Chapter 12 – Sidney
CHAPTER TWELVE
SIDNEY
“Can I have your attention, please?”
A man climbs onto the bar top and spreads his arms wide, and just in case I had any doubts about how genetically gifted Grayson was, this man commanding the bar’s attention just wiped them away. He has brown hair, aqua-colored eyes that are almost clear, and a wedding ring on that left hand that glints against the lights. He’s definitely related to Grayson—someway, somehow—and my money is on him being his brother.
Chants of “Grady! Grady! Grady!” fill the room as he waves his hands to hush everyone. It feels like half of Sunnyville is here to celebrate Grayson and his heroic “rescue” of me. Either that or they’ll take any little reason to celebrate.
Rissa is on one side of me, Cathy on the other, and in the thirty minutes since I’ve been here, I haven’t been able to move much farther into the room because it is definitely at maximum capacity. Regardless, I feel out of place in my designer clothes in this working-class bar. People glance at me sideways, trying to figure out why I look familiar, but after ten years, memories fade and looks change, so they just can’t quite place me anymore.
It’s probably for the better. But at the same time, there’s something about the camaraderie among the citizens that is like nothing I’ve ever experienced before. Neighbors who have known each other since preschool tap the necks of their bottles together. People hug each other as if they are long lost relatives, when in reality, it’s probably only been a week or two since they last saw each other.
It’s a fascinating dynamic, and as I stand here and take it all in while the crowd quiets, I realize that Rissa gets this. Rissa understood that this dynamic was all it was going to take to force Grayson to show up.
“In case some of you didn’t know, my brother, Grayson Malone, has fallen into the hero status as of late.” Hoots and hollers sound off around the bar. I glance over to Rissa, whose smile is smug and brown eyes are alive with mischief, and I shake my head. “Ladies, it seems that if you need saving—or maybe even a little mouth-to-mouth—or to be taken to new heights in his mile-high club”—Grady grins as the crowd shouts another round of comments—“he’s your man.”
“Save me! I need some mouth-to-mouth,” a woman shouts, and laughter rings out in response.
“I hear there’s a long line, Linda, but Gray’s an equal opportunity kind of guy,” Grady says. Someone tosses something at him, and he catches it. “Not only is my brother going around saving damsels in distress—keep the fainting to a minimum, ladies—he has also been named one of Modern Family’s top twenty hottest dads!”
The crowd erupts in whistles and catcalls as Grady shrugs as if it’s no big deal, and Rissa’s smile turns knowing. Yeah, she has something else up her sleeve—I know it.
Grady takes a sip of the beer in his hand and then brings his finger to his lips to quiet the crowd again. “But we aren’t satisfied with him just being in the top twenty, are we?” Disapproving noises reverberate through the crowd, and from where we stand in the back of the bar, there is what looks like an orchestrated shaking of heads in disagreement. “If anyone deserves to be voted to the top, it’s my brother—the hero.” He laughs out the word and shakes his head like this is all a joke. Because it is. I mean, a hero’s party for nothing? “When voting goes live this coming Wednesday, we’re going to vote him into the number one spot, aren’t we?”
The place goes crazy, and the shouts vibrate in my chest. It’s as if I’m watching a pep rally for the championship game or something.
“Grayson. Grayson. Grayson.” His name rumbles, each syllable punctuated by a clapping of hands.
“Without further ado, ladies and gentlemen, please welcome the hero himself, my brother, Grayson Malone!”
If I thought the noise was deafening before, I was wrong, because it almost doubles in volume. A cacophony of cheers and whistles sound off as heads turn to where Grayson must be standing.
I edge up on my tiptoes, every part of me wanting to see him.
Every part of me wanting to be seen by him.
I see a hand rise. I see Grady trying to coax him to join him on the bar. Then the chants of “speech” begin.
With Grayson’s affinity for downplaying his hero status, I guarantee he wants to kill me about now.
It’s so very silly that, as I see a hand clasp on to Grayson’s and help to pull him up onto the bar, I suck in my breath.
He’s breathtaking. It’s sad that’s my first thought when he comes into view. He has on a pair of dark blue jeans and a black button-up shirt, and his hair is styled in a messy disarray, which is similar to his brother’s. His cheeks are flushed pink, and that only adds to his appeal. Clearly, he is not a fan of this attention.
He smiles as he shakes his head at the ruckus. “This really is ridiculous.” He looks around, and somehow his eyes lock on to mine. They hold, and then that grin stalls momentarily before widening as he shakes his head. “I’m far from a hero. I just did what any of you would have done, but it seems someone in particular wants to make a big show of this. And that one person, I’d love to thank for all of this unwanted attention.” He points in my direction. “Ms. Sidney Thorton, ladies and gents.”
The people turn their attention my way, and a roar goes through the room as I quietly curse him and wish I could blend in with the wall at my back. “If it weren’t for her, we wouldn’t have this chance to all get together, drink a few beers, and have a good time—so, do me a favor,” he says as his mischievous smile grows wider and his eyes spark with trouble, “make sure you give her a hug tonight and welcome her back to Sunnyville. Or a shot will do. That’s the least you can do to help me thank her.”
The smug bastard.
It’s the only thought I can process before hands start patting me on the back as people close in around me. Nice people. Kind people. Oblivious people who have no idea just how unnerving it is for me to have them all be so close.
I lose sight of Grayson, but he isn’t far from my mind as I curse him at length under my breath for his shitty little retaliation.
His underhanded way of telling me I’m a snob. That I think I’m too good to shake hands with—or give hugs to—the blue-collared people who make up this town.
I look for Rissa, hoping she’ll save me. She’s standing just outside the circle of people who look partially familiar, taking a sip of her margarita on the rocks as if she’s a regular here when she isn’t.
Damn, she’s good.