34. 34 Parker
34
34 PARKER
BARELY brEATHING
The first thing I noticed when I walked into Heathcliff’s later that night was the absence of Gigi behind the bar. It was still fairly early in the evening, which usually meant that she was getting pre-rush things done alongside Dante. But there was no Gigi tonight. Instead, Vaughn stood next to Dante, the two men talking as they worked. I couldn’t remember the last time I saw Vaughn back there.
Frowning, I made a beeline for them. “Hey,” I said when I reached the bar. “Where’s Gigi?”
The simultaneous grins on both their faces both worried and relaxed me. I looked back and forth between them, trying to decipher their expressions. When neither spoke quick enough for me, I snapped, panic getting the better of me. “What’s going on?”
“Everything’s fine,” Dante said in the easygoing way he had. “Don’t you worry, girlie.” He tossed me a wink before turning to help an approaching customer.
Which left Vaughn.
Facing him, I raised my brows, silently reiterating my question. To my utmost annoyance, he chuckled. “You and your sister are more alike than either of you know,” he said, a fond gleam in his eye.
I ignored the warmth his comment created. “Vaughn.”
He glanced at his wrist, where he was not wearing a watch, and shrugged, glancing toward the front of the bar. “You’ll find out in about…ten minutes.”
I looked over my shoulder, following his eye line. The stage was set for Patti Mayonnaise’s show, their cartoon logo on Halle’s bass drum illuminated by a spotlight. Goosebumps raced down my spine.
Spinning to face Vaughn again, I slapped a hand on the counter. “She’s performing?”
He nodded. “She’s performing.”
My jaw dropped. “How…when… what ?” Shaking my head, I tried again. “I’ve been trying to talk her into taking them up on their offer for weeks .”
Vaughn gave me a chagrined smile. “Funny what a little good old-fashioned guilt will do.”
Something hot twisted in my gut. A fire-and-ice combo of excitement at seeing Gigi perform, and anger at what got her there. Climbing onto a barstool, I planted my elbows on the bar, assessing the guy who’d become a fixture in my life. We didn’t know each other well. Not yet. But I’d seen the way he loved my sister, and the way he loved his own sister. I’d seen how his friends and his employees respected and adored him. I took all that into account before I attacked.
With a long, bracing breath, I squared my shoulders. “I don’t think,” I started, tone calm, “that guilt is the best way to convince someone to do something when everything they’re already doing is fueled by guilt.”
Vaughn’s dark eyes, so much like his sister’s, flickered. “That’s not—”
“It is, though.” A fierce protectiveness roared through me. “She already feels guilty enough, Vaughn. Adding to that is a real shitty thing to do.”
He frowned, heavy brows furrowed, and when he spoke, it was with slow, deliberate words. “I appreciate where you’re coming from, but you don’t know her like I do.” He leaned against the bar, closing the space between us. “You weren’t there in middle school when she backed out of the school play because it was the same night as my homecoming game. Or in high school, when she wanted to take guitar lessons but our dad always thought she’d play piano.” His gaze clashed with mine. “She’s always operated on obligation. Her loyalty to her people is unmatched.” He grimaced, shaking his head. “Very often to her own detriment.”
He looked away, shoulders sagging, and continued. “The one time she led with her heart and did something she wanted to do…well, I’m sure you know what happened.” He shook his head and straightened. “I can’t let her live in shadows of that forever.” Turning around, I followed his line of vision. Gigi stood on the sidelines, laughing with the band, happiness radiating from her in luminescent ribbons. “So, if it takes a little brotherly guilt to wake her up…I’m gonna use it.”
I absorbed his words, matching them with what I knew about Gigi. He was right; he did know her better. Something I couldn’t help but be envious of. But I’d glimpsed the tenderness beneath her gruff exterior. She’d let me in. I could not help but be protective of that.
“Sorry.” I reached over to touch his arm. “I didn’t mean to imply that I knew what was best. I—”
“I know.” He laid his hand on top of mine. “I appreciate you looking out for her.” He studied me, face contemplative. He looked like he wanted to say something else, but before he could get it out, Dante rejoined us.
“We excited to see our girl take the stage again?” he asked, throwing an arm around Vaughn’s shoulders. “She’s gonna slay.”
Our girl . I grinned back at Dante, letting his words wind themselves around my heart. She was our girl, wasn’t she? Leaning over, I shook his arm, excitement bubbling over. “She’s so gonna slay.”
As soon as the words were out of my mouth, the stage lights went dark. The crowd—a bunch of new people must’ve shown up during my conversation with Vaughn—cheered. Spinning in my seat, I watched the shadows move as everyone took their positions onstage. My heart somersaulted as the familiar curve of Gigi’s body stepped in front of the mic. Behind her, Halle raised her arms above her head, counting in with the click of her drumsticks. Then, in perfect synchronicity, the stage lit up as their first song started.
