Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
Theo and I get to The Limelight just as the pumped-in music coming from the windows slanted open along the top of the wall fades, replaced by the twang of guitar strings being tuned.
“Thanks for coming out tonight,” Morgan says from inside the club. She sounds confident, eager.
I fight my own nervousness with a full breath. It’s like game day, only I’m not playing. Is that normal?
Scattered applause from the audience. Though muffled, thanks to the cement wall separating us from the stage, I recognize Sofie’s cheer and Sawyer’s hearty “Wooo!” Zach’s on shift tonight or I’m sure he’d join in.
Morgan laughs softly into the mike. “Looks like our fan club made it.”
A few windows down from us on the sidewalk, Wren, Emmie, and Emmie’s mom give a hearty cheer that I hope Charlotte can hear.
She confessed to me how nervous she gets when she sings.
How she’s more confident with her violin and trumpet or singing in a group.
But she said she’d go through with it tonight for Morgan, who has been so busy practicing and scribbling out lyrics and testing out chord progressions for new songs that she’s stayed out of trouble.
“You okay?” Theo asks, shooting me a curious look.
“Fine,” I reply. “Just…stoked for them.”
He gives a half-smile. “Yeah.”
From inside the club, guitar chords ring out. The song is “Ho, Hey” by the Lumineers, only they’ve slowed it down. Morgan’s voice is strong and so pure it kicks my heart up into my throat. Then Charlotte joins in, sending a wave of gooseflesh down both my arms.
Charlotte asked me why I don’t call her Charlie, like everyone else. It’s because her full name sounds like music. Like a harmony I’ll never get tired of hearing.
In the middle of the second song, Crosby has a guitar solo. He’s confident and flawless and even though I can’t stand the guy, his skill is undeniable. Charlotte said Theo didn’t have a problem with her and Crosby being together. Why the fuck does Crosby get the green light? Is this why?
Their final song is fast and catchy, and from inside the club, people start clapping along. Then an earthy, rich melody from a violin cuts through the rest, and my heart starts to hum inside my chest.
It’s Charlotte.
Now I really wish I was inside. I’ve never heard violin like this—the notes precise and rich, quick and fun.
I close my eyes so I can take it all in, but the song ends too soon.
I jam my fingers against my curled tongue and whistle.
I’m sure Charlotte can’t hear us over the crowd inside, but it doesn’t stop me from trying.
Morgan calls out a thank you over the applause. “We’re Boxcar Doves.”
A bit later, after Sawyer, Sofie, and her friends join us outside, Charlotte, Morgan, Crosby, and his dad emerge from the club, and everyone heads to the diner for celebratory milkshakes.
Charlotte’s distracted by her friends crowding around her, giving me a moment to take in how pretty she looks.
Her silky hair hangs in loose curls and her glossy lips match her raspberry red shirt.
I’ve never seen her wear a skirt before, and it’s doing things to me. Or maybe it’s the cowgirl boots. Fuck.
I try to be casual when I slip in next to Charlotte. She’s walking fast, like always—even in that skirt—her boots tapping the pavement. “You guys sounded really good.”
She flashes me a smile. “Thanks for coming, QB.”
I laugh at the silly nickname she likes to taunt me with. “Of course. Think I’d miss your big night?”
“Big? Ha.” She laughs. It’s high and flighty, like those jitters she told me about are still working through her bloodstream. “There were like two dozen people in the audience.”
“It’s a start, though, right?”
She scoffs. “I was so nervous, but Morgan was a force up there. I just lassoed her star and hung on for dear life.”
“Did you write that song with the violin?”
“Crosby helped a little.”
Hearing his name is like a bucket of cold water to my face. What’s worse, he practically skips over. He and Charlotte start volleying compliments at each other, to the point that I feel sick.
Five minutes later, we’re crowding into the diner’s entrance, the scent of French fry grease and sweet apples heavy in the air.
The tables along the left wall are low-backed booths with built-in bench seats.
The adults file into the closest table and the rest of us migrate toward the next open one closer to the back.
I manage to slip in next to Charlotte, with Theo and Crosby across from us, and Emmie, Wren, and Morgan crowding in.
It’s a tight squeeze but nobody seems to mind—including me.
Charlotte’s thigh presses against mine. For all the time I’ve spent with her, this is as close to her as I’ve ever been.
Including that stick shift lesson in my truck.
I so badly wanted to kiss her then, and now, with her body heat radiating through our clothes, it takes all of my self-control not to reach for her hand under the table, or wrap my arm across her shoulders .
I want to know what it’s like to kiss her, to pull her close, to be someone she can count on. She and Theo and their dad are all so worried about Morgan…who’s worrying about Charlotte?
We all order milkshakes and fries and the mood is boisterous enough that we get stern looks from the staff and some of the other customers. I keep my hands in my lap, and fold my thumbs into my fists.
A group of kids enters the diner. It’s a group of upperclassmen, two basketball players and two others I don’t know. I give them a nod as they pass. One of the guys does a double take of Morgan. Thankfully, Theo is too busy playing a thumb war with Wren and doesn’t notice.
“Nic thinks Boxcar Doves should record a demo,” Morgan says, oblivious to the guy. “He’s going to be at Creekside for their Midsummer Night’s Jam. He said he could try to get us a spot.”
Across the table from me, Theo frowns. “He said that?”
Morgan’s face lights up. “Yep. He’s got a studio he said we could use.”
Next to me, Charlotte stiffens. “Let’s ask Dad about it first.”
Morgan gives a frustrated huff.
Our milkshakes and fries arrive. “So what’s next for you guys?” Emmie asks Charlotte while squirting a blob of ketchup onto the corner of one of the fries baskets.
