Lead (Stage Dive, #3)(65)
“Fuck’s sake.” Jimmy scrubbed at his face with his hands. It would have been amusing if it hadn’t been about me.
“And on that note, I’m out of here,” I said, waving and walking backward. My hip of course caught the corner of the side table, a swift or smooth exit beyond me. “Shit, ouch. Have a nice night.”
“You all right? Lena, c’mon. Blow him off.” He swallowed hard. “Don’t worry about that counselor guy.”
“Tom. His name was Tom.”
“I organized dinner to try and apologize to you about the door.”
I shrugged into my coat. “Not necessary. I’d already forgiven you for that. Why don’t you try apologizing for sabotaging the meeting with Tom instead?”
His lips thinned.
“Right. Well, why don’t you give Liv a call, Jimmy? I’m sure she’d be delighted to get an invite. I’m meeting Dean in town soon so I have to go. ’Night.” I jogged down the stairs. Right then, I just had to get away from him as fast as I could. A pity I’d be missing out a night with Ev and the guys. Despite the insanity they were beginning to feel more and more like family. Right now, I could have done with some of that.
# # #
The fake biker bar was hot and crowded and I most definitely wasn’t having fun. If one more nice, clean, leather-clad cool person accidentally knocked into me I’d punch them in the face. This was, apparently, Dean’s crowd. He seemed to know everyone here. Sure as hell, no self-respecting biker would step foot inside the place. You didn’t have to be an expert in mc culture to know the place was a fraud. I’d more chance of tripping over a trust fund baby’s leather loafer than a real live biker boot.
Bet they were having fun at Jimmy’s dinner party.
Maybe I shouldn’t have tried to force Tom on him. Crap, I no longer had a god damn clue what the right or wrong thing to do was regarding Jimmy Ferris. If I ever had to begin with. From day one I’d been out of my depth, wading in shark-infested waters. I wondered if he’d called Liv and invited her over as suggested. Jealousy slithered up my spine. Dating was the right thing for Jimmy, it was. My inability to find inner peace and harmony over it was my own damn problem.
Time to suck it up, baby.
Dean stood a few feet away from me, deep in conversation with some guy about the values of different soundboards. No one could blame him. Tonight, I’d officially been voted world’s worst company. I played with the straw in my gin and tonic, pushing the slice of lime first to the left, then over to the right. Back and forth, back and forth. I’d yet to take an actual sip, it just felt wrong. Like I was cheating somehow, stupid but true.
Stage Dive blared out over the sound system and it was all I could do not to scream. Further proof of my predicament. My whole world was Jimmy Ferris and it was my own damn fault. For years I’d been drifting, getting over the betrayal of my delightful sister and her wonderful fiancé. It was time to start making plans again. If I could just figure out what I wanted.
Maybe I should talk to Pam again, ask about how she got into photography. There’d been something about lining up the shots, seeing the world through the lens that appealed to me. Bored, I pulled out my cell and started snapping off some pictures. The swaying dreds of one of the male bartenders as he shook up a cocktail. A crowd of patrons’ hands, reaching across the bar, calling for service. A partial shot of a couple, the two women leaning in close, holding hands. This was fun. My night had been saved.
I lined up a view of some of the bottles behind the bar. The flat screen beside them caught my eye and I lowered my camera. On screen was a face, an eerily familiar one. The marrow in my bones turned to ice.
“Oh, no.”
They’d cleaned her up, but it was still definitely her, Jimmy and David’s mother. Her normally pale sickly skin had been covered in garish makeup. She looked orange with coral pink slashes instead of lips. Still too thin with all sorts of nasty shit shining bright in her blue eyes, the bitch. Next a series of pictures of Jimmy flashed up, him walking into rehab and another of him obviously high on something. Then there was the snake herself, sitting on a couch, pouring her heart out to the camera if the dewy look in her eyes was any indication. Text ran along the bottom of the screen which was good. I couldn’t hear a thing over the music.
“I’m homeless. I’m on the street while they live in mansions. They’ve turned their backs on me because they have money and fame. They’re ashamed of the simple loving home that they came from. It’s such a betrayal. My heart is broken, I don’t know what else to say.”
A big fat tear ran down her face, leaving a streak in her makeup. The equally tarted-up blonde interviewer reached across, clasping her hand, offering comfort. My stomach rolled queasily.
“Shit,” I muttered.
“Lena?” Dean grabbed at my arm. “What’s wrong?”
“I have to go. I’m sorry, I’ve got to go.” I shook him off, not even looking back.
He called out something, but I didn’t slow down. Bye-bye biker bar. Heels couldn’t get me home fast enough, so they had to go too. I hopped along, tearing off first one then the other, dumping them both. The bitter cold of the concrete stung the soles of my feet, dirt and grit sticking to my skin. All that mattered was getting home.
Jimmy.