Chapter Eighteen – Bishop
Angel didn’t say a word to us, and she took a whole pizza box into her room, where she ate once we got back to the Redborne. I suspected something was off, but I didn’t know what or why.
Priest was sprawled out on the couch, a pizza box to his left as he turned on Netflix. Deacon was the only one who ate near me at the island, though he didn’t say much, either.
I had to admit, I thought it would go differently. I mean, as their first time singing together, they’d been good. Better than good. Much better than I’d thought they’d be. Her voice was full and strong, but it paired well with Priest’s gravelly tone.
Hmm. Maybe things were weird because of how the day had started. First the whole thing with Deacon, and then holding hands with Priest while singing. Ramona had definitely noticed the tension, because after Angel left to use the restroom, the first thing Ramona had said when she returned was that there was to be no hand-holding. No touching. No moon eyes, whatever that was.
“I know we don’t have anything concrete yet, but I thought they sounded pretty good,” I said, glancing at Deacon. All he did was shrug, the very essence of noncommittal. “What did you think? Or did you not hear anything because you were busy listening to something else?”
He’d had his headphones on damn near the entire time, hardly saying a word. If I had to guess, I’d say he was in a pissy mood from this morning, too.
I didn’t know why. I mean, if I’d been in that position with Angel… let’s just say I wouldn’t have let anyone interrupt me. I definitely wouldn’t have acted like she disgusted me, like he’d done once he was caught. He’d probably insulted her.
And then what Priest had told me at the recording studio… like, these two needed to get their eyes and egos checked, because they were so full of themselves, they didn’t know what way was up and what was down.
Yeah, yeah. Angel was off-limits. But, like… come on.
“I heard some stuff,” Deacon muttered. “But I reserve judgment for the finished demos.” He got quiet after that, picking at the crust of the pizza slice in front of him as a look of pensiveness crossed his face. His eyebrows drew together, his mouth thinning. “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“When Ramona was gone, what were you and Priest talking about in the studio?”
The question caught me off-guard, and I stared at him in curiosity. What a random thing to ask. When Ramona was gone, Deacon was also gone—he needed some midday nourishment, he’d said, so he went wandering to the lounge, where vending machines were, along with a few other food items, depending on the time of day.
I threw a quick glance toward Priest before saying, “I was just asking Priest what he was thinking holding Angel’s hand like that. It gave Ramona the wrong idea.”
Deacon frowned. “And what did Priest say?”
“You know, typical Priest stuff. He could have any girl he wants, why would he want her, she’s not his type—” Which, okay, now that I was thinking about it, was a lie, because every girl was his type. He was famous for having no standards. It hadn’t really occurred to me in the moment.
“Dude,” Deacon hissed out, “you two are fucking idiots.”
That took me back. I wasn’t expecting to hear him call Priest and me fucking idiots. “Why?”
He let out the world’s most explosive sigh before saying, “She heard you. When I came back, she was standing outside the door, listening. She heard everything you guys said about her.” He got quiet. “I don’t think she went outside because she got overheated in there. I think she went out to get away from you two. The look on her face when she hurried by… she looked like she was about to cry.”
My heart panged at hearing that. She’d heard everything we’d said? Then, not only did she hear Priest’s lies, but she’d also heard the jealousy in my tone. I mean, why would I give a shit if he’d held her hand while they sang? Because of Ramona? Pshh. That was just an excuse I used to bring it up to Priest.
“If you two dicks want this to work, you probably have to tell her you’re sorry.” Deacon said nothing else after that, getting up and abandoning his pizza. He disappeared down the hall.
I sat there, running over the memory of everything Priest and I’d said. Even though Priest had been the one to lie and say he didn’t want her, even though he was the reason she hadn’t come back in, I still felt responsible. If I wouldn’t have pushed Priest, he never would’ve said any of those things.
It was my fault. I was just as much to blame for Angel’s hurt feelings as Priest.
I lost whatever was left of my appetite, so I got up and wandered over to Priest. I kicked his foot off the coffee table, alerting him to my presence. “Hey, man,” Priest huffed. “What’d you do that for?”
“You need to go apologize to Angel,” I told him as I folded my arms over my chest. “She heard everything you said at the studio.”
Priest’s mouth fell open, and he leaned forward on the couch. “She what? How could she—”
“I don’t know. Maybe the door wasn’t closed all the way. It doesn’t really matter. Deacon said he saw her standing outside the door for a while, listening, and then when she hurried past him, she looked like she was about to cry.” As if to further hit the nail on the head, I added, “And nothing I said would make her cry. That’s all on you.”
The thought of Angel being hurt by what was said… it hurt me, in a way. I didn’t want to see her upset or hurt—maybe that’s why I’d dug into Priest so much at the studio. Ignoring the pangs of jealousy that had risen up inside while watching them hold hands and sing together, I knew if she fell for him, she’d only get hurt. Priest was a ladies’ man. That would never change, even if he had to be on good behavior for a while thanks to Pope.
He ran his hands over his face, muttering, “Fuck.”
Yeah, fuck indeed.
