Lead (Stage Dive, #3)(96)
“I’m an old man. You have to look after your father.”
“Ri-i-ight.”
Mom just tittered. Lord knew how many white wines she’d sucked down before we came home. I didn’t begrudge her, Alyce’s wedding plans had obviously taken their toll.
The basement was Dad’s man palace. A huge flat-screen TV, comfy couches, and of course, the aforementioned beer fridge in the corner. Framed pictures of football jerseys lined the walls. Sometimes I wondered if Dad regretted not having sons, but he’d never said or indicated anything of the like. My parents were good people. Any issues I had body wise or whatever were my own. And while it was seriously great to be back home, I didn’t belong here long term.
Forget the past, I was going to do my thing (whatever that was) and be happy. Decision made.
I grabbed my dad’s beer, the second, however, I hovered over. I didn’t have a drinking problem. Not drinking had been something I did in support of Jimmy.
“Fuck it,” I mumbled, snatching another cold one from the fridge. I could kick back with my folks and enjoy a drink without it being a problem. Jimmy Ferris did not rule me in any way, shape, or form. Never had and never would. Not that he’d ever felt I needed to not drink, it’d been my show of solidarity and how far had that gotten me?
Whatever. It was time to kick back and relax. I was having a beer.
“Isn’t that the man you were working for?” asked Mom.
I turned and there they were, spread out in full vibrant color, coming at me live from Hollywood. Jimmy and Liv on the red carpet at some event. He looked so damn good with his dark hair styled back and a black suit on. It was like a knife twisting inside of my chest. My whole body went into shock. The beer bottles slipped from my fingers, smashing upon the tiled floor. Glass glittered and foaming beer had splashed everywhere. I looked up and he was gone, the ad was over, the news had moved on. Our sweet old black-and-white movie returned to the screen.
Mom and Dad were already out of their chairs and rushing at me.
“I’m so sorry,” I said, staring uselessly at the mess I’d created. My brain had stalled. Jimmy certainly however hadn’t missed a beat. He’d smashed my heart, thrown me out, and moved on with being the rock ’n’ roll bad boy.
“Fuck him,” I whispered.
My sister dashed down the stairs. “What was that?”
“Your sister had an accident,” said Mom, grabbing a towel out of the pile of laundry beside the dryer.
“I made a mistake,” I agreed. “A really big one.”
Dad blinked at me owlishly from behind his glasses. “Oh, sweetheart.”
The tears started and they didn’t stop for a long, long time. I think I finally cried myself dry.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
I’m pretty damn sure Dante meant to make weddings one of the levels of hell and just forgot.
I sat alone in the corner of the grand ballroom of the Long Oak Lodge as folk mingled and danced all around me. The room had been decked out in everything silver and white. Balloons, sashes, flowers, you name it. The overwhelming amount of blooms reminded me of Lori’s funeral, the sashes, of Jimmy’s silk ties. He’d said the entire world was a trigger for him when it came to addiction. I now understood exactly what he meant. My heroin was six-foot-one and as gorgeous as sin. It’d taken me higher than I’d ever been before, running riot through my veins. Then, not so surprisingly, it had indeed delivered me to the gutter.
You could say I had a bit of a self-pity thing going on in my party girl corner.
I took another sip of lemonade through my sparkly wedding straw.
Fun times. Broken hearted people really did need to just be left the f*ck alone. We’re not suitable company for anyone.
Fairy lights and candles provided the moodiest of lighting while up on the stage, a band belted out rock and pop love song classics. I’d borrowed a dress off an old friend (knee length silvery gray satin and lace–quite nice if a little tight in the chest area). Brandon had come near me once and I’d shown him my teeth. No, really I had. It was actually pretty damn funny how fast he ran away. He didn’t try talking to me again. Apparently, I had issues forgiving people who said shitty things to me.
Now, it was near the midnight hour and the party was finally showing signs of winding down. Alyce and Brandon slow danced in the middle of the dance floor, giving each other loving looks. Despite their dubious beginning, I think they actually had a chance of making it and all the best to them. Mom and Dad danced alongside them, indulging in the occasional smooch. Everyone seemed to be having a great time.
Uncle Bob Lambada’d past and I gave him two thumbs up.
“That’s great. You go, Uncle Bob,” I said without a single touch of sarcasm because I’m awesome like that.
I slipped down my glasses, rubbing at the bridge of my nose. A headache had been brewing behind the back of my eyes for hours now thanks to the overly complicated updo I’d opted for. It looked gorgeous but it pulled like holy hell. And I didn’t want to think about how long it was going to take me to pick out all the bobby pins.
I didn’t notice the guy in the black suit at first. I was pretty damn busy feeling sorry for myself. He was just a shadow moving through the drifting figures of couples on the dance floor. When a scuffle broke out over the microphone, however, then he had my full attention.