Fernando balls his hand into a fist beside his whiskey. “She was my girlfriend, and she went behind my back and fucked a test tube. She had another man’s cum inside her. What do you call a woman like that if she’s not a whore?”
Debbie rolls her eyes. “I call her a go-getter. She knew what she wanted, and she went after it. And last time I checked, a whore gets paid; she doesn’t shell out her own hard-earned money to try to have a baby because her boyfriend isn’t ready to commit.”
“I was ready! I asked her to marry me,” Fernando protests, his face going red beneath his olive skin. “She said no. Said she wanted to have a baby without getting married first and we could ‘see about that’ later. She’s the one who wanted to give birth to a bastard, and where I come from, that makes her a whore. Plain and simple.”
“Well, this isn’t where you come from. This is my bar,” Debbie says, her voice taking on a hard, no-nonsense edge. “And I’m not here to debate your personal business. I’m here to keep this bar a civil place to drink. So if you can’t share your beef without getting nasty, you can take it outside.”
“You’re on her side,” Fernando accuses, his jaw clenching as he grabs his drink, sloshing whiskey over the edge as he draws it sharply closer to his chest. “You’re all on her side. Even my mother.”
“I’m not on her side,” the brunette pipes up, bouncing on her stool, but Fernando doesn’t appear to hear her.
“You all think there’s something wrong with me,” he continues, drinking deeply from his glass before continuing in a rougher voice, “but I was doing my part. I was a good fucking boyfriend. I gave her everything she ever wanted. I cooked on Saturdays. I did housework if I stayed over more than a couple of nights a week. I even stopped smoking for her.” He slaps a hand to his chest with a grin, fumbling into the front pocket of his dress shirt. “But no more. Now that she’s out of my life, I’m finally fucking free again. I can smoke as much as I want.”
“Good for you,” Debbie says dryly. “But smoke ’em outside.” She shifts her attention to the brunette. “You need anything else, kid?”
The brunette shakes her head. “No, thanks. I’m good.” She flutters her lashes in Fernando’s direction. “I’ll come with you. I don’t smoke, but I don’t mind if you do.”
“Thanks, but I’ve gotta piss,” Fernando says. Sliding off his stool, he stumbles back a step before recovering his balance with a hand on the bar.
“Oh, okay.” The woman sits up straighter, thrusting her cleavage his way as he steers himself around her and heads for the back of the bar. “But you’ll probably need to go next door,” she calls after him. “I think the men’s room is closed.”
Fernando lifts a hand but doesn’t alter his course. The brunette turns back, catching my eye for the first time as she says, “It is, right? The men’s room? Closed?”
“I don’t know.” I set a twenty on the bar before tucking my wallet into the pocket of my jeans and easing off my stool. “I’ll check on my way out.” I lift a hand to Debbie. “See you later, Debs.”
“Later, Zack. Don’t be a stranger, sweetheart,” Debbie calls from down the bar where she’s filling two pint glasses from the taps. “We need more guys like you around here classing up the joint. Bring the rest of the boys in the band with you next time. I’ll treat you all to a round.”
I hesitate a beat but in the end just nod and step away from the bar, tailing Fernando past the pool tables toward the back.
Sooner or later, Debbie’s going to find out that I’m not in the band anymore. Once the press release drops later tonight, everyone will know, but I don’t feel up to talking about it in person just yet. I know it was the right decision—it’s time to give my personal music the time and attention I haven’t been able to spare while playing bass for Lips on Fire—but I also know a lot of people are going to be disappointed.
Including the bartender who’s been sneaking the “boys in the band” Cokes spiked with Jack since we were nineteen and busting in here with shitty fake IDs that never fooled Debs for a second. We’re legendary in Hidden Kill Bay, the small-town boys who made it big, who rose to the top and stayed there, album after album, proving we weren’t just another catchy flash in the pan.
Our music has evolved a lot over the years, but it’s evolved as a group effort, with our lead singer Colin taking point. And for a long time, I loved collaborating. But sometime in the past few years, that’s changed. I’ve started to feel…stuck, like I’m treading water artistically, staying afloat but not getting anywhere. And then Cutter, our rhythm guitarist, and the only band member I’ve ever clashed with, married Theodora.
My Theodora.
My best friend, the person I’ve always turned to for advice on girls and friendship and family and just about everything else.
We’ve been close since I started washing dishes at her family’s restaurant when she was a wise-beyond-her-years sixth grader and I was a tenth grader desperate to make enough money to afford a new amp. We started hanging out on my breaks, sharing the Kit Kats Gram tucked into my pocket before I left for work, and instantly hit it off. It didn’t matter that she was younger or sheltered or had very little interest in the band; I knew Theo was a kindred spirit from the start. We just…click. We get each other. We have the same curious mind and the same sense of humor and the same values.
Or so I thought.
And then she’d started dating Cutter last spring and eloped with him to Vegas a few days ago. Eloped, after they’d barely been dating for three months and had spent most of that apart while the band was on tour in Europe.
Right now, she’s in Nevada on her impromptu honeymoon. Meanwhile, I had no idea things were that serious between her and my least-favorite bandmate until she called to invite me to the post-wedding party they’re having at her restaurant when they’re back in town next week.
She caught me completely by surprise. I’m sure my congratulations sounded as forced as they felt, and I did a shit job of hiding my relief that I had plans that would prevent me from joining the celebration.
I want to be happy for her, I do. I want to believe that Cutter is going to grow up and treat her the way she deserves to be treated, but I know the chances that a womanizing, me-first kind of guy like Cutter is going to change his ways are pretty fucking slim.
I hate to think that, in a few years, once the new has worn off and he’s tired of living up to the expectations of a woman who has her shit together, Cutter might be the asshole bad-mouthing his woman in a bar.
And that woman will be my Theo.
Only she’s not mine anymore. She’s his. It’s another thing that’s changed, another way my world has turned upside down, and enough to put me in a confrontational frame of mind even before I step out the back door into the alley behind Chippy’s to find Fernando pissing against the wall on the other side.
“This isn’t a toilet, asshole,” I growl. “The deli next door has a restroom.”
Fernando glances over his shoulder, but doesn’t stop pissing as he slurs, “Go fuck yourself, Zack.” He laughs. “Yeah, I saw you there. Acting like you weren’t listening to every fucking word I said. Why don’t you go tattle to Colette? Maybe she’ll suck your dick like a good whore as a reward.”