Priest was slow in standing. “So I should just go in there and apologize? Would that even make it any better? Maybe we should just move on and pretend it never happened. Maybe apologizing would only make her feel worse—”
A part of me, the protective part, flared up, and I took a tiny step toward him and whispered, “No. You’re going to apologize, and you’re going to do it right now.”
He could tell I wouldn’t back down, and even though he had both height and muscle on me, he sighed and relented. He walked around me and vanished down the hall. I heard him knock on Angel’s door, and then he went in.
On Maggie’s door, I should say.
Maybe I felt so protective over her because I knew her, because I used to know her. Before my parents got divorced, she’d been one of my best friends—before puberty hit and it became weird to be so close to the opposite sex. She was ten, and I was twelve. I still remembered the last day I saw her, the look on her face, how we thought we’d see each other again.
Because that’s what you did when you were a kid. You thought nothing would ever change. You innocently thought things would stay the same forever. I certainly hadn’t expected my parents to divorce—sure, my mom and dad got into fights, but I’d thought that was normal for people their age. I was wrong, and by the time I’d known what was happening, that I was moving, I didn’t even have the chance to say goodbye.
I never forgot her, though. My love of all things music only grew once I moved away; it was like I tried desperately to keep that part of our friendship alive. Her memory was the reason I was here now.
I’d looked her up a few times, checked in on her. I never friend requested her or followed her; I didn’t want to drag her back into the past. She’d grown close to a girl named Alexa, and I’d thought that meant she’d forgotten me.
And now we were here together. What were the odds? She was here and she didn’t even remember me. It hurt. Of course it hurt, but maybe it was for the best. Maybe remembering me and our friendship would only complicate things further, something no one here needed. Things were already complicated enough.
My ears picked up the sound of a door opening and closing, and in a few seconds, Priest appeared, wearing a frown—something he didn’t normally. “She didn’t want to talk to me,” he whispered, almost sounding sad. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he actually cared.
Good thing I knew better.
“Maybe I should try,” I said.
Priest nodded. “Good idea.”
I was before her door within thirty seconds, my knuckles tapping on the wood. Inside, I heard her say, “Go away. I want to be left alone.” She sounded utterly serious about it too, but unfortunately for her, I wasn’t going to stop.
I had to make sure she was okay. I didn’t want her to cry or anything. I wanted… well, what I wanted was to go back in time, when things were simpler, when we were nothing more than kids having fun together. Singing, playing instruments, generally being free.
It was so depressing to think we weren’t free now.
I pushed inside her room anyways, gently closing the door behind me the moment her blue eyes snapped up. She was laying on her bed, on her side, scrolling on her phone, the pizza box untouched, but she put that phone down the second I walked in, and she sat up and huffed, “I already told Priest I didn’t want to talk about it, so just go.”
“That might’ve scared Priest away, but it won’t scare me off,” I told her, slowly moving toward her bed. I sat on the edge gingerly, not getting too close to her.
She shot me a frown, and she scooted away from me. She picked up her pillow and sat her ass where it’d been so her back could lean against the headboard. The pillow she moved to her lap, hugging it close.
“Just go away,” she muttered. Her eyes were not puffy or red-rimmed, so I didn’t think she’d actually cried—a good sign. I’d feel even shittier if she had. “I don’t want to talk to you or Priest or Deacon.”
“Don’t worry. Deacon’s not out there waiting for his turn,” I joked, but all I got was a frown. I tried to think up a good way to go about this, but the intensity of the frown she was giving me made my mind go haywire.
Even with that frown, she really was so pretty. I wanted to scoot closer to her, pull that pillow from her arms and drag her onto my lap. I wanted to hold her and tell her… tell her that I was sorry, that we weren’t assholes and that Priest didn’t mean anything he’d said.
I wanted to tell her I remembered her, but she didn’t remember me, so what would be the point in that?
“You should hear Priest out. The man doesn’t really apologize that often,” I said. “He—”
“I don’t care. I don’t care, okay? I’m fine. You didn’t hurt my feelings or whatever. You guys think I, what, have a crush on you or something? You think I give a shit that Priest said I’m not his type? Right.” Angel rolled her eyes.
Now who’s the liar? I wanted to ask, but I held that part in, instead saying, “Angel, I’m not here to tell you what you’re feeling or not. I just don’t want things to get…” What was the right word here? “Strained between us. This… we haven’t even started.”
This was only the beginning, it was true. There was still so much left for Angel and us to do.
“Get over yourself,” she huffed. “All of you need to get your egos checked. Get out.” She turned her face away from me, the words she said final. There would be no more discussion.
I swallowed down whatever else I might’ve said, got up, and left.
Priest was waiting for me in the living room, pacing—something out of the norm for him. His gray eyes studied me as he asked, “How’d it go?”
Couldn’t he tell? “Not well.”
“What are we going to do?”
All we could do was the short answer, and I told him, “We’ll wait until she calms down, and then we’ll try again. We can’t start this whole journey off on the wrong foot.” Priest was to blame for the specifics of what had been said, but I was the whole reason he’d said them to begin with.
I’d played a hand in hurting our angel, and I wouldn’t be able to relax until she forgave us.