Dylan
Chapter twenty
“Ed’s here,” Vicki says, skipping greetings altogether as I walk into the Bridge for our monthly inventory shift. We still have a few hours before tonight’s show, but the added responsibility usually makes for a long day.
I’m still processing everything that happened last night, and everything Dee shared with me after the show, but apparently life isn’t going to wait for me to get my mind right. I left our apartment early, giving Dee the morning with Emi, and giving myself time to think.
I had no idea Dee was bullied. She didn’t go into much detail about what happened, but I guess I didn’t give her the chance.
When she told me, all I could picture was Emi and what happened at the concert.
That was bad enough. Imagining Dee in her place when she was young? Fuck. I had to get out of there.
Growing up, I was lucky. My anxiety and all that came with it left me vulnerable to that kind of treatment. I guess I was decent at keeping that part of myself hidden because my peers never noticed.
For better or worse, the shit swirling in my mind normally stays there. And masking became second nature to me. That is, until I came home. Which is why Dee knows more about me now than I ever planned on showing her.
I guess the same can be said about me too. I’m sure she never planned to share this with me. I’m glad she did…I just wish I had handled it better. Now, I’m worried I won’t get the chance.
“Thanks, Vic.” I nod. “He said he’d be dropping in this week.” I don’t show my irritation that he didn’t tell me when he was going to show up, considering how little he’s here in person. Everything is left up to me. And it hasn’t bothered me, until now.
She watches closely as she adds, “He’s not alone. A guy is with him. Business type. Uptight as fuck too.”
My back straightens and my grip on my keyring tightens before I start fiddling with the metal rings, spinning them loosely at my side.
Has he already found a buyer? Without even asking me if I could match it? He knows I’m interested. I can make him a fair offer, but I’m not sure I can outbid whoever the fuck it is he’s finding to secure his retirement.
My head runs a mile a minute, while I leisurely make my way to my office backstage. I maintain calm and steady breaths, trying to force my brain to shut the fuck up with the what-ifs for one fucking second.
What if the deal’s already been made, contract already signed, and he brought this guy here so I could meet my new boss?
Do I quit right on the spot? Tell him off for having me make this place what it’s become since I took over as general manager with next to no thanks, only to be cast aside instead of being considered to take over with total autonomy?
I sit, dropping my head into my hands, resting my elbows on my desk. I try everything, but I can’t sit still. I can’t start working. I sit there for maybe ten minutes trying to calm the fuck down when I hear a strong knock on my door.
With one more failed attempt to chill the fuck out, I call out, “Come in.” My brain might be sabotaging me right now, but you’d never know it. At least I think I do well enough concealing my rising panic from my voice, keeping my posture relaxed as Ed enters my office and a suit follows him.
The guy looks around the office with measured movements, a quiet confidence, but a commanding energy. He’s already making plans in his mind; I can see it.
My stomach bottoms out and my palms start to sweat. My goals…my dreams…are slipping through my fingers, and all I can do is sit here and watch Ed fidget uncomfortably, glancing at his watch before he shakes my hand, then sits across from me, gesturing to his guest to join him.
“Dylan, always great to see you. This is Wayne.”
“Nice to have you in, Ed.” I nod at Wayne. “Welcome.”
He nods in return, reaching forward to shake my hand. The watch on his wrist tells me almost everything I need to know about who I’m dealing with, along with the stuck-up posture he assumes in the chair next to Ed’s. “Wanted to come see everything in person.”
I raise an eyebrow at Ed. “Should have come in tonight for the show, then. It’ll be a good one.”
Wayne shakes his head. “Nah. I’d rather see it now. The bones of it all without the crowds. And the noise.” He shakes his head in disgust.
“Do you have any questions about what you’ve seen so far?” Ed asks, his attention fixed solely on Wayne.
My veins light with fire, setting every inch of my skin on edge. This asshole. This fucking dick. I’ve put my everything into this place, and he’s not even going to acknowledge me now that he’s parading some interested buyer right under my nose.
Like he expects me to help him make this sale.
Fuck that.
“I’d like to see records of any repairs or upgrades you’ve made in the last five years. We’d obviously be redoing most of the aesthetic.” He waves his hand around as if it’s assumed…as if it’s a given.
I hate him.
And now I hate Ed too.
I’ve never had much of a problem with him.
He hasn’t let me run with whatever I want, sure, but as long as I give him the schedule in advance and update him afterward, he doesn’t hover.
He doesn’t micromanage. I’ve learned what kind of events he’s willing to take on, and I’ve held my tongue after losing dozens of battles trying to change that, biding my time, waiting for my turn to transform the Bridge into something more.
Bile burns the base of my throat at the thought of this suit coming in here and gutting this place to fit whatever the fuck his aesthetic might be.
My stomach rolls uncomfortably. I’m going to be sick right here.
Better stand up now and lean over so I can be sure to ruin this fucker’s expensive shoes.
“Anything I need to know about?” I ignore Wayne completely, focusing on Ed, who’s avoiding eye contact with me. He knows I’m going to be pissed. He knows exactly what he’s doing. And he’s too scared to own it.
“Nothing official, Dylan,” he says, obviously trying to keep the temperature of the conversation down. “Wayne reached out through a mutual friend. He wants to know more about the Bridge and its history.”
“And its future apparently,” I say with a saccharine smile. As if I’m going to let him off easy. I want him to say it to my face. If he’s bold enough to bring Wayne here, into this concert hall, and my fucking office, he better have the goddamn balls to say it to my face.
“Potentially,” Wayne interjects, seemingly unaware of any sort of impression Ed has given me for years that someday he’d be selling this business to me.
“My investors will want to know that it’s solid before we commit.
And before we begin on any renovations. Restaurants can be money pits. They want to be sure.”
Fuck. I really am going to be sick.
Flipping the Bridge into a restaurant?
My poker face must have abandoned me, because Wayne’s wandering gaze is no longer taking in the office around him—no doubt redesigning it into some pretentious modern shithole—and instead he takes me in.
Ed stands, gesturing to the door for Wayne to precede him out of my office. “Let me show you the storeroom and the bar. I’ll collect the financials and records and have them emailed to you this week.”
Wayne stands, buttoning his suit coat, nodding at Ed then doing the same toward me. Without another word, Wayne strides from the office. Ed takes two large, hurried steps before faltering.
His voice low, still unable to meet my stare, he says, “Nothing’s been decided. I have to think of my future. You understand.” Without waiting for a response, he flees from the office like a coward.
“Fuck,” I mutter into my palm, before banging my fist on the desk. I relax into my chair, closing my eyes, letting disappointment wash over me.
Maybe Dee and I can be unemployed together.
I know in my gut she’d never continue to work here when she realizes what’s happened.
I’m sure as fuck not going to stay in any capacity, I’m not going to watch this beautiful building be decimated and rebranded as a restaurant.
Not when the walls have held so many stories, so many songs, so many nights of community.
Ed isn’t a musician. I knew that when I took this job.
But I thought he loved the history of this place.
Turns out everything has a price tag. The thought is fucking depressing as I picture this worn, gritty hall transforming into something unrecognizable.
Something trendy to an entirely different crowd for entirely different reasons.
Instead of coming to the Bridge to feel something…
people will come here for cheap amusement, status, and a forgettable experience.
I bury the dread as it bubbles up, or at least I try to. I go about my normal concert day responsibilities. Check in with the bar staff and the tech teams as they work through sound checks with the bands performing tonight.
Then I get the fuck out of there before I start screaming louder than the crowd.