Side Trip(41)

Either way, Joy had intentionally dressed to look as inconspicuous as possible. Dylan didn’t want her there, and she was determined that he wouldn’t see her. She wanted to hear him play. She loved the buttery rasp of his voice, and after today’s long drive she wanted to hunker down in a corner with a beer and listen to good music.

Joy ordered a beer and found an empty chair toward the back behind a wall of bikers. Leaning left then right, she confirmed that from onstage, Dylan wouldn’t be able to see her.

The tables were nothing more than barrels topped with round-cut wood. Red-checked curtains fringed the three windows. Smoke clung to the air like June gloom fog. People drew on lit cigarettes and sucked on saliva-soaked cigar tips. Joy bounced her knee and the blanket of peanut shells on the floor cracked under her sneakers. Nervous energy rocketed through her. The bar’s atmosphere made her uneasy. The people more so. Judy would never have found herself in a place like this. Which had Joy wondering . . .

What sort of obligation had Dylan performing in dive bars and on street corners?

He sold songs to chart-topping artists. His dad was a Grammy winner several times over. Dylan’s own voice, let alone his surname, was worthy of a stage at an exclusive club in a better section of town, one that charged hundreds at the door, not tens. He hadn’t given her much of an answer when she asked earlier. It would seem they had more in common than a love of music. They both harbored secrets.

A man at the table in front of Joy’s nudged his buddy and nodded in her direction. The buddy turned and looked at her. He smiled, showing off a crooked row of yellow-stained teeth. Great. Joy swallowed the sour knot in her throat. Her heart pounded in her chest. The hair on her nape rose. Did he have to leer at her?

“Hey, pretty lady, you all alone tonight?”

“There a problem with that?” she snapped, well aware that if she showed any meekness they’d be on her like flies on sticky tape.

What was with guys? Couldn’t a gal sit in a bar and not be harassed? It wasn’t as if she was the only woman here. Though she did stick out like a yellow dandelion in a field of grass. She wasn’t wearing leather. And aside from the other night, she hadn’t gone to a bar alone since . . . ever. Taryn always went barhopping with her. So did Mark. Joy eyed the barren stool beside her and felt a thickness in her throat. For the first time since she’d left home, she longed for Mark. He should be here, she thought, then almost laughed out loud. He’d hate this place with its dirty floor and dusty light fixtures. But he’d love Dylan’s music.

And that ate at her more than the lies. Mark and Dylan were opposites, but she could easily imagine them meeting up for a beer. At the very least, Mark would go out of his way to watch Dylan play. She was a horrible fiancée.

No surprise there, she thought, snatching up her beer in disgust. She’d been a terrible sister and despicable daughter. All the lies. So many years of lies.

She tipped back the glass at a steeper angle than she intended and swallowed a too large gulp. She coughed. Beer leaked from the corners of her mouth. Her eyes burned. She swiped off the beer, her ring catching the biker’s attention. She’d almost forgotten about him.

“No problem at all,” he said, still grinning as he answered her question. “Just wanted to ask you to join us in a game of liar’s dice.” He shook the cup of dice. For real, or was that a backtrack for hitting on her? Who knew? He gestured at her left hand. “Your husband here?”

“My friend. He’s playing tonight.” She nodded toward the stage. At least that wasn’t a lie.

The man glanced at the stage, then gave her a look. He didn’t believe her. “Gonna be hard to see him from where you’re sitting.”

She grimaced. That’s the idea.

“He doesn’t know I’m here. It’s a surprise.” She wiped a damp hand on her thigh. She was beginning to see why Dylan hadn’t told her where he was playing tonight. Maybe it had nothing to do with his embarrassment over performing and everything to do with the location and crowd. Joy didn’t feel safe. She felt exposed. And despite her efforts to blend in, she stuck out. Alice in Wonderhell.

“What time is the band supposed to start, Pete?” Liar’s-dice guy asked his friend.

“Nine thirty,” Pete said.

Joy looked at the time on her phone. Five more minutes.

The man scooted his chair aside. “Can you see better now?”

She could, and his large profile kept Joy hidden. Dylan wouldn’t see her.

“I can. Thanks.”

“I’m Rex.” He extended a meaty hand.

“Joy.”

“You let me know if you need anything, Joy. Any of these scumbags in here bother you, you tell them you’re with Rex.”

“Uh . . . okay. Thanks?” She took a deep breath. Lucky her. She’d just acquired a bodyguard.

Rex patted her back, two big thumps, and turned back to his game.

Five minutes ticked by, then ten. Joy began to worry. Had Dylan changed his mind? Was he even backstage? Twenty minutes passed and Joy considered asking the cocktail waitress if he was even here when Rex turned back to her. “You sure he’s playing tonight?”

Joy hoped he was. “It takes him a while to get onstage,” she said, recalling his performance the other night.

He lifted a brow. “The boy nervous?”