Chapter Sixteen #2
Drew hands me a drink as the next song flashes onto the screen, and he points at Sloane and Allie weaving back toward us, two microphones held triumphantly overhead like they’ve just won a prize.
I squint at the monitor. “No way,” I whisper. REO Speedwagon, “Keep On Loving You.”
“DRIVE ME CRAZY!!!” Sloane screams like we’re thirteen again.
I’m pulled straight back to the summers we spent watching that movie on repeat, quoting every line, rewinding the scene where Adrian Grenier and Melissa Joan Hart scream this song at the top of their lungs. The crush we all had on him was basically a teenage girl requirement.
Allie thrusts a mic toward me. “Come on. I know you know every word.”
The opening chords hit, and without even looking at each other, we fall into place, Dawn taking the high harmony she definitely can’t hit, Sloane choreographing moves we’ve never practiced, Allie nudging her shoulder into mine like she used to do at sleepovers, and Dinah living out her pop-star fantasy.
Halfway through the first chorus the crowd is singing along. Dinah turns and points at me dramatically, which makes me burst out laughing and lose the line. When the last note fades, we get multiple whistles as we make our way to an available corner, a little sweaty but glowing.
“Adrian Grenier would be proud,” Dinah says.
“As would Melissa,” I add.
“My legs are trembling,” Allie groans, collapsing onto the bench.
“I think half the bar recorded us. It’ll be on Daddy D’s socials by midnight,” I say, cheeks flushed.
The music changes again, some guy doing an energetic and jumpy version of “Mr. Brightside.” The air is sticky, my skin’s buzzing, and I’m happy to be surrounded by people who know me. I forget to keep checking the door.
That’s when Jack slides in next to me.
“So,” he says, nudging my shoulder. “You still remember all the words?”
I look at him sideways. “To what?”
He gives me a look.
“Oh no, Jack.”
“Oh yes, Lucy.”
“We haven’t done that in forever,” I argue.
“Then I’d argue we’re due.”
“Jack!”
But he’s already up, walking toward the DJ. I groan, but it’s pointless.
A few people cheer when Jack’s name is eventually called over the mic. Of course they do. He knows most of the people in here from summers spent fixing boats and helping with sailing club. He remembers birthdays and bartenders’ names and who just opened a golf cart rental out of their garage.
He turns and gestures to me like this is some kind of encore we’d planned, and suddenly everyone’s looking. Dawn’s clapping. Dinah’s whistling. Allie is already filming.
“You’re a menace,” I mutter, reluctantly pushing myself to stand as the first twangy guitar strums fill the room.
Jack hands me a mic as I step beside him, grinning. “Don’t be shy, June.”
I roll my eyes, but when I start singing, the words fall out like they never left. Jack takes his part, that familiar glint in his voice, and by the second verse we’re leaning into it, just enough to make it a show.
We move without thinking, the way you can with someone who’s been around long enough to know your timing, your tone, your tells. The crowd loves it. People are swaying. Someone yells, “get married already!” I blush.
We hit the final chorus, and Jack grabs my hand as we belt out the words, forgetting the rest of the room.
The last note fades, and the crowd erupts. I turn to him laughing and jump into his arms before we both take an exaggerated bow. There’s a twinkle in his eye, and it’s a reminder of who Jack is when he stops putting so much pressure on himself. And a reminder of how good it feels to be by his side.
As we begin to walk off the stage, something tugs at my vision. I glance toward the door and see Noah standing inside the entrance.
He’s in jeans and a white tee, a little windblown. His expression is unreadable, but his smile doesn’t reach his eyes. He clearly just watched me sing a well-practiced love song with my ex, and it’s impossible not to wonder if there’s still something between us.
Noah’s eyes are still locked on me as he walks through the loose crowd around us.
I know the exact moment he sees Jack’s hand drop from my waist. His smile is polite but tight around the edges.
His jaw ticks once before he smooths it out.
When he reaches me, his hug is one of those one-armed, sideways things.
“Hey,” he says, his voice trying for relaxed but not pulling it off.
“Noah,” I say, too bright, too fast.
He gives me a small smile, but his eyes flick to Jack and back again, like he’s trying to slot a piece of a puzzle into place.
Jack stays beside me, relaxed, hands in his pockets, offering Noah a warm, genuine, completely unthreatened smile. “Hey, man. Good to see you.”
Noah returns it but slower. “Yeah. You too.”
I struggle to focus while someone sings “Just Like Heaven” by The Cure. Noah looks at me again.
“You two looked like you’ve done that before.” The comment has a slight edge to it, like he’s working hard to keep it casual.
I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “It’s an old favorite of my Gran’s.”
Jack lets out a soft laugh. “She used to play it on repeat. It was hard not to sing along.” Jack grins, easy and warm, and the air around us lightens. Noah shifts his weight, taking this in.
