Page 3

3

olivia

“ G onna take a quick fifteen-minute break, then I’ll be back. If you have any requests, write them down and turn them in up here on the stage. I’ll get to as many songs as I can!” The crowd claps as I catch my breath after the first set. Needing a refill on my water, I head over to the bar. My boyfriend is surprisingly here and I want to go say a quick hello while I’m on my only break.

The shock of him actually showing up tonight sends a jolt of excitement through me as I weave through the crowd, dodging swaying bodies and sloshing beers. Cayden hates this stuff. Actually, he loves the drinking aspect of the bar, but hates the ‘me performing music’ part. But there he is, at the bar, and my heart skips a beat. Maybe he cares more than I thought?

Cayden Banks and I met online a year and a half ago and started dating after quickly connecting through a mutual love of hockey. He’s a nice guy, but lately, we haven’t been spending as much time together as I’d like. My lips thin, anxiety rushing through me. He has never wanted to spend a lot of time with me, but it’s been worse lately. Hopefully after my set is done, we can go back to my place and chill. Watch a movie or something. But as I near the bar, I see he’s paying his tab. I freeze, a pit forming in my stomach. He’s not one to stop drinking this early in the evening, especially on a Friday, and I still have another forty-five-minute set to play. I blink against the burning in my eyes, already seeing where this is heading.

“Hey, babe,” I say, his spine stiffening as I approach. “Thanks for coming tonight. Are you leaving already?” I lean into give him a quick peck on the cheek, my heart squeezing when he doesn’t even look over at me.

“The guys want to play puck tonight, so I’m headed out before I have too much to drink. I’d rather get wasted at home; you know that. Besides, the drinks here get more expensive after happy hour ends.”

God, he is so cheap . With a last name like Banks, you would think he has lots of money. False. He never has money. He has a decent job working in procurement at one of the local community colleges. To be honest, I make more money than he does.

I think he resents me for it .

But it’s not like I’m rolling in dough either. I make enough to pay my bills and set aside some money to buy things I want. But Cayden? He is always complaining about how everything we do is so expensive. Unless it has to do with sports or drinking. Anything I suggest we do is an instant no-go.

Once, when we went out for dinner, he ordered an appetizer and a meal for himself. I ordered a salad. He paid. He planned the date, so it seems nice, right? I thought it was. Until we got into the car. He complained about how expensive it was, telling me, “We can’t be going out to eat all the time.” Apparently, him ordering an entree and an appetizer was my fault.

Somehow, everything is my fault.

“I was hoping you’d stay awhile. I’m playing a couple of new songs this next set, and I’d love for you to hear them. And Walt’s back is acting up, so he can’t help me get all my gear in the car.”

He shrugs, pulling his phone out of his pocket. “You’ve gotten all your equipment packed up here on your own before, why can’t you handle it tonight too? It’s just part of the job you signed up for. Plus, the guys are going to start playing soon, so I gotta go.”

If I had one wish in life, it would be for that damn video game to explode into a million pieces. I know the drill when he plays. He gets wasted. He won’t reply to any of my texts or calls, won’t check to see that I got home okay, and he’ll be so hungover tomorrow, he won’t even remember his own name, let alone want to spend time with me. The ache in my chest grows, making it hard to breathe. His unwillingness to help is almost crippling. But, as always, I take a deep breath and smile through my eternal disappointment, my cheeks stiff and my eyes flat.

“Okay. I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Be safe and let me know when you get home,” I say as he walks away.

“Yeah. Will do. Thanks, babe,” he says, typing on his phone as he walks out of bar, the door closing behind him.

“Need a refill on the water, Liv?” Johnny, the bartender asks.

“I may need something stronger than the water tonight, Johnny.”

He narrows his eyes, his gazed filled with worry. “I’m not sure it’s the drink that needs to change.”

I shrug, my smile wobbling. “Yeah, yeah, you say that every week. Just give me my water. And you better have a Strongbow ready for me after I finish this set!” I tease, as he smiles and nods at my traditional post-show drink order. “Don’t you worry about me, Johnny. I’m a strong, capable, badass, independent, thirty-one-year-old woman. I’ll carry all the super heavy expensive music equipment out to my car. Alone. In the rain. No problem.”

“I’d be happy to help you,” a deep voice resonates beside me.