Chapter 47
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
Nash
Cal frowns when I walk into the Brass Lantern. “Everything all right?”
It’s a simple question, just three little words, and it’s so out of character it stops me in my tracks. No jokes. No sarcasm. No world-wise, slightly mysterious statement as he reaches for my favorite whiskey.
Cal looks genuinely concerned.
“I’m fine,” I say, recovering my composure and perching on a stool at the bar. “Why?”
“I’ve known you a long time, Nash Kincaid. The only time I’ve seen you look like this is when your father died.”
That brings me pause. “I assure you; I’m fine.”
“You can say it all you want. Don’t make it true.” Cal reaches for the whiskey, a question in his brow.
What am I supposed to say? I miss Lucy? I hate my new job? I took the damn thing to build a life she could slip into when she came home, and now, go figure, we barely have time to talk.
None of that’s coming out.
Not tonight.
Not in public.
Not when focusing on the bad is only going to make it feel worse.
I watch Cal pour my drink, then take the glass when he offers it. “New job’s taking longer to adjust to than I expected,” I say, rather than sit in silence.
“You can’t bluff a bluffer, friend.” The grizzled bartender crosses his meaty arms and levels me with a look that makes me squirm.
Me. Nash Kincaid. The man nurses and interns whisper about in terror. Squirming.
“Who’s doing what now?” Bennett asks as he appears beside me, leaning on the bar with a grin so big, it’s like he’s never seen a bad day in his life. And, thinking about it, that might be true for Bennett Kincaid. Lucky bastard.
Cal jerks his chin my way and Bennett meets my gaze, then frowns. “Woah. Everything okay?” he asks, sounding every bit as concerned as Cal did moments ago.
“Says he’s fine.”
“I’ve seen fine.” Bennett gestures my way. “That is not fine.”
“Says it’s his new job.”
“Oh, sure. That’s part of it. Get me a beer, will ya?” Bennett says to Cal. “But he should’ve adapted to that by now. He’s slow to change, not incapable of it.”
“I’m also sitting right here,” I grumble. “You can talk to me instead of about me.”
Bennett waves off my grumpiness and takes the beer Cal offers him. “The rest of that storm cloud belongs to the girl he let get away.”
“I didn’t let her get away.” I glare at my brother then take a hearty swig of whiskey.
“Is she here?”
I suck my teeth. “You know where she is.”
“I don’t,” Cal says, leaning on the bar. “Fill me in.”
“Lucy is a dancer. She was offered her dream job, touring with some pop star for a year. I told her to take the job. Live out the dream.”
I think of the video Lucy sent the other day, her giving a tour of the stage and stadium before the show. She was so pumped. So happy. So… everything.
That woman is my everything.
Not the first time I’ve had the thought. Won’t be the last either.
“Fair.” Cal bobs his head. “And she took it?”
I nod. “She’s been gone a month now. We still talk every day. Or mostly every day. So, no, I didn’t let her get away,” I finish, hitting Bennett with a look that he’s all too happy to return.
“You didn’t fight for her either.” He lifts his beer to his lips, pauses for me to digest his bullshit, then tips it back.
“What was I supposed to say? ‘Don’t do the thing you’ve been training your whole life to do because I’ll miss you?’ That would be colossally selfish.”
Bennett takes another swig of beer instead of answering, which somehow manages to infuriate me. I swivel so I’m facing him, arm on the bar, anger in my heart.
“What’s wrong with that? I didn’t want to be the guy who begged her to stay when she wanted to go.”
“No.” Bennett draws out the word and meets my eyes. “You didn’t want to be the guy who got hurt.”
I glance at Cal for backup, but no help there. He listens more than he talks. Always has.
“You keep acting like you did some big noble thing,” Bennett continues, “but you didn’t even talk to Lucy about what she wanted, did you?
You assumed she wanted to go, opened the door and basically pushed her out, because you were too afraid of what might happen if you told her how you really feel. ”
I throw back the rest of my whiskey then plonk the glass onto the bar. “Careful, Ben.”
“I’m just sayin.’”
“What you’re doing is sticking your nose in where it doesn’t belong.”
“You’re my brother. Lucy’s my friend. My nose is exactly where it belongs.
” Bennett shakes his head and sips his beer.
“She told me, Nash. She told me she wasn’t sure she wanted to go.
I told her to talk to you, and you know, I actually thought you guys would have a real conversation and come to the conclusion that somewhere along the way you’ve fallen in love with each other.
