As much as I know my dad loves Lisa, I can’t help but wish my own mother were still in the picture.
Turning the stove off, I push eggs onto my plate and grab the last piece of bacon. Then I go sit at the table with the two of them.
“So, who gave you a ride home, anyway?” my stepmom asks.
“Yeah!” Janie chimes in. “I heard the loud motorcycle! That’s what woke me up!”
My stepmom turns her face to me, her mouth open and jaw tilted. “Are you serious? WHO brought you home, Harmony Lane?”
My emotions swirl with an odd combination of dread, anger, and resentment.
“My new boyfriend brought me home,” I say, squinting at both of them. I don’t usually make things up for no reason, but the lie feels good as it rolls off my tongue.
She shakes her head. “You just wait till your father gets home,” she says as she shovels another piece of bacon into her mouth.
I eat in silence, not wanting to get into a further argument with Lisa right now. After breakfast, I head back up to my room, tune my guitar, and play.
One week until I’m back at The Hungry Burger again. Even if the show is only for a dozen people, I’m going to make damn sure it’s the best one I’ve ever put on. I grind my teeth thinking of Roddy playing those big venues now, and how badly he screwed me over.
As I play, I sigh and think about what Zach wrote in that darn note. For some reason I feel like these next two months are going to go by very slowly.
Chapter 4
Zach
“Zach, what’s with you? You’re like a tornado trying to get out of here.”
In the Pizza House kitchen, my old friend and fellow cook, Kevin, has been watching me clean up my area like the Tasmanian devil since we closed down at ten and served our last customers.
“Sooner it’s clean, the sooner I leave,” I say, putting some elbow grease into it as I reach to the back of the stove.
Kevin just stands there, leaning against the counter, sipping his Diet Coke and watching me.
“Dunno what you’re in such a hurry for,” he adds. “You got a hot date tonight or something?”
I frown at him. “So are you gonna help, or are you just gonna stand there?”
“Free Diet Coke here!” he emphasizes, shaking his cup at me before sucking on the straw again, emphasizing that it’s all gone.
I let out a breath and pause, looking Kevin over. “Besides,” he adds, “the party is at Malek’s tonight. He’s got an OC situation—that’s open crib. His parents are both out on runs with their trucks across the country. And there’s not going to be any shortage of the good stuff there. So why hurry?” He makes a little sniffing motion and shoots me a devilish grin.
He’s been one of my best friends for a long time. Since before I went to prison. And when I got out, he was there to help me get this job. And I appreciate that, but sometimes I can feel him pulling me back into old habits when I’m trying my damnedest to break away.
I clench my fists, feeling the rage building inside me. Why’d I have to be born into this damn small town where it’s so hard to be someone else? No matter what I do, the people in my life always seem to see me the same way: I’m the life of the party and the guy who never turns down a dare…or a drug.
Correction: WAS that guy.
“I’m good, man, I’ve got stuff to do tonight,” I say, and go back to cleaning.
He laughs. “Stuff to do? What on Earth are you talking about? Taking up a new night-time hobby or something?”
“Listen, you worry about what you do, and I’ll worry about me. Sound like a plan?”
He takes a few steps toward me, and I’m reminded once again that he gained weight in the time I was away. I, on the other hand, did nothing but work out in prison and came out more jacked than I’ve ever been in my entire life. Those prison yard workouts with Tiger D might have kicked my ass, but they were sure worth it looking back.
Kevin pokes my shoulder. “Just because you’re this prison badass doesn’t give you permission to forget who your friends are. I got you this job. I helped you when you got out. And don’t you forget it.”
“Look, Kevin,” I say, vitriol leaking into my voice. “I appreciate that you want me to come to the party, but like I said, I’ve got stuff to do tonight, and I’m not about getting fucked up with you and the guys tonight. Now grab a rag and start helping me before I lose my shit.”
My voice comes out as a growl. I can see that Kevin is pissed, but I don’t care.
It’s Thursday, and the only thing I need is to head back to The Hungry Burger and hear that sweet, sultry voice on the microphone again. And I’m glad I’ve got an excuse not to go to Malek’s. An OC party has bad news, shady people, and old habits written all over it.
Kevin finally grabs a rag and starts helping me wipe everything down.
“I thought you were a good guy,” Kevin says. “But I’m starting to think you’re an ungrateful dick.”
I finish wiping down my half of the stove top and then toss my rag in the bucket.
“My half’s done. Have fun finishing this.”
I walk away, knowing it’s a dick move.
But Kevin apparently doesn’t understand the nature of boundaries. Not to mention how he’s freaking me out being all weird and clingy. Who gives a flying fuck if I go or don’t go to Malek’s?
I check out with the manager and then quickly change my clothes in the back room so I look nice and don’t smell like a greasy kitchen and cleaning supplies. It’s quarter to eleven. She played until midnight last week, and according to the online schedule at The Hungry Burger, it’ll be the same schedule this week. I get on my bike and break a lot of speed limits on my way to The Hungry Burger, praying the entire way that the podunk cops in this town turn a blind eye if we cross paths.
The Hungry Burger is a little more crowded tonight than it was last week.
And by “crowded,” I mean there are like ten people instead of the seven like last week. The same regulars are here, and there’s also a group of two youngish guys and their ladies—or I assume they’re their ladies by the way the women are leaning into them.
I grab a seat at the bar, order my Johnnie Walker Black neat, and turn to enjoy the show.
The stage is barely elevated—it’s not a good set up if this place ever does get crowded—but the up close and personal feel only adds to Harmony’s mystique. She’s a tiny, mousey girl, but the way she can take over the room when she sings is in stark contrast to her small, physical presence. She’s got on jeans and a white T-shirt tonight, looking sexy and a little punk with the guitar behind her.
“Hi, y’all. I’m Harmony. Thanks for coming tonight.” Her eyes scan the bar and make contact with some of the patrons, but don’t land on mine. I wonder if that’s on purpose.
She finishes one song and waits for the applause before she introduces the next.
She seems especially nervous, even shakes a little. “I haven’t sung this song for quite some time,” she says. “It’s a cover—” She stops, and as I watch I notice she makes a little move like she’s throwing up in her throat. Holy crap. Is she just super sick?