and forced his voice to stay even.
The woman in front of him in the Steamy Bean apron wore a name tag that said Bella.
She had dark eyes in a broad, kind face, and steel in her spine that let Jem know she wouldn’t make an exception.
“Bella. I’m sorry, I know you can’t let me back here.
Could you let River know Jem wants to apologize?
I’ll just….” He gestured back at the café. “Be here. If he wants to talk.”
He would wait all night if that was what it took.
“The crowd’s gone.”
All things considered, Lara probably deserved sainthood—or at least induction into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame—for putting up with River’s caffeine-and-Jem-fueled spiral for the past forty-five minutes.
River pulled his hands out of his hair. “You said that five minutes ago.”
“Yeah, well, they’re still gone. This place is about as empty as it’s going to get before closing time.” Lara leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “Are you going to go out there and face your demons or what?”
I’m starting to suspect that my demons might actually be in here.
It didn’t help that River hadn’t slept well for the past few days. His dreams were restless, full of vague images that never quite resolved. He knew he was chasing something—chasing Jem—but he never got close enough to stop him from slipping away.
He still didn’t know if they could fix things between them.
But God, for once in his life, he wanted to.
River had only seen him for a few seconds, but Jem looked too pale for California, and his eyes were shadowed like he hadn’t had a good night’s sleep in longer than River, maybe.
His thoughts from the night before flooded back.
Even from across the room, he could see the watch on Jem’s wrist. Had Jem loved him after all?
Did he still? How had the band’s secret, and River’s, gotten out if not through him?
The only way to know for sure was to go out there and talk to him.
“Okay,” he said finally. “Okay. I’m going.”
He still didn’t know what to say. Jem had started with I’m sorry, though, so maybe River could just let him take it from there?
He squared his shoulders and walked back into the café.
A handful of the crowd from the show remained, but they seemed content to let him do his own thing. Lara was right, though; the Bean was at maybe a third capacity. Finding Jem should be a snap.
But as River scanned the room, he didn’t see him.
“Looking for your friend?”
River turned and found Bella at his elbow. “Yeah. Have you seen him?”
She nodded at the corner booth closest to the back of the shop. “He was right there until five minutes ago or so.”
River’s heart sank. He should’ve found his balls sooner. Apparently Jem hadn’t been willing to wait all that long after all.
“Oh, but here.” Bella fished in her apron pocket. “He and the redhead he came in with ran out of here like their pants were on fire, but on his way out, he handed me a fifty-dollar tip and asked me to give you this.”
The plain white envelope read River on the outside, in slightly smudged ballpoint pen. The paper had a battered look, as though someone had been carrying it around for a while—the edges were soft, the corners crumpled.
River ran his thumb over the name. “Thanks.”
He made his way back to the break room in a half daze.
When the door opened, Lara practically jumped on him. “What are you doing? Get back out there!”
River held up the note and shook his head. “He… he left.”
“What? Ugh!” She huffed explosively. “All that fuss and he couldn’t even—”
“Bella, um. She made it sound like it might be an emergency. So.” He collapsed at the table.
Lara sat next to him. “Okay, well, I think you’ve been in suspense long enough. Open it.”
Carefully, River ran his thumb along the seal of the envelope. Until he opened it, it could say anything. It could say I love you or this was all a mistake or have a nice life or you’re a sucker.
As long as it remained unread, River could hope.
But the hope of love wasn’t enough anymore. Not if he could have the real thing.
The paper peeled back, and River pulled out two thin sheets.
River,
I’m sorry I lied about the wedding. It was stupid. But I didn’t tell anyone anything about your music or the Flat Tires. I know I can’t make everything better, but please let me explain.
J.
Behind the note was a bank draft for a huge sum of money—everything, River realized, that he’d ever paid Jem. Not a check, a bank draft, same as cash.
Lara leaned over his shoulder. “Wow. He is really sorry.” She bumped their shoulders together, then glanced up at him. “What’re you going to do?”
River’s heart thudded in his throat. “Probably something really dramatic.”
Lara laughed. “Well, all right, then. Get to it, rock star.”
The problem with being the kind of person who did dramatic things was that the universe did not always follow the script.
Case in point: River had Norm drive him to Jem’s apartment, only to discover Jem wasn’t home—again.