She exhales, before she changes the subject. “You ever hear from that guy? Ben?”
Her question settles like a noose around my neck, tightening. Stealing my oxygen. Slowly, I shake my head. “He… he had to leave.”
“Shame.” She offers me the shadow of a smile. “He looked like a keeper to me.”
“Yeah.” I try to keep my hands steady as I add another line of beer to the shelf. Staring into the cold space, I blink away the mist that covers my eyes. “I think he would have been.”
34
Jared
Ilinger outside the bar for a while.
My fingers itch for a cigarette, but I quit a year ago. As soon as Ben—
I push those thoughts down deep before steeling myself and walking in, my hand wrapped around the handle of my battered guitar case.
I spot Emilia immediately, but my eyes slide away, sweeping over the stage in the corner before I return to examine it more closely. A band is already performing, the beat of the punk music filling me as I take my time looking around. The bar stretches down the side of the narrow space, several booths opposite filled with people drinking. The floor beneath me is slightly sticky, but there’s a decent vibe to the place.
She knows I’m here. I can see her looking.
I can hear the girls she’s serving, too.
They giggle beside me as I move up to wait for her to be free. Emilia keeps her head down, her lips pressed into a line as shefinishes up the order before turning to me. “I didn’t think you’d come.”
I’m not sure if she’s pleased or not. “It’s getting colder. Busking isn’t great fun in the winter. I like my fingers attached to my hand.”
“Fair enough.” She points over her shoulder. “Adrian will be in his office. I’ll go and get him. You want a beer while you wait?”
Something stronger, ideally. It won’t be my first drink of the day. But I nod. “Sounds good.”
I try to slip her some cash, but she shakes her head. “On the house. I’ll be back.”
Adrian is a greasy-haired prick with an attitude to match. But he nods at the band. “Jump on after these, and we’ll see what you can do. Got an early evening spot available, five nights a week. Weekends are mandatory and the pay is shit. Cash in hand.”
Of course it is. “No problem.”
Sipping at my beer, I keep an eye on Emilia as she works.
She looks slightly better than she did the last time I saw her. But…tired. Heavy. As if the world is weighing her down.
That makes both of us.
I watch as she serves customer after customer, not stopping. Her smile never changes, polite and professional but nothing more. And it never reaches her eyes, either.
Her dark green dress covers her to her neck, thick black tights on her legs with a pair of chunky boots, tightly laced. She hands change to someone, wavy caramel hair falling away from her face and showing the guy her scar. He stares at it until she turns away, and my jaw tightens.
Childhood accident, if I had to guess. The left side of her face is mainly raised, mottled skin, pink and white that travels down her neckline and into her dress.
I frown down at my empty bottle.
None of my business.
It’s a relief to get up on stage, to the mic the shaggy-haired singer from the previous band lets me borrow once I tell him I’m trying out for a spot. But even here, even as my fingers fly over the strings of my guitar with easy familiarity, she draws my eye.
This was a bad fucking idea, Jared.
She’s watching me too, ignoring the older guy waiting not so patiently for his beer. Our gazes collide, bounce away.