“It was good,” he says after an uncomfortable pause. “You sounded great.”
Jack nods in thanks, even though the compliment wasn’t for him, and somehow that tiny gesture makes him seem even more grounded. “She always does,” he says simply, smiling down at me proudly.
He doesn’t say it in a flirty or pointed way, but it makes my pulse jump. Noah’s jaw ticks again, like he’s trying to decide what to do with the moment. Then he steps a little closer.
He studies me for a beat too long. “But I liked your barefoot beach performance better.” His fingers tap against his thigh, restless.
I huff a laugh as my face heats up. “Well, not everyone gets the exclusive beach performance,” I manage, aiming for light but feeling uncomfortable.
Jacob appears beside Noah, all long limbs and easy energy, holding up his hand to someone behind the bar. “Let’s go get a beer. Oh hey, Lucy. Jack.”
Jack lifts a hand in greeting.
Noah leans in, the scruff along his jaw brushing my skin. Unnecessarily close. “I’m gonna grab a drink, want anything?”
I lift the drink in my hand. “I’m good.”
His fingers trail lightly down my arm as he steps away, and his eyes flick to Jack again as he goes, like he’s checking whether the touch landed. For the first time with Noah, my stomach flips, but not in a good way.
No sooner has he stepped away than—“Lucy!” Sloane shrieks from across the bar. “We need backup. Dawn just volunteered us for TLC!”
Jack snorts under his breath. I open my mouth, not even sure what to say, but someone jostles past us, and the moment breaks. Jack lifts his eyebrows, amused. “Guess you’re up again.”
After another rousing performance, I look toward the bar. Noah’s still with Jacob, laughing at something he says, shoulders loose now, the earlier tightness gone like it never happened.
“By the way,” Sloane breathes at my side. “Why didn’t anyone tell me the songwriter was like, hot hot?”
I’m distracted as I reply, “He’s not your type.”
She arches a brow. “What happened?”
I sigh. “He saw Jack and me singing and got a little…territorial. It’s fine.”
Sloane makes a face. “Hmmm. Well, he’s a grown man. He can shake it off.” She looks past me. “And speak of the devil.”
Noah bumps my shoulder. “What should I sing up there?”
I give him a look. “You’re the songwriter.”
“Lucy and Noah,” the DJ calls into the mic. “You’re up!”
Noah turns slowly, a smile creeping across his face like he absolutely planned this.
I stare. “You didn’t…”
“I didn’t,” he confirms. “But I can’t say I’m mad about it.”
Jacob raises his hand. “I may have mentioned something to the DJ.”
The screen blinks to life, and I read the title. That slow, sweeping opening. No. “No,” I protest. “Absolutely not.” Dread starts to fill me as I realize I can’t get out of this.
Noah grins, grabbing my hand. “‘Time of My Life.’ It’s fate, Briland.”
“We are not doing the lift,” I hiss as we’re handed mics.
“We’re doing the lift.”
The crowd starts cheering like it’s a championship match, Dirty Dancing clearly still a fan favorite.
I scan the room, searching for Jack. I spot him in the far corner of the bar, watching the situation unfold.
He lifts his chin at me, but I don’t miss the hurt in his expression.
I try to shake off the gut punch of guilt that hits me.
The music swells. Noah takes a step toward me, hand extended, completely unfazed as his voice deepens to hit the opening line.
We start with exaggerated gestures and fake sincerity. I twirl dramatically, he spins me, we channel every school talent show disaster we’ve ever witnessed.
When we hit the final chorus and he mouths, “the lift?” I shake my head so fast I almost fall over.
He still takes two steps back like he’s thinking about it. I lunge and pull him in by the shirt.
“No lift,” I whisper. “You’ll kill us both.”
The final chorus crashes down and we throw ourselves into it, arms wide. Noah’s playing it up now, singing with his hand on his heart, eyes locked on mine like he’s in on the greatest joke in the world. It’s actually fun. It’s on the surface. The exact opposite of my song with Jack.
As we make our way to the porch for some fresh air, Noah catches my hand, lacing our fingers just long enough to make his presence known.
“Admit it,” he says, low in my ear. “You had the time of your life.”
I roll my eyes. “You’re insufferable.”
“But memorable,” he says.
I don’t answer. Because I’m too busy scanning the crowd. Jack’s gone. There’s a vague swirl of people near where he was standing, but no familiar outline. I don’t know what I feel. Relief? Guilt? Disappointment?
Noah’s still beside me, flushed from the spotlight, his shoulder brushing mine. Someone offers him a high five. He takes it, laughing, but I just stand there. I’m not sure if I’m dizzy from the club lights, or from the way the night keeps rearranging beneath my feet.