Charlotte eyes Morgan. “Nothing with Boxcar Doves, but Morgan and I are singing at a couple of holiday parties.”
Crosby pokes his straw into his milkshake. “Our quartet is performing at the tree lighting downtown, and at the Finn River Inn on Sunday afternoons in December.”
I’m back to clenching my fists under the table. Because every time I picture Crosby spending time with Charlotte, I feel like hitting something.
“That’ll be fun,” Wren says, swiping a French fry through the sauce and popping it into her mouth.
When we’ve scarfed the last fry and our milkshakes are drained, Theo goes to the counter to ask for the check. Because my back is to him, I only hear the grunt of surprise a split second before the unmistakable crack of a fist.
I’m shoving out of the booth and racing over before it registers what I’m about to do. Theo’s just hit a guy—someone from that group that came in earlier—and the three others are caught in surprise.
“That’s my sister, asshole!” Theo yells as the guy barrels into him, pinning him to the wall.
Oh shit. I know I should do something to stop this, but those words are like fuel. Did one of these assholes make some stupid comment about Charlotte? Not that I’m going to take time to ask details right now—Theo needs me.
Screams and shouts fill the air as I grab the guy and yank him back.
He whirls around but someone out of sight grabs my shoulder and tries to tear me away.
Something inside me snaps.
I swing hard, and my fist lands. Pain erupts in my bones, but there’s a surge of power to my muscles. A swift and addicting release of emotions I didn’t know I was holding inside.
The shouting gets louder and people rush at us, pulling us apart. Unspent adrenaline floods my veins, and it takes me too long to stop fighting my way free.
“What the hell?” A big-bellied man wearing a white apron drags me toward the back of the diner, panting. “This ain’t no boxing ring.”
Red and blue flashing lights swing outside the diner’s front windows, and I release a shaky breath. Shit. Zach’s on duty tonight, and that is no doubt his SUV that just pulled up.
Fighting was bad enough. Facing my brother is going to be ten times worse.
Zach hands me the ice pack from our freezer and leans back against the counter. He might be my rock-steady brother, but towering over me in his dark green uniform, tool belt, and vest, he’s intimidating as hell. “Start talking,” he says, his jaw muscles flexing.
I drop onto the kitchen stool and drape the ice pack across my throbbing knuckles. “I wasn’t trying to start a fight.”
“So you tried to end it instead?” he replies, staring me down.
“Theo was outnumbered! I couldn’t just stand there.” My angry voice echoes in the empty kitchen. At least Sofie is driving Emmie and Wren home right now, so we’re not keeping her up.
Zach runs a hand through his hair. “You could have been seriously hurt. Or what if one of the girls got too close and ended up hurt by accident?”
“I would never hit a girl.”
He shakes his head. “Fighting is dangerous, Will.” He nods at my hand. “And risky. Kinda hard to throw with a broken hand.”
“It’s not broken.”
“Thank fuck.” He slams his hands to his hips. “You know what happens if you fight at school? It’s an immediate five-day suspension. Not only does that put you in a very bad light, Coach would bench you like that.” He snaps his fingers.
“I know.”
“Do you? Because I’m not seeing a whole lot of remorse.”
My shoulders sag. “I’m sorry.” I don’t mean to be defiant. And I know I screwed up. But the owner didn’t press charges and nobody got hurt—not really. Zach’s making this into a bigger deal than it needs to be.
“When we were little, we couldn’t fight Kristov,” I say, keeping my eyes on my hands. “He hurt you.”
A flicker of vulnerability shines in his eyes, but he shakes his head. “That’s in the past. Kristov’s behind bars. ”
Doesn’t he understand? We were powerless then.
We’re not powerless now.
“The scout from University of Oregon is coming to see you play again next week,” he says. “What do you think happens to that opportunity if you’re warming the bench?”
Longing and fear twist together inside me, making my ribs feel too small for my chest. Oregon has been my top school since I was ten. They consistently lead the pack, draw the best players. Getting picked up by them is my best chance at a career in the NFL, my dream.
I shift the ice pack. “That guy made a comment about Morgan. He didn’t know Theo was her brother. He…” I sigh. “...wanted a turn with her.”
Zach’s eyes darken. “That’s what he said?”
I nod.
“Shit.” He stares at his boots.
“I know fighting is wrong, but can you honestly say you would have just stood there if Sawyer or Hutch jumped some asshole for saying shit like that about Linnea?”
His cheeks pale. “There are other choices besides fighting.”
“Like what? Politely ask that prick to apologize?” The only way to make this guy see the error of his ways was by making him suffer.
“If something like this ever happens again, I need you to promise me that at least you’ll try it before you start swinging.”
I look away. “Okay,” I reply, though it’s weak at best. Because I will never let someone I care about get hurt again, not when I can do something about it.
Why did it feel so good to pop that guy?
“I arranged for you to spend the next four Sundays washing dishes and taking out trash at the diner.”
“What?” I cry. “But that’s my only day to chill.”
“I know,” he says in that firm tone. “But maybe some hours of free labor will be a reminder next time you think about solving problems with your fists.”
“What about the dickhead who started it?” Turns out he’s a senior, though I honestly have never seen him before.
“Let me deal with him.”
I bite back the protests piling up in my throat because they’re just going to fall on deaf ears. “Fine.”
He pushes off the counter and crosses the distance, then beckons me in.
I fight my reluctance. Zach is all I have, and he sacrificed so much to protect me. He’s not trying to bust my balls. He’s looking out for me, just like he always has. Rising, I step into his firm embrace.
“Love you, brother,” he says.
“Love you too.”
When he steps back, we share a final look before he heads for the door.