So I hold on to anger. It’s steadier than grief, easier to carry than longing. I replay the moment he left me—kneeling, sobbing, while he walked away without a backward glance. I never imagined his father would be the one to turn on me, but it’s Luke’s absence that haunts me most.
At the club, my friends try to draw me out, but their laughter bounces off the shell I’ve built around myself. I nurse a drink I don’t want, grateful for the numbness. When Luke walks in with the guys, my pulse stutters, but I keep my eyes on the table. We make a silent pact not to join them.
When it’s almost my turn, I slip away to the bathroom, gripping the edge of the sink until my knuckles ache. Istare at my reflection, searching for some trace of the girl who used to believe in happy endings. She’s gone, and the shell of her staring back at me isn’t the same person she used to be.
Backstage, the air is laden with the scent of hairspray and sweat. The stage manager nods at me, and I step into the red glow of the spotlight. The fog machine hisses, curling mist around my ankles. My outfit is all sharp lines and black leather—a kind of armor. I need it.
There’s no act tonight. No flirtation, no pretense. Just the song and the ache in my chest. The first chords of “For My Sake” by Shinedown hit, and I let the music carry my anger. Every lyric is a blade, every note a wound. I don’t look away from Luke. I don’t point, but I don’t need to. He knows.
He never possessed the courage to keep his promise. Our shredded relationship is too far gone to repair. He had me—my heart, my mind, my body—but he lost me, and there’s no looking back. For my sake.
Luke doesn’t move a single muscle during my performance. He doesn't avert his eyes. He doesn’t speak to anyone, not even the waitress who’s so blatantly trying to get his attention. A couple of drunk girls approach him, but he doesn’t acknowledge them. It’s too dark to see what his eyes are trying to tell me, but I don’t even want to know. I’ve avoided him for a reason.
By the second verse, my voice is raw, my hands trembling around the mic. I dare him to look away, to prove he’s not like every other man who’s broken a promise. He doesn’t. He sits stone-still, unreadable, and I realize I don’t care what he’s thinking. This is for me.
My chest tightens with every note, memories threatening to surface, but I force myself to focus on the music instead of the ache he left behind. The song is exactly right when it says what he lost was me. Under the harsh stage lights, I feel exposed—my anger, my sorrow, the longing I’m desperate to keep hidden. For my own sanity, I can’t look back. Even as the crowd’s energy buzzes and the waitress hovers a little longer by his chair, I let myself disappear into the music, determined not to break.
When the song ends, the applause is distant, muffled by the rush of blood in my ears. I leave the stage without looking at anyone, barely aware of the crowd. I just want to disappear.
Suddenly, I'm hoisted into the air, but I just saw Shane still sitting at the table, so I know it's not him this time. I don’t know who has grabbed me, but he’s about to get a mouthful of my fist, especially in my current state of pissed-off mind. When I catch a glimpse of him over my shoulder, I’m doubly determined to draw blood.
He pulls my ear to his mouth and has the nerve to ask, "Did you miss me, baby?" Then he sets me down and smiles at me like I'm a long-lost friend.
I don’t return the smile. In fact, if looks could kill, he would already be buried at this point. “Miss you? Have you been gone?” I respond dryly and turn to walk away from the second biggest mistake I’ve made in the dating arena. I spot Shane barreling through the throngs of people to get to us, and he’s obviously pissed. Will is fast on his heels.
“Brad,” Shane’s voice is low and threatening. “Don’t. Touch. Her. Again.” He narrows his eyes and punctuates each word to emphasize his meaning.
Will moves up beside Shane, and it is a very ominous sight to see an angry Will. His voice belies his eyes and his words. "No, Shane, it's fine. By all means, let him put one finger on her. One. More. Time.” Will’s last words are clearly a dare, and Brad quickly backs up. Maybe he’s not quite as stupid as he looks.
Brad holds his hands up and answers jovially. "No harm intended, fellas. I just wanted to say hello.”
“You’ve said it. That’s the only word you get with her. If I see you near her again, I will pound your face in the ground. You feel me?” Shane grabs my hand and protectively pulls me to his side. I willingly go because I don't want to be anywhere near Brad, and I don't want Shane and Will to get in trouble for killing him. He’s just notworth the trouble of going all the way home to get my shovel, digging the hole, and hiding the body.
Shane and I turn as one to walk back to the table, and suddenly, he’s pulling me to the side, away from everyone. It’s only now that I see Luke standing up, but he never left the table. I guess he was getting ready to have Shane’s and Will’s backs in case a fight broke out.
Shane demands, "What is going on with you and Luke?" He looks mad atme. What the hell?
"Absolutely nothing." My voice is flat, and I'm doing my best to give him a bored look.
“What does that mean, exactly?” Shane demands.
“It means that there is absolutely nothing going on between Luke and me. Exactly nothing. Exactly, absolutely nothing.”
I'm glaring at Shane now, and I'm purposely being a smartass. I really shouldn’t be, considering how glad I was to see Shane when Brad grabbed me. And how Shane just saved my life.
“Look, I’m sorry, okay? Things aren’t working out with us, and I don’t want you in the middle,” I explain, nicer this time. Shane nods in understanding and lets the subject drop.
I push through the crowd to tell Mitch to put my girls' drinks on my tab and say goodbye. I can’t stay here and be this close to Luke. I just can’t handle it because I simultaneously want to tell him to go to hell and beg him to listen to my side of the story. Just hear me out, for crying out loud. I’m not the monster he and his father made me out to be. But I can’t do either. I just have to get away as far away from him as I can right now.
As I turn to leave, I see Brandon sitting beside Luke, and for some reason, I feel betrayed all over again. They’re brothers, I know, but I spent a long time talking to Brandon after Luke left me alone that day. Brandon picked me up off the floor—literally. I fell to the floor on my knees from the pain of watching Luke so callously walk away from me. Brandon helped me. He put me in his truck and drove me home. And he isn’t even the one who supposedly loved me.
I didn’t tell Brandon the full story of what happened—with his parents or with the mental hospital—but I think he did believe me when I said it wasn’t what it looked like. I try to tell myself that he hasn’t turned on me just because he’s sitting with Luke right now. My mind knows it, but my heart won’t listen. He must know what I’m thinking because he gets up and steps into my only path out of this section of tables.
"Andi," his voice is smooth and calm. "You should talk to him." He inclines his head toward Luke but keeps his eyes on me. He probably thinks that if he turns his head, I will dart around him and be gone. And he would be right.
“No.” I narrow my eyes at him, square my shoulders, and set my jaw, daring him to continue this foolish conversation.
“Hey, I’m on your side. I’ve told him what an idiot he is,” Brandon says with such sincerity that I don’t doubt him at all.
