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“Is Ev—?” I begin, but like a pussy, I can’t finish her name.
Truth is, I haven’t spoken her name aloud since I left. I carried a picture of her in my wallet, the one of us on sitting on the tailgate of my truck, and a few years ago when I was paying for dinner when the waitress asked her name as she pointed at the picture, I couldn’t even manage to say it. All that came out was “That’s… my girl.”
But, she wasn’t. God, she is so much more than that.
Frankie glances back at me as she yanks me down the hall with her, giving me another cheerful smile I can’t return. “Of course she’ll be there. Our girl’s singing tonight.” Frankie smiles when she notices my smirk.
“Evie’s singing?” I gasp, my eyes widening. “You have to be kidding me. She’s not nervous?” I mean, I’m not surprised. She has a beautiful voice but usually only sang in front of Ethan and me when we were younger. Never in public. The Evie I know—she was too introverted for that.
“Not by choice,” Frankie adds. “I got her drunk first. You know Evie.”
Pride fills my chest that yeah, I know exactly what she means. At least I remember something about her. Evie always cares too much for everyone’s feelings but her own, which is part of the reason why I left. I wanted to give her a chance to fall in love if she wanted to without feeling as if she had to pick me because everyone thought we should be together. Or because we foolishly slept together one night. Don’t get me wrong, I desperately wanted Evie to pick me, and as far as I’m concerned, us sleeping together wasn’t a mistake, but I didn’t want her to ever feel she had to—if that makes any sense at all.
“No time to talk about this now though. I have to go make sure Evie doesn’t back out on us but Ethan could use your help, you know.” Frankie smiles, her bag hanging off her shoulder. “He missed you. We all did.”
I nod as we walk out the door.
“I gotta go meet Evie. You remember where The Point is, right?”
Nodding, I run my hand over my face. “Yeah. I remember.”
I remember more than I care to, that’s for sure.
5
GRAYSON
Ihave to admit, going to a bar my first night back in town seems like a stupid idea. Not only do I feel incredibly out of place, what the fuck am I going to say to her if I run into her?
Oh, hey, sorry for leaving and not calling. My bad.
No. Fuck no, I’m not going to say that.
This is just fucked up and I have no plan. A guy like me, I need a plan. I need structure, and I hate being put in situations where I don’t know what’s going to happen. I spent months not knowing what would happen from one second to another.
Yet here I am, putting myself in a position I don’t want to be in.
The Point is a local bar about a mile from our house. The parking lot is bare when I arrive, but I notice about five cars parked around the back of the building. Stepping out of my truck, gravel crunches beneath my boots as I drag my feet. Burying my hands in the pockets of my jeans, I step from the parking lot and into the field behind the bar.
I spent my summers mowing this field growing up and snuck my first beer in this bar. I wonder if Quinten still owns it and knowing him, he probably does. Looks the same. Chipped redpaint coats the barn wood siding that’s barely hanging on like the rest of this town. You can definitely tell time has taken its toll here.
In the field, I easily spot Ethan by the stage. Barely five foot nine, Ethan Brooks is exactly the kind of guy you’d picture being a musician. Incredibly talented, he’s artistic, creative and loyal. Much like Evie, and their mom, Ethan would do anything for anyone, including giving the shirt off his back if they needed. And up until three years ago, he was one of my best friends. Evie doesn’t know it, or maybe she does, but I told him two days before I left that I was leaving.
He begged me to give Evie more of a warning, but I knew what would happen if I told her. I wouldn’t have left.
I don’t say anything as I approach him and at first, I don’t think he realizes it’s me. Not until I clear my throat and say, “Need any help?”
His head snaps up and he smacks it on a drum riser. Rubbing the spot on his temple, he squints in the sun. “No, but—” His words die off, his smile instant. “Holyfuckingshit.” Dropping the cable in his other hand, he steps out of the sunlight and into the shadow of the stage I’m standing in. “Look what the goddamn cat dragged in.”
God, I missed this guy.I smile. “Definitely drug in for sure,” I tease, pulling at the shirt I’m wearing. He knows what I’m referring to.
Laughing, he draws me into a hug. “I see Frankie got a hold of you.”
“You know she did.”
He steps back and reaches for an open beer sitting on the counter. “Shit, it’s good to see you.” His eyes drag over my body. “You got solid, man.”
Solid? I quirk an eyebrow at him unintentionally. I’d lost twenty pounds and only just started putting weight back on after my deployment. I guess since he hasn’t seen me, I do look a lot different. Longer hair, tattoos, and probably thirty pounds ofmuscle. I hadn’t really thought about it much until now. I was eighteen when I left. A boy. I probably do look different to everyone.