TWO
JACK
Little beads of sweat drip off my forehead, and with my eyes squeezed shut, I gather every bit of strength I have left. I’m exhausted—the best kind of exhausted, though.
A constant adrenaline rush makes my heart race and my brain run on autopilot. My mind is empty of all worries, cares, and frustrations. It’s like a natural high. Forgotten is everything around me; all that matters are the drumsticks in my hands and what I do with them. I bathe in the sensation as the beat of the music courses through my veins.
An unrestrained smile is plastered to my face as I look from our band’s keyboardist, Henry, over to the singer and guitarist, Paul. The three of us are best friends, which shows in how we perform together. Every sound is where it should be; everything is in sync.
As almost every Friday night, I get lost in the moment and that other place I find myself in when we play at O’Reilly’s, an Irish pub in Manhattan. It’s my place of bliss where I blow off steam, song after song.
After we play our final note, applause and cheers erupt from the crowd, and my smile grows wider. As usual, they demand an encore, and we comply.
My encore awaits me after our performance when we meet our friends in our booth in the back corner of the pub, as usual. The past week has been stressful, so getting rid of the tension in my body was overdue, and I welcome the weightlessness of the release. I revel in the sensation when we freshen up after our gig and pack up our instruments before joining our friends.
But it disappears as soon as I step off the stage and spot her.
Joana.
“Damn,” I say, grumbling under my breath.
Paul follows my gaze as we weave through the crowd. “Oh,” he says, chuckling. “She’s back.”
I grind my teeth. As we approach our table, I think of ways to get rid of her. She stands at the bar, her eyes never leaving me. It won’t be long until she comes after me.
It’s not the first time she shows up after one of our gigs, and this time won’t be any different. She’s after something that I can’t give her. I’ve explained it nicely, but she’s obstinate. Yeah, she’s nice and pretty and all that, and one night, I made the mistake of being too friendly. She knew beforehand what she was getting—that it’s always just one night.
Only she wants more and doesn’t accept a no. She’s one of those women who thinks they can change a man—make him change his ways and turn him into a loyal boyfriend and husband material.
Too bad that ain’t gonna happen.
“Hey, guys.” Ben scoots over on the bench to make room for me. He’s a good friend of ours, and with his fiancée, Amy, he’s a regular at our gigs.
Paul sits next to his girlfriend, Tessa, and Henry joins his girlfriend, Lauren, on the other end of the bench .
Yup, the guys are all in relationships, and more often than not, I’m the only single one. I don’t care, though. My friends never make me feel like the fifth wheel or pressure me to find a nice girl.
They leave me be.
Unlike Joana.
“Your gig was great.” Lauren beams at us before planting a kiss on Henry’s lips.
Paul drapes his arms around Tessa’s shoulder and kisses her temple. “Thanks.” He takes a sip from her drink.
“Your drinks are on the way,” Lauren says. “They’re busy at the bar. You attracted more guests than usual tonight.”
Paul grins at me. “We noticed.”
I roll my eyes. “Maybe she’s not here to see me.”
“Who?” Henry asks.
“Joana,” Paul says.
Henry straightens up and searches the crowd. “Where is she?”
“Who’s Joana?” Tessa asks.
“No one,” I mutter.
Paul guffaws. “Yeah, right. Jack hooked up with her once, and she wants a repeat performance.”
Ben hits my shoulder, making me flinch. This night is awful enough; I don’t need any extra physical contact. “Sorry,” Ben says when I scoot away from him. “Forgot you’re not a fan of touching. I remember Joana. The one with the voluminous cleavage, right?”
“Hey!” Amy says, glaring at Ben.
He chuckles. “Princess, you’d say the same thing about her. I don’t mean that appreciatively.”
“I remember her too,” Lauren says. “And I want a piece of the faith she has in her tops.”
“Can you give me any advice on how to make her understand that I’m not on the same page as her?” I ask, rubbing my forehead to even out the frown.
“Tell her you’re gay,” Paul says. “Nothing else has worked with her.”
I huff. “Then she’d want to turn me straight.”
“She’ll give up eventually,” Lauren says.
I swallow the sour taste in my mouth and, drawing in a deep breath, rise from my seat. “Excuse me. I need some fresh air.”
Why the fuck does Joana’s presence bother me so much tonight? She hasn’t even approached me, and here I am, sulking like a little girl. Why does this ruin my evening?
It might have something to do with my mom’s ever-present voice in my head. Not too long ago, my brother, Will, brought home his new girlfriend, which rekindled my mother’s wish to see me happy too. She held back with comments about my single life for a while, but now she’s back at it. I don’t blame her; she means well, and she’s not even pushy, but her sad expression kills me every time. It doesn’t matter how often I tell her I am happy being single.
Which I am. Really. Even when I encounter a woman like Joana, who’s determined to change my relationship status. Definitely not gonna happen.
I step out of the pub into the fresh night air—well, as fresh as it gets in Manhattan, but the air is cold as it fills my lungs. For mid-March, it’s unusually chilly. Spring hasn’t arrived yet. Still, the streets are busy, but I welcome the space out here—no people I have to brush past.