Behind me, Vaughn laid a hand on my shoulder. I put mine over it and, together, we watched our girl come to life.
I blinked and it was over.
Spellbound, I’d watched as Gigi gave us the magic of Britney Spears one moment, then the wistfulness of Sixpence None the Richer’s “Kiss Me” the next. Without missing a beat, she transitioned from song to song, playing off Ryan as they performed “It’s Your Love,” their chemistry so palpable one would swear they were a couple.
She was on fire. Sparkling. She was exactly where she belonged.
Which was why when she stood in front of the mic stand for the encore, “Wonderwall,” and the stage lights caught a glimmer of tears in her eyes, everything in me skidded to a halt.
I was crossing the bar before I realized I’d even moved. I wove my way through the crowd, who was swaying and singing along, until I reached the stage. Standing in the shadows, I watched as she sang, her voice wrapping around the melody, turning a fun fan-favorite to the most melancholy thing I’d ever heard. One look at the audience told me that people were noticing. Wine moms and casual fans alike wiped at their eyes, clutching the hands of people next to them as they sang along.
I put my hand to my chest, my heart aching. Silently, I urged time to speed up, for the song to end, so I could wrap her in my arms. So, I could protect her from whatever was hurting her.
Finally— finally —the song reached its conclusion, the gentle strains of Tommy’s guitar accompanying Gigi’s final note. Then the lights went out. The audience erupted. Cheers vibrated through the air. In the dark of the stage, Gigi fell into my arms.
“Hey,” I murmured against her temple as she buried her head in the crook of my neck. “Hey. It’s okay.”
Over her head, I caught Halle’s eye. Her brows dipped in concern. She all right? she mouthed.
I communicated the best I could without letting Gigi go. I don’t know, I telepathed. I got her, though. Halle nodded her understanding, and veered the rest of the band away before they could reach us, giving us some privacy. I passed her a thankful smile and turned my full attention to the woman in my arms.
“Baby,” I whispered, lifting Gigi’s head from my shoulder. My heart cracked right down the middle as I took in the tear tracks down her cheeks, the anguish in her eyes. I wiped her tears away with my thumbs and let my palm linger against her cheek. “How about we go outside?”
She nodded and let me lead her around the perimeter of the bar until we reached the exit. Once outside, we sat on the bench below the open sign. Gigi leaned her arms on her knees and tangled her fingers together, fixing her eyes on them. I waited, giving her time to collect herself, to catch her breath.
After a couple minutes of quiet, the door swung open and a group of women came out, bringing with them a burst of sound and laughter. They started up the walk, but stopped when they caught sight of us.
“Oh, hey,” one of them said. “You’re in the band!”
Gigi looked up, the neon lights catching her surprise.
“You were so good,” another woman said, the earnestness in her voice endearing. “We’ve been coming to Patti Mayonnaise shows for years. Their last singer was good. But you—”
“You’re better,” the third cut in. “You made me cry .” The last part was said with a tinge of accusation, and it pulled Gigi out of her head.
Laughing, she said, “Yeah, well, you aren’t the only one. I made myself cry, too.”
The trio aww ed and reached out to give Gigi reassuring shoulder pats and arm squeezes, proving once again that no one was more supportive than a group of drunk women.
“So, are you the new singer, then?” the first woman asked, her heavily-lined eyes hopeful. Her friends backed up her question with a chorus of Oooh and You should be . I held my breath, watching Gigi’s profile. They’d given voice to the very question I wanted to ask. The question on the tip of my tongue and the edges of my heart.
Instead of answering, Gigi smiled and shrugged. “Thank you guys so much,” she said, a masterclass in avoidance. “I’m glad you enjoyed the show.”
There was another chorus of praise and positivity, then they sauntered away arm-in-arm, singing “Wonderwall”. Gigi stared after them. I stared at her.
Once they were out of sight, she sighed and returned her gaze to her tangled hands. I slid closer, enough for our thighs to touch. “They’re right, you know,” I said, bumping my shoulder against hers. “You were incredible.”
Her smile was half-hearted and aimed at the ground. “Thanks.”
My heart squeezed tight. She was shutting me out, closing up shop. There was a chill in the air that had nothing to do with the weather. Exhaling, I reached over and covered her fidgeting hands with mine. “Gigi. Talk to me.”
She looked at my hands on hers for a moment before relenting and flipping hers over to link our fingers. Then, still not glancing my way, she spoke. “I want it, Parker. I want it so bad .”
