Chapter 10
Dane
Walking into the local pub, I feel like I’m going to throw up.
I didn’t eat anything before I came here, but still feel terrible.
Is it possible to puke on an empty stomach?
Maybe I’m about to find out. I’m not sure if I can do this.
But I have to. I have to show Alex that I’m sorry. Have to win him back.
Contrary to myth, not all pubs in Ireland look like something from a Hallmark film.
But some do. This is one of them. It’s small and cozy with dark wooden beams so low you have to duck in places.
On the walls there are vintage Guinness posters and antique fiddles and bows.
There’s even a roaring open fire. The place is packed tonight for the band’s Christmas gig.
A loud buzz of conversation hits me as soon as I walk through the door.
As I look around I realize I know most of the faces here.
One of the drawbacks to living in a tiny town.
I see old classmates, their parents, the girl who works in the health food shop…
I wave at a few people and wonder if they can sense how queasy I feel.
Hope not. The atmosphere is warm and festive.
A huge Christmas tree takes up one corner of the room and about a quarter of the people here are wearing intentionally ugly Christmas sweaters.
There are Santa hats, reindeer horns and tinsel everywhere.
Mum and Dad are here to hear Olivia play in the band with Alex. I go over and join them at their table. They have no idea what I’m about to do.
“Are you okay, love?” Mum says. “You’re pale.”
She puts the back of her hand on my forehead to feel my temperature, like I’m a child.
“I’m fine,” I say, pulling away.
“What do you think of him?” she says to Dad, ignoring me.
“Maybe getting the cold,” he says, scooting his chair away from me.
The band appears and walks onto the tiny stage, which saves me from listening to any more amateurish medical diagnosis.
A huge cheer rings around the pub. I clap my numb hands together, my throat getting dry.
Alex looks amazing in his stage clothes, a fishnet top that shows off his lean muscles and the tightest shiny silver trousers that show off his ass.
Also platform boots, so high he seems almost as tall as me for once.
He’s gone crazy with the smoky eyeliner and purple glitter eyeshadow, so that every glance he throws looks smoldering.
Where does he get the nerve to dress like that, especially in a small town that isn’t exactly known for its open-mindedness?
But he gets away with it. Because he owns it? Because he’s in a band? Or just luck?
Maybe he doesn’t always get away with it. He might get more negative comments than I think. It’s not like he’d run to me to tell me. We’re not friends. Or at least we weren’t until a couple of days ago.
They start their first song and the crowd cheers loudly.
The line-up is Alex on vocals and guitar, Olivia on keyboard and vocals, and a couple of other guys whose names I can never remember on bass and drums. They play a few standards like Snow Patrol, some more edgy stuff that Alex likes, and then a couple of Christmas songs.
Smart. Something for everyone. The crowd appreciates it all, everyone in a good mood and well oiled.
It’s easy to get a good reception when half the room knows your names, but it isn’t just that.
They’re good. Really good. I might be biased, but their quality always blows me away.
They could play bigger venues. I should probably tell Alex that some time.
No matter the song, Alex doesn’t look at me once.
He knows I’m here because he glanced at me once—just once—before they started playing.
But I might as well be invisible now. He isn’t letting me throw him off his game, either.
He sounds as good as ever. My throat tightens with nerves.
Does he hate me now? Or worse, is he indifferent?
After they’ve been playing for about half an hour, Olivia steps up to her microphone while Alex takes a drink of water.
“Now, I’d like to invite a guest to join us,” Olivia says. “My brother Dane. He’s going to sing his favorite song for us.”
The bassist and drummer don’t seem surprised. But Alex looks up sharply, his kohl-lined eyes narrowed. He has no idea what’s going on. Like Olivia promised, she’s kept my plan a secret from him.
I stand up. Mum and Dad stare at me like I’ve lost my mind.
“Dane, what are you doing?” Mum says. “He must have a fever,” she hisses at Dad.
“I’m not sick. I just… have to do this,” I say.
I make my way up to the stage on legs that feel so stiff and weak, like chair legs.
Alex looks at me curiously. I expected some hostility considering how we left things, but he just seems concerned.
That’s not comforting. Maybe I look as bad as I feel: like I’m about to pass out.
He doesn’t try to stop me from invading the stage.
Olivia starts to play the opening notes to Sorry Seems To Be The Hardest Word by Elton John.
Alex’s eyes open wide and then he just looks really confused, as though he’s not sure what to do.
After a moment he joins in playing. I guess they’ve practiced this one even if he wasn’t told exactly why.
As far as microphones go, it’s a choice between cozying up to the drummer, shoving Olivia over at the keyboard, or stealing Alex’s mic.
It’s in the best position so I step up to it, assuming he’s too much of a pro to make a scene and stop me.
I assume correctly. He stands back and cedes the mic to me.
The floor is mine. Now I just have to go through with it.
The first line is: “What have I got to do to make you love me?”
I honk out the line, sounding like a goose.
There’s a huge screech of feedback; it’s harder to control the mic than I thought.
The audience freezes in embarrassed horror.
Shit, I’m terrible. Even worse than I expected.
Alex stares at the ground, his cheeks heating with embarrassment on my behalf.
I make sure not to look at him. I don’t know how public he wants me to be about us.
If there is an us. Olivia spun this as my favorite song, which it definitely isn’t, but the lie was good cover.
Only Alex has to know that this is for him.
I just want him to know that I’m sorry for running out on him after my exhibition match.
And if he wants to listen to the lovestruck aspect of the lyrics too, well… I wouldn’t be mad about that.
However, this would be way more romantic if I was any good at singing.
Olivia keeps playing resolutely, giving me a backing track even though I’m nowhere near the right notes.
The guy on the drums has a fixed grin on his face like he’s forcing himself to walk through broken glass.
The crowd is too polite to boo or anything like that, but it’s obvious they’re willing the song to end.
Unfortunately for everyone’s eardrums, it’s only about to get worse.
It’s time for the chorus. The hardest part.
I aim for the high note: “It’s sad”. I miss by about a mile.
The crowd cringes harder than ever. Alex winces in sympathy.
He comes right up to me, so close our arms touch, so close I feel his warmth.
“It’s a sad, sad situation,” he sings into the mic, hitting the notes effortlessly.
A ridiculously happy feeling claims me. He’s riding to my rescue, even after everything I’ve done to him.
“And it’s getting more and more absurd,” we sing together.
The most absurd thing about this is my awful attempts at singing.
But at least I’m not alone now. Alex has my back.
I let myself get quieter and quieter as Alex saves my ass and sings it properly, with harmony from Olivia and the drummer, who I think wants to kill me.
I still feel stupid and trapped in the spotlight, but Alex is strong enough to carry both of us.
The rest of the song sounds much better as I let my voice die away to almost nothing.
When we’re done there’s a large cheer. It’s mostly relief that I’ve shut up, but I’ll take it.
Alex pats my shoulder, suddenly losing his confident stage persona.
For a moment he looks strangely shy and adorable as our eyes meet.
I walk off the stage as the audience whispers to each other, wondering what possessed me to do that.
If only they knew.
I make my way back to my table feeling a weird mix of humiliation and triumph. Alex doesn’t hate me. He saved me when he could’ve let me fall on my face. Maybe there’s still hope.