23. Lindee
LINDEE
“Voting ends in five minutes.”
“I am aware, Kyra,” I throw over my shoulder, not bothering to slow down my stride.
I’m on a mission. One, because I’m needed on the field in a few minutes so that I can be there when they announce the winner, but more importantly because two, I have not actually voted.
Ooooops.
I’ve spent the last three days so focused on getting the word out at CocktailCon for everyone to go vote that making it down to field level to actually vote myself hasn’t been a priority. And maybe there is also a part of me that didn’t want to have to see Brandt’s creation.
Thankfully, I haven’t seen him.
My focus has been on campaigning, which has been a good outlet to funnel all my emotions and nervous energy into.
Kyra had the brilliant idea to offer a coupon for a free mini bottle of any of our products if you voted for the Rocky Top Double, but Mikayla squashed that quickly, claiming it counted as bribery.
So we changed it to anyone who showed us they voted in the contest, regardless of their choice of cocktail.
What my sister doesn’t know is that Kyra has been sneaking extra coupons to people who prove they voted for us. Because she has my back.
“Sorry,” a guy who looks barely old enough to drink says, stopping me right before the field entrance. “Voting lines closed five minutes before the end of voting. I can’t let you out there.”
Wanna bet?
I silently hold up my badge, waiting for him to take the hint. Or to read the words printed on it so he can get a clue. It takes him a minute—eyes scanning over the badge as if he’s looking for a loophole for him to enforce his original answer—but he eventually nods in approval.
“Oh, well that’s a horse of a different color!”
I roll my eyes. What is this, The Wizard of Oz? It’s not like he’s granting me access to the Emerald City.
“Y’all together?” he asks, but I keep on walking. I don’t have any time to waste.
“Lind, slow down,” Rylan calls.
“Can’t stop, won’t stop!” I answer back without thinking.
It’s cliché, but true.
“Do you at least want to grab a drink first?” Kyra asks, catching up with me. “If there was ever a time…”
“Nope. I know what mine tastes like, and I have zero interest in giving his a chance.”
“Could be really good,” Rylan offers.
I stop dead. Is he fucking serious?
I glare at my older brother, wishing I could actually shoot daggers from my eyes. Man should be dead where he stands, saying something like that.
“What?” He shrugs, doubling down with traitorous nonchalance. “You’re in this situation for a reason. It’s a logical conclusion.”
I’m not listening to this. Especially not from someone who thinks that I should have heard Brandt out. That I should have accepted that half-ass explanation and even weaker apology.
Men…
Joining the back of the now very short line for voting, I try and center myself. Again. For what feels like the five hundredth time today. Hasn’t worked yet.
Kyra slides up next to me, taking my hand and giving it a squeeze. “We got this. We campaigned hard, and had so many people tell us how much they loved the Rocky Top Double. You’re a genius, Lind.”
I nod, taking her compliment and wishing that it didn’t feel hollow.
I know she means it, from deep down in her heart.
It’s my heart that is having a hard time absorbing it.
Or should I say the pieces of my heart. The ones that are scattered a mile wide after the new knowledge of Brandt’s backstabbing.
“The hard part of this is that no matter what happens, this cocktail is always going to make me think of him. There’s no way to untether the two.”
“Even when it’s the winner of the SLOSH Best Original Cocktail?”
“Even then.” I huff out a breath, trying not to sigh. Brandt doesn’t deserve a sigh. “I just…I can’t believe he didn’t tell me. We told each other everything. Or well, I thought we did.”
“And you really don’t believe it wasn’t done maliciously?” Kyra asks. This is at least the third time she’s questioned my thought process.
“That’s not exactly something you just forget to tell someone, Kay.”
“Ehhhh, I dunno,” Rylan chimes in. “That sounds exactly like something I would do. Especially if I was trying to find the exact right time to bring it up, and there’s never a perfect moment, so then it just slips your mind because everything else is more important.”
“No one asked you.”
“I am aware that you do not like my opinion about this, Lindee,” he continues, unfazed by my comeback in the way only an older brother can be. “But, I am a guy; I understand how they think. Not to mention—”
“If you tell me one more time that you and he got to be buddy-buddy for like six seconds and therefore you just don’t think he’s capable, I will kill you where you stand.”
“There’s too many witnesses here. Wait until we’re home and you can poison him more discreetly,” Mikayla comments, chiming in suddenly.
“Wow, the two of you…just wow…” Rylan raises his hands in surrender.
