7. Delaney #2
“What?” I ask, blinking back at him.
He shakes his head before turning back to look at the road. “Just laughing at the thought of you walking into Eddy’s looking so nice.”
So nice feels like a stretch. A simple black dress, hair in loose curls around my shoulders, and wedge sandals. A far cry from the typical level of glam I’d be rocking on a night out back home.
But as we pull into the parking lot of the dive bar, a sea of denim cut offs and ratty t-shirts greets us, confirming Connor’s speculation.
I’m definitely overdressed.
I roll my eyes in his direction. “Go ahead, say it.”
“Say what?” Connor replies, a coy smile playing on his lips.
“Say ‘I told you so.’ I’m gonna stick out like a sore thumb in there.”
“Not a bad thing,” he says, rounding the hood of his car to open my door. “You look great, Delaney. And since when do you care about standing out in a crowd?”
He’s wearing a crisp white button down, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, paired with well-worn jeans, the perfect mix of put-together and casual.
“You look nice, too, Connor.”
He holds his hand out, always the gentleman, and I let him lead me across the gravel lot.
Eddy’s is the definition of a hole-in-the-wall. It’s a beers-and-burgers kind of place, dimly lit and cozy if you squint hard enough. I have a few hazy memories of coming here as a kid, always with Connor’s dad and older siblings.
The memories settle heavy in my chest, and I let myself smile at the warmth they bring.
Connor catches my eyes as he leads me through the bar, a steady hand on the small of my back. “What are you smiling about?”
“Thinking about coming here with you as kids. Getting in trouble for playing under the pool table.”
Connor tilts his head to the center of the room. “It does make an awfully good fort.”
Caroline waves us over to the corner booth where she and Wells sit. She squeals, jumping out of her seat to pull me into a crushing hug.
“I’m so glad you came! Don’t you look nice? I feel a little underdressed next to you!” She gestures to her cut off shorts and flowy red shirt that makes her jet black hair pop.
Connor laughs, “We just went through this in the car. Y’all both look great. You both look like yourselves.”
Caroline flips her hair over her shoulder, “Taking that as a compliment, Connor.”
I give her arm a little squeeze as I slide into the booth with her. “Thanks for letting me crash your night out.”
Wells looks up from his glass of water. “A much-needed addition to the group. These two bicker too much without a buffer.”
He looks a little more mountain man than history teacher, with a thick dark beard and flannel shirt.
Caroline chimes in, “Wells, if you talked more, we wouldn’t need a buffer,” her voice is dripping with sugar, even as her face pinches with annoyance.
He just shrugs.
“I come bearing beer!” A redheaded bartender saunters to the table balancing a tray with drinks and fries. “You must be Delaney.”
Caroline helps the bartender offload the tray before pulling her into a side hug.
“Delaney, this is my partner in crime, Vic. She’s one of us, even though she declined my offer to get her a job at Ridgecrest.”
“It was a gracious offer, but I don’t think I’m the teacher type.
” Vic gestures to herself. She’s wearing tight-fitting ripped jeans, a tank top repping a band that is notorious for their rowdy shows, and has tattoos wrapping around both of her upper arms. “Eddy’s is more my vibe.
I’ll be manning the bar all night, so y’all just let me know if you need anything. ”
“A toast,” Caroline says, smiling warmly as she pushes a beer toward me. “To your first week at Ridgecrest!”
I raise my ember glass to hers. “To surviving.”
And that’s how it feels, like I’m just surviving. I’ve felt like this for a while now, even before the tour started. Moving through the motions, doing what’s expected of me.
Another wave of exhaustion crashes over me. I tell myself it’s from adjusting to the early mornings, but my heart knows the truth. I’m tired of the bullshit I’ve been dealing with for years. Tired of pretending, but too tired to do anything else, and too scared to try.
Connor meets my eye from across the table and I swear he can hear my racing thoughts. He raises his glass in turn. “To thriving.”
That’s Connor. Always looking on the bright side, always finding the silver lining. Thriving when I’m just doing my best to survive.
“So,” Caroline starts, “what’s the real story? Did you really try to sabotage Molly Jo’s tour or was that just media spin? Was it something else that got you sent here to play errand girl for Mrs. Crane?”
Right for the hard hitting questions, a girl after my own heart.
I shrug. “Just didn’t play by the rules, I guess.”
Caroline stays quiet, clearly not satisfied by my non-answer. Wells and Connor join in her silent stare.
I sigh, settling deeper into the booth. “Yeah, part of it has to do with Molly Jo, but also my management team doesn’t like how I’ve been behaving lately.”
“Which is how, exactly?” Caroline presses.
I bite the edge of my lip, debating what to say. “I mean, I assume you’ve seen what they’ve been writing about me online. That I’m selfish, outspoken, and washed up. So my team, well, mostly my dad, decided we needed to work on my image. Gotta reclaim my ‘good girl’ persona or whatever.”
Caroline nods slowly, taking a sip of her drink. “I’ve definitely read some interesting articles. But sabotaging another performer’s set doesn’t really seem like you.”
It’s oddly comforting to hear that out loud. One week around Caroline and she’s already seeing through the bullshit. But the opinion of one person in the middle of nowhere Tennessee doesn’t hold a candle to the version of me created by the media. Who I am gets decided by everyone but me.
I shrug. “Maybe I stayed onstage a little longer than I was supposed to because I knew Molly Jo was having a meltdown and didn’t want anyone to know.
” I take a long sip of my beer before continuing.
“Or maybe I’m just a brat like everyone thinks, and I wanted to sing some of my back catalogue even though my managers think those songs are shit. ”
Connor sets his drink down, his brows pulling together. “Why do you do that?”
“Do what?”
Connor scrubs his hand over his face. “Feed into the bullshit narrative. Why take the fall and get yanked off the tour? Why put yourself through all this?” He gestures around the crowded bar. “If that’s not actually who you are?”
I bristle, arms crossing on instinct. “Since when are you the expert on who I am? Maybe the fame went to my head and I really am an egomaniac who loves making everyone around her miserable.” I quote a headline from a gossip site I was scrolling before Connor picked me up.
I know I’m being ridiculous. But fuck it, that’s my default mode at this point.
“God, Delaney,” Connor sighs, exasperated, “why are you being so obtuse? I’m trying to stick up for you. If you hate what your management is making you do, who they’re making you be, then why are you playing into their hands?”
That familiar anger starts to build just beneath the surface. Angry that he doesn’t get it. Angry that I even care. And angry that I’m the one who created this mess to begin with.
My phone ringing pulls me from my thoughts, but the name glowing on the screen doesn’t do anything to quell the anger threatening to erupt.
“I gotta take this.” I push away from the table, swiping to answer the call.
One steady exhale, and I’m as ready as I can be.
“Hey, Dad. What’d I do wrong now?”