That you’re good for her and she’s good for you.
I actually thought Lucy would stay. Imagine my surprise when you told me she was leaving. ”
“Lucy told you she wasn’t sure she wanted to go on the tour?” That’s news to me. Correction, that’s uncomfortable news to me. “When?”
“The day her agent called. You were at work. She needed to talk. She called me.” Bennett levels me with a look. “And don’t get all weird about it.”
“I’m not getting weird.”
“I see it all over your face, man. You’re getting weird.” Bennett turns to Cal. “He’s getting weird.”
“He’s been weird since he walked in.” Cal holds up his hands. “You should’ve been honest with her, Nash. I heard from Trayvon who heard it from Jesse who heard it from Simon Holiday that Lucy told her friends she would’ve stayed if you asked.”
Bennett cocks his head. “I never pegged you as the town gossip, Cal.”
Cal shrugs. “People talk. I listen. Kind of like what’s happening right now. Does that make me a gossip?”
“Would’ve been nice to know beforehand,” I grumble at my brother. “That Lucy wanted me to ask her to stay.”
“You still would’ve chickened out.”
“That’s not what happened. I was being respectful,” I say between gritted teeth. “And Lucy was just as much a part of the conversation as I was. If she wanted to stay, she could have said something. Does that mean she’s a chicken, too?”
“Yes,” both Cal and Bennett say in unison.
“You guys both stayed quiet when you needed to speak up,” Cal finishes.
I shake my head and Cal pours me another whiskey.
“So now what? I’m here. She’s there. I’m miserable. She’s…”
I think over the calls we’ve had. The exhaustion on her face. The forced smile. The litany of overly positive stories that spin everything into the best ever… just like she did with her dad that day at the ice cream shop.
“I think she might be miserable too,” I murmur.
“You need to talk to her,” Cal says. “And you need to be honest about what you’re feeling.”
He says it like it’s easy. Like it’s so damn clear. Like it’s obvious I should have put my needs before Lucy’s from the get-go.
“When?” I ask, folding my arms on the bar, leaning close. “In the five minutes I get with her while she’s in a hallway? Or on a bus? When am I supposed to have this deeply honest conversation with a woman I never see?”
Bennett shrugs and I turn to Cal who smiles gently. “I can’t answer that, but you can.”
I shake my head because I really can’t. I have no idea how to solve this problem.
A group of tourists come in, chattering loudly, looking around like the Lantern is a ride at some amusement park.
They ogle us like we’re part of the attraction, then take a seat in the booth near the jukebox.
One of the girls squeals with excitement at the cuteness of it all and begins perusing the song list.
“Isn’t that Lucy’s tour?” Bennett asks, gesturing toward her with his beer.
“That, dear brother, appears to be a woman.”
“Her shirt, dumbass. Sandro René, right?”
I squint and sure enough, she’s wearing a concert tee, complete with a list of dates and stops. “Looks like it.”
Which means this stranger has probably seen the woman I love more than I have in the weeks since Lucy’s been gone.
I wonder what it was like, watching her move.
Worth the cost of admission. That’s for sure.
Worth sitting through Sandro’s music too.
And I can’t think of much that would be worth that.
“Oh wow!” she squeals. “They have Grayson Kincaid! I swear, I’d have his babies, and I don’t even want kids.”
“Please don’t pick him, please don’t pick him, please don’t pick him,” Bennett whispers, crossing his fingers and closing his eyes.
The woman makes her selection and a song I’ve never heard fills the room.
“I thought you were going with Grayson,” the woman’s friend says.
“Yeah, me too. But something told me I needed to pick this one instead.” She shrugs and sits. The lyrics wash over me.
Go to her.
If your heart’s breaking and your soul’s aching
Go to her.
If there are things left unsaid, pain swimming in your heart and head
Go to her.
Peace washes over me and suddenly I know exactly what I’m going to do.
I reach into my pocket for my phone and search for Sandro René tour dates, scouring the list for cities not listed as sold out.
Go figure, there’s only one. In Phoenix, in two days.
Worse, there’s only one ticket left, a frighteningly expensive front row seat for an artist I can’t stand.
I buy the thing before it disappears, cringing at the price, but smiling bigger than I have since she left.
“What’s gotten into you?” Bennett asks.
“I know what I’m going to do.”
“Care to share it with the class?”
“Exactly what the song says. I’m gonna go to her.”