“Lindee is right, you know. You need to stop defending him.”
Well, wonders never cease. Mikayla is on my side. Hearing the words Lindee is right coming from her might mean more than actually winning this award. Okay, not more…but it’s tied.
“Thanks, Mikayla.”
“Now, had you listened to me when I told you that he was using you, we wouldn’t be in this situation. I told you that this wasn’t going to end well, that he was after something, and here we are.”
Well, that didn’t last long.
“Mickey, isn’t there a statute of limitations or something in the girl code that says you have to wait a certain amount of time to be self-righteous over a breakup?”
Declan hands me a drink from the tray he’s carrying, smiling softly and giving me a brotherly I got you nod. At least someone does.
“Don’t call me that. And a statute of limitations is a law that sets a maximum time limit, not a minimum.” She takes a drink from him, immediately taking a sip. “What is this?”
“A Rocky Top Double, duh,” he answers, his perfect smile never slipping.
“There is usually a grace period for I told you so’s, though,” Kyra hisses toward our older sister, grabbing her own drink.
Pursing her lips, Mikayla takes another sip, shrugging as if to say she doesn’t care. Because she doesn’t. Her first words when I told her what happened were, “I knew it,” and she hasn’t let up since.
Fuck, I hate when she’s right.
The group in front of us disperses to the tablets set up in a long row on tables in front of the stage. It’s almost time to cast my vote.
I look around, wishing that they had one of the screens in here programmed to show voting results. Then again, watching those numbers change and adjust like it’s election night all over again might not have been what my anxiety needs.
“Our turn!” Kyra squeals.
Grabbing my arm, she yanks me toward the tablets, her giddiness starting to become infectious. The sunshine and joy radiating off her starts to wiggle its way into the cracks left in me, pushing past the hurt. She’s right—this is my moment. I should enjoy it.
I tap on the tablet, quickly entering my email address to register my vote.
The screen flips, showing off the top two finalists in our category.
I absentmindedly tap next on the screen, moving to the description of the Rocky Top Double.
One that I know by heart. I don’t need to read it to know my vote.
Hitting next again, we move on to Brandt’s entry, and I move to hit the next button again as quickly as I can, not wanting to spend any more time acknowledging him or his drink than I have to. Then the name catches my eye.
Cherry Luna.
My breath catches, right in time with my heart stopping for a beat. Cherry Luna. Luna.
That’s me.
I think.
Blinking hard, I try to click away, but I can’t. Not just yet. The ingredients list doesn’t matter. It could tell you to mix a glue stick with glitter and Play-Doh for all I care. It’s the name that has me…I don’t even know what this feeling is.
“So, not to make a thing about this,” Rylan whispers behind me, “but isn’t that what he called you?”
It is. Sorta. Luna was my make-believe name. The one he continued to use as a moniker that belonged to him. But there’s no way. He said he made his entry months ago. So there’s no way he named this after me. It’s just a coincidence.
You know, those things I’m not sure I believe in.
“Shut it,” I snap back at my brother.
I need to focus. I need to do what I came to do—vote.
So I do just that. I muster up the fortitude and click away, onto the voting page. Without any kind of hesitation, I select my own drink and hit submit. Boom. Done.
“Now what?” Mikayla asks.
“We hang out ’til the awards are announced.” I glance at my phone, secretly wishing there was a message from Brandt, then kicking myself for such a thought. “Should start in about fifteen minutes.”
“Fine. I’ll be answering emails if you need me.” Turning on her heels, she walks off. Where to, I have no idea, but also don’t care.
“We won’t…” Kyra quips, looping her arm through mine. We walk over to a set of chairs on the side of the stage, parking ourselves in the front row. “Now, tell me how you’re really feeling.”
I lean back, relaxing into the cold metal chair. I try to gather my thoughts, wanting to be able to pinpoint one exact, specific emotion that I can share. Put a name to this knot twisting and turning in my chest.
“Messy.”
“Okay, that’s fair. Do you think that drink was named for you?”
“No, can’t be. He said that he submitted his entry months ago. Which means that it has nothing to do with me.”
Kyra nods, her sympathetic expression unchanged. “Do you wish it was?”
Oh, well, that’s the sixty-four-million-dollar question, isn’t it? Do I wish that the drink I didn’t know about was named for me? Honestly, I don’t know. Worse, I think deep down, I might, kinda sorta, wish it was.
“How lame do I sound if I say yes?”
She shakes her head. “Not at all. You fell in love with him and—”
“I’m not in love with him.”