I can’t go back to the old Brighton.
My hand shakes around the bottle, and I set it down on the counter, trying to steady my breathing, when I catch her out of the corner of my eye.
“Don’t you just love tonight?” Rhea says from my left, scooping a water bottle from the corner of the bar.
“Drunk people butchering my favorite songs?” I groan, and she stares at me with a funny face. “What?” I mumble uncomfortably.
“You’re such a grump. Pretty sure you’re a fake music lover,” she says, looking genuinely perplexed by it. I don’t say anything more to her because my name is called for drinks, and by the time I’m done, she’s gone from the bar and across the room, smiling at a table of firefighters. I inhale slowly, trying not to let it get under my skin that she doesn’t smile at me like that when my eyes catch Boone.
He’s staring at me like I'm an idiot, and I shake my head before getting back to work, trying to ignore the implications in his glare. I manage to keep my head down for the majority of the night, focusing on the bar instead of the noise. That’s the hardest part of owning the Hollow, all the noise. The first few weeks after opening had been exhausting; controlling my reaction to every little noise took a toll on my body.
Sunday and Boone learned quickly. She’s adamant they didn’t, but I'm convinced they both went to group therapy to deal with me, and whether or not that's true. I’m grateful every day that they haven’t given up on me. Without Sunday, I wouldn’t have Daisy. During deployment, after she was born, Sunday was the driving force for Daisy being around our side of the family. She worked hard to keep her niece around, for me… for herself. My siblings were the real heroes of this story; I’m just the reason they needed to grow up faster.
The best thing I can do for everyone is just keep moving.
As the night goes on, the numbers in the bar start to dwindle, and it grows quiet with only the regulars floating around talking with one another. Sunday and Rhea sit at the edge of the bar, chins propped in their hands, fluttering their lashes at me.
“What?” I snap, setting down a tray of clean glasses.
“Now that it's dead in here, do you think that we could…” Sunday starts, and I shake my head.
“You’re working tonight, no singing,” I warn her, swiping a towel off the counter and drying my hands.
“Aw, come on, Bri—just one song!” She drops her voice in that tone she used to use when we were younger and widens her eyes at me, but my gaze flickers to Rhea, who’s sitting quietly with the softest of frowns on her face.Fuck.
“One song,” I clip, and Sunday turns to look where I’m staring, her brows furrowing as Rhea slides off the stool, excited.
“Bri.” Sunday doesn’t move. Her tone is soft and confused, and I realize I’m an idiot.
“Go. This won’t happen again…” I say, trying to ignore the concern on her face. She’s clearly not thinking about karaoke, and my heart stills in my chest at the look she’s giving me.
“Nothing’s going on, Day. Stop staring at me.” I sigh, but she doesn’t move.
“You’ve got a lot going on… tread lightly,” Sunday says, more possessively than I’ve ever heard her be, and I know she’s talking about my past, all the things I’ve done, the trouble I’ve caused, but…
I won’t be that version of myself again. Never.
And nothing is going on between Rhea and me. She’s just a pretty face.
“I gave her a room to rent, a job… Why am I the bad guy?” I scoff.
Rhea calls her name, but she doesn’t budge. “Don’t do anything stupid,” she says quickly, pushing off the bar, “Please.”
“Scouts honor.” I give her a half-hearted salute and watch her back away from the bar. I can tell she’s still wary, but Rhea is shaking the new binder at her, and she puts her focus back on her best friend. I flex my hands in the towel and try to ignore the unfamiliar guilty feeling that gnawed at my insides.
Boone slid behind the bar and threw a plate of fries between us before hauling himself up on the counter to sit. I turn to scold him, but he’s pointing to the fries, “Eat.” He mumbles with a mouth full of potatoes.
I grab a few, noticing that he’s brought out a cup of the hot mustard for me, and dip them inside. It’s not until they hit my tongue that I realize how hungry I am. “Thank you,” I grumble and continue eating.
Under Pressureby Queen starts over the speakers, and it’s like an instant balm to my frayed nerves. I relax a little against the bar and watch as the girls figure out what parts they want to sing, but the second Rhea opens her mouth, everything else fades away. It’s like she’s the only one up there, and when the music brightens, she does too; it’s the happiest I’ve seen her since the day I met her.
Seven years ago, Sunday came home and decided that she was joining the rugby team. Both Boone and I said no, more than once. Sunday hadsuffered from grand-mal seizures from the day she was born, terrifying and exhausting. She managed it as well as anyone could, better than either of our parents did. Boone and I had become her primary caregivers the minute we were legally allowed to. It was the three of us against the world.Always.
Rugby was a rough sport. Neither of us played, but we knew that much. But Kaia had joined the team, and Sunday wanted to follow. We argued for weeks about it, and Sunday signed up anyway. She was twenty-two, and we couldn’t stop her. Instead, we joined her. Practices usually held in tandem with hers meant we could be on the parallel field, never too far away but just enough that she could feel the independence she craved.
It’s all we could do, we just had no clue that with it came a group of friends that Sunday had always needed outside of us. Kaia had been around for a long time, but Rhea, Cosy, and Adeline completed the circle. Raised by two idiots, Sunday needed girls.
She spins around with Rhea on stage, happier than ever, and I suddenly realize her concern. This is her life just as much as it is mine, and putting my nose where it doesn’t belong is bad for everyone.
