For some reason, that bothered her.
“Never mind.” She nodded to what was left of the candy. “Eat it the way you were.”
“I’m getting mixed signals here.” He nudged her with his shoulder.
She didn’t want to, but, “I need to get back to work.”
“Tell Brek I’ll come back later?” He glanced to the lot where his Porsche sat. “Need to go have a sit-down with Courtney.”
Becca nodded. She rolled up on her toes and pressed a kiss to his mouth. “I know everyone always says it’s going to be fine. But I believe it will be.”
He hugged her tight. There on the sidewalk in front of Brek’s, he wrapped his arms around her and didn’t let go for a long, long time.
Becca
Linx was drinking, and it wasn’t ginger ale. Last call had been two hours ago. That’s when he showed up. He hadn’t brought his Porsche, and she wasn’t sure who dropped him off. He immediately went behind the bar and grabbed the bottle of Jameson. He hadn’t exactly been slamming the hooch, but he wasn’t going light, either.
Everyone else had gone home. She’d promised Brek she would stay with Linx so Brek could get home to Velma and their toddler. Then she locked up.
Then she waited while Linx made music. Becca sighed and folded more bar towels.
Linx set up shop on the stage, sitting on the floor like he had in his bedroom, and working on a song she’d never heard.
She kept her focus on him: alone on the stage, long hair hanging over his shoulders, scruff that headed into beard territory peppering his cheekbones. He played a few notes on the guitar. He crooned to himself. Then played a few more. Then he made notes on a pad of paper.
She worried at her lip as he sipped on another shot. Not tossing it back. He sipped and savored like they were in Colorado’s wine country, enjoying a sampling at St. Kathryn Cellars.
At various intervals, she’d brought him pretzels, a burger, another candy bar. He touched none of it. Like the rocker he was, he was only interested in the whiskey. Ginger ale wasn’t cutting it.
Brek had watched all of this with little stress lines she’d never seen before etching the space between his eyebrows. He assured her Linx would sort himself out. She wasn’t sure if he said it for her benefit or his own. Nothing else was said about whatever the hell-o had happened with the band in the breakroom.
She pressed her tongue against her top two teeth.Say nothing. Don’t ask. Not your business.
She wanted to know what happened with Courtney. She wouldn’t ask.
She wanted to know what happened with Dimefront. She wouldn’t ask.
She wanted to know how to help Linx. She wouldn’t ask.
The fact of the matter was… she didn’t know how to ask. This wasn’t what they had. The asking thing. But she couldn’t leave him alone. Refused to leave him with anyone else. Brek. Mach. Tanner. Knox. Even Hans, the band manager who seemed to take everything extra serious. They’d all offered to stick around with him.
She sent them away.
For better or for worse, her heart was becoming entangled with this man; and though she hadn’t processed it and wasn’t sure exactly what it was that they had together, she wouldn’t leave him alone in his own head.
After Linx left earlier, Bax stomped out of the bar. Knox and Hans, however, stuck around and had a beer (or three) with Mach and Tanner. They all seemed to hit it off. The only indicator that Knox carried any stress was his constant glances toward the door. Who he expected, wanted, or hoped would walk in, was anyone’s guess.
Hans, on the other hand seemed to be a whole bundle of wound-up, stressed-out energy. She was pretty sure that’s why he stuck around the bar for Brek’s extended happy hour.
Linx finished a few bars of music. He sipped his Jameson.
She set down the last of the towels and headed for him. He tracked her the entire way until she moved behind him and he couldn’t see her anymore. Then he let his head rest against her breasts.
“Play me a song?” she asked, trailing her hands along the cotton of his t-shirt with enough pressure to feel the corded muscles underneath.
He seemed to relax into her palm, so she continued touching him. Kneading the muscles of his shoulders. “You’re in knots.”
“You are the queen of knots,” he murmured, holding up the wrist housing the leather bracelet she’d made for him.