“Here, drink.”
I turn to my best friend, who holds out a beer. “Thanks, Paul,” I say. “You didn’t have to check on me, though.”
“Shut up,” Paul says, touching his bottle with mine. “Come on, drink.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “Are you trying to get me drunk?”
He chuckles, and I join in. I meant what I said; he didn’t have to check on me, but I’m glad he did. “I want you to relax,” Paul says. “The tension in your shoulders is painful to watch.” He takes a sip, and I follow suit. “Don’t let her ruin your night. Or whatever’s bothering you.”
I grimace before emptying half of the bottle in one go. “I don’t know what’s bothering me,” I say, rubbing my ever-tight chest. “Maybe I’m just having one of those moments.”
Paul nods in quiet understanding. He knows everything about my issues—unlike my other friends. Paul is the only one who knows what I went through and how it changed me.
And that I hate how it changed me.
“Let me know if I can help,” Paul says.
“You could get me another beer,” I say after finishing my drink.
“All right.” Grinning, he takes the empty bottle and turns to walk back inside but stops in his tracks when someone exits the pub.
Joana .
“Ah, fuck.” I let out a deep sigh. “I guess there’s no escaping now.”
“She heard your order,” Paul says, and I notice the two bottles in Joana’s hand. “ She wants to get you drunk,” my friend adds. “She knows how you operate.”
I groan. “Thanks, man. Wish me luck.”
“Good luck.” After directing a smile at me, Paul walks past Joana, giving her a quick hello. Quick, because she’s on a mission, and the determination in her eyes makes me cringe. She strides toward me. “Hello, Jack,” she says in her sweetest voice, batting her eyelashes. “I brought you a drink.”
“Thanks.” Despite my better judgment, I accept the bottle from her. “Hey, Joana. How are you?”
“Could be better.” She pouts, running her finger over my upper arm, and the touch makes me shudder. “If you returned my calls or messages,” she says, drawing the corners of her mouth even lower.
I press my lips together, holding in the words that lie at the tip of my tongue. “Sorry, I was busy,” I say through clenched teeth.
“Oh, Jack, stop lying.” She leans in, and her heavy perfume hits my nostrils. Once again, I regret my fucking stupid drunk decisions. “You had fun, too, didn’t you?”
The pout is back, and that she acts more and more like a spoiled brat annoys the shit out of me. “Joana,” I say with a deep sigh, “how many times do I have to tell you? It was a one-night stand. One. Night.”
“But—”
“Fuck, no.” I hold up my hand and step away from her. She’s way too close. “Thanks for the drink, but this ends here. Stop pestering me about something that wasn’t even that great. Average, at best.”
Her eyes widen as she gapes at me. I wince internally at her expression. I don’t want to use spitefulness to get rid of her, but she leaves me with no choice. She’ll probably call me an asshole next, rightfully so. That’s not usually who I am or how I act, but she caught me on the wrong foot.
She flares her nostrils and narrows her eyes at me. Yeah, I deserve a slap in the face. I stand up straight, preparing myself for her outburst, but all she says is, “Fine.” With an angry huff, she turns on her heels and flounces back inside the pub.
Blinking, I stare after her, wondering what just happened. While I should feel relieved, my chest tightens. Unease washes over me, and I have no clue why. I did nothing wrong.
Maybe it’s my usual MO—getting drunk and fucking a random girl—that’s getting to me. It got me into this damn situation, after all.
I should stop. I fucking should get over myself, and I should stop getting drunk only to feel something. I should work on my issues.
With one large gulp, I empty the second bottle of beer. The cool liquid runs down my parched throat, and the alcohol makes me relax a tiny bit.
Well, maybe tonight won’t be the night.
I need another drink.
I stride toward the entrance when the door flies open and three guys stagger outside, shouting profanities at each other. Frozen to the spot, I watch how one guy delivers a punch and hits the second guy square in the face. “You fucking moron,” the third guy yells while the second one goes down. I step aside to avoid getting in the middle of it, but it’s too late. Guy number three throws the bottle in his hand at guy number one, who ducks—and the bottle hits me. I’m not sure what’s happening, but I stumble back against the wall. More people rush out of the pub. A lot of yelling is going on, but it sounds so distant.
Something warm runs down my face, and a throbbing headache makes me feel like my brain will explode at any moment.
“Fuck, Jack!” Paul turns up out of nowhere, grabbing me by the shoulders. “Someone get me a towel or something,” he calls over his shoulder.
More warm liquid streams down my face, and I finally realize it’s blood. My blood? My vision becomes blurry, and an even blurrier haze surrounds me. Paul makes me sit down before pressing something against my forehead.
“Jack?” I turn my head to look at Henry. “Jack, can you hear me?” he asks.
Some unintelligible grunting leaves my lips, and I wonder what day it is.
“We should take him to the ER.”
I blink at Paul after his words. I want to protest but can’t.
Fuck. This is not how I wanted this night to end.