“So say yes,” I cut in. “It’s yours if you want it. You know it is. Just say yes.”
A humorless laugh cut through the air. “Yeah?” She glanced my way, the first time she looked at me since we came outside. “And what about us?”
I frowned, confusion like cobwebs in my brain. “What do you mean? This is not an either-or.”
She spun to face me, her dark eyes bright with a myriad of emotions. “Except it is,” she said. “It always is.”
I turned my body toward her, our knees bumping between us. “Do you think I’ll leave if you take the gig?”
Her gaze traced over my face, searching and hot. As if she’d find the answer in my eyes. Like my face was a magic eight ball. All signs point to yes, or Try again later. I stared back, giving nothing away.
“I think I’ll leave,” she finally said, the words so quiet I almost didn’t her them. “It’s what I do. I leave and I hurt the people I lo—” Halting, she pressed her lips together. With a quick shake of her head, she went on. “I’ve hurt too many people I care about already.” She looked down, her lashes casting shadows against her cheeks. “I couldn’t live with myself if I hurt you, too.”
As she spoke, I heard Vaughn’s words. The one time she led with her heart…
“Gigi—”
“So, yeah.” She cut me off. “If I have to choose between you and the band…I’m choosing you.”
I stared at her, my brain pinging with her words, my thoughts, my memories. My mom’s voice rang in my head, one of the many conversations I’d had with her about my sister: I did what I thought was best for everyone . Which had been Anya, living with our aunt, believing she wasn’t good enough for our mother.
I did what I thought was best.
Me, believing if I messed up, if I disappointed my parents, I’d join my sister in exile.
I did what I thought was best.
But it hadn’t been for the best. Not by a long shot.
The repercussions for my mother’s choice, her well-intentioned decision, were widespread and long-lasting. So long-lasting and so painful. I’d spent years being resented by my own sister for something I had absolutely no hand in. For years, I carried her anger, her hurt and her blame, on my shoulders. Even now, part of me still felt guilty for having had the life she wanted, the life our mother decided she shouldn’t have.
I couldn’t do that again. My shoulders were still too heavy.
“Say something.”
I looked up to find Gigi watching me, eyes burning like coal.
“No.” I shook my head, tears stinging behind my eyes. “No.”
Her brow furrowed. “What—”
“No one’s making you choose, Gigi. No one except you.” I pulled a lock of hair over my shoulder and twisted. Her gaze followed the motion. “If you can’t get out of your own way long enough to let yourself be happy, that’s on you. Don’t put that on me.”
“I—”
“Because you know what’s going to happen? If I let you choose me? If I let you choose me and walk away from this thing you so clearly want?” I blinked hard, but it wasn’t enough to keep the tears at bay. “You’re going to wake up one day, roll over, and see me sleeping beside you. And you’re going to think, Did I really turn down performing for this? For her? ”
“Parker.” She reached for my hand, but I slid away. Hurt flashed across her face, but I held firm. “That’s never going to happen. I could never resent you.”
“You will.” I brushed my hands across my cheeks, scrubbing the tears away. “I refuse to be resented for something I had absolutely no say in. Not again.” Standing, I dragged a fortifying breath into my lungs. “I’ve spent my whole life dealing with the fallout of other people’s choices. Losing out on experiences and relationships and love because someone else thought they knew what was best for me.”
My heart was pounding against my ribs like a prisoner trying to escape, begging me to stop. To take the words back. To stop now.
I couldn’t.
“I can’t do it, Gigi.” My chin quivered; fresh, hot tears rolled down my cheeks. I let them fall. “I can’t carry the guilt and resentment and…and heartbreak. It’s too much.”
Gigi got to her feet, panic painted across her face. Her beautiful, perfect face. “Parker.”
That was it. That was all she said. But so much lay beneath the two syllables of my name. She was begging. Pleading. She was asking me to understand. To stay. To let her choose me. Let her…love me?
My heart paused its pounding, willing me to listen. To hear everything unsaid. It was there, I knew. Love. I could feel it in her every touch. See it in her eyes when she looked at me.
It would hurt all the more when that love twisted into something ugly and cold. When she realized what she’d walked away from for me.
Squeezing my hands into tight fists at my sides so I wouldn’t reach out, I shook my head. “I’m sorry.” I sniffed and squared my shoulders. Gigi was a blur of neon heartbreak before me, red and blue lights catching the tears in her eyes. It was a sight I’d be haunted by forever.
“You’re going to be great,” I whispered, leaning in to press a kiss to her cheek. “I’m already so proud of you.”
Then, before I could change my mind, before I could listen to the beating, the begging, of my heart, I walked away.