Page 21 of Resonance

Chapter 8

In spite of his protests, and in spite of his refusal to karaoke the first three rounds, Dan actually seemed to be having an okay time. I’d finally coaxed him onstage with me and three girls on their way to Oklahoma, and we performed “Vogue” to an audience of other stranded travelers. Dan contributed a single-syllable echo of the chorus in his deep baritone. But that was his token appearance. He stubbornly anchored himself to our table and his rocks glass after that.

There was a lively fuck-it ambience in the air that hadn’t been present earlier in the night when people were still grouchy about the weather or the accommodations or their screwed-up plans. But by 11:00 p.m., the grumps had grumped off to bed, and the rest of us had enough alcohol in our systems to make the best of it. The folks left were friendly, buying rounds for near strangers, hassling everyone who took the platform they called a stage to goof off, but cheering hard for the ones really trying. And also the ones who were really good, like Cathy, who sat next to me.

“You two should do a duet!” She clapped excitedly, looking between Dan and me. Dan had his fist wrapped around a glass of whiskey like it was an extra appendage. I wasn’t sure what number it was for him, but he had a glint in his eye and a loose smile on his mouth that said he was mellow. Still, he nipped Cathy’s suggestion in the bud fast, popping his lower lip as he said, “Nope. Not happening. I don’t care if I’m off my ass.”

“Why not? You afraid I’ll show you up again?” I lifted my chin in challenge. I had no qualms about getting onstage and singing someone else’s songs. Apparently the fear only kicked in when I was trying to sing my own stuff. Which was a really shitty twist of fate by the Universe.

Dan studied me, and it was a hard, deep look that ran over me like water searching for cracks to fill. “Kid, you couldn’t show me up if you got up there naked and sang like Prince.”

Jessica and Tanya’s attention had been added into the mix now, and the three of them let out a low, collective “Oooooooh, burn.”

“So duet with me, then, and show me.” I bounced my brows at him.

Dan shook his head again and gripped his glass tighter, like it was an anchor I might try to pry from his hand to drag him onstage. “My singing days are over.”

“I’ll duet with you.” Cathy grinned.

I watched Dan a moment longer and then slung my arm around Cathy’s shoulder. “I’m in. What should we sing?”

“‘Like a Virgin’?”

“Excellent choice.”

“Ironic, I’m sure.” Dan rolled his eyes, but I caught a hint of a smile on his lips as I stood to go put in the request.

The exhausted-lookingbartender with the hangdog face closed down at midnight. I’d bet he hadn’t had this kind of crowd in… maybe ever. But he cast a blind eye to the drinks a few of us took with us as we filed out. I tugged my sleeve over my hand and carried my Bud Light into the cold, crunching through a melty slush I could tell would vanish at the first ray of light. It was already warmer out than it’d been earlier, and the snow had stopped falling aside from a few floaty little drafts. I stuck my tongue out and chased a flake, tasting only a crisp chill.

Dan and I were both drunk. I mean, I definitely was and I was fairly sure Dan was, too, because I’d been watching the number of empty glasses that built up on the table toward the latter half of the night, and unless he was secretly a cyborg, he had to be feeling it at least a little.

He trailed behind me in the snow, carrying the plastic cup the bartender had given him, which I was pretty sure was a Jack and Coke. Why did all the handsome guys drink whiskey like it was some genetic prewiring?

“Key,” Dan called out, digging around in his pocket and tossing me the plastic fob before I was ready. I fumbled the catch, of course, and the key plopped into the snow. When I skidded bending to retrieve it, Dan caught me by a belt loop before I could sprawl, hoisting me back upright and making me snicker. It might have actually been more of a giggle. But at least I didn’t hiccup or anything.

A blast of heat from the wall unit greeted us as we strolled inside our room. Instantly too hot and alcohol flushed, I peeled off my denim coat and rolled up my sleeves. Dan dropped into the chair beside the writing desk while I sat on the edge of the bed and bit a hangnail from one corner of my thumb.

“What now?”

“Bed, I guess.” He tipped up his cup.

I turned on the TV, scrolling through the channels aimlessly until I landed on a dance competition. “Did you ever watchSolid Gold?”

“That’s a little before your time, innit?”

“A lot. My grandma showed it to me once, though. She wanted to be on it when she was young. I liked the hair and the outfits, so I’d find old episodes later, once I discovered the internet, and watch them, then try to imitate them. I can rock some ’80s hair like nobody’s business.” I posed. Alas, I hadn’t brought any hair gel, and Dan probably wouldn’t think a styling session at midnight would be fun anyway. Sounded like a great idea to me, though.

I steepled my fingers and rested the points beneath my chin as I considered Dan’s hair. It’d been a while since he’d gotten it cut. Not that I tracked his grooming habits or anything, but it’d grown out and was shaggy around his face. Not unkempt, just kind of loose and windblown, like he didn’t care what it did, which he probably didn’t.

“Why’re you looking at me like that?” His cup paused midway through its trek toward his mouth.

“I’m trying to imagine you with ’80s hair. Like a Flock of Seagulls swoosh.” I demonstrated with a sweep of my hand, and he sniffed almost imperiously.

“I was a kid in the ’80s. I didn’t give a shit about my hair. Then I became a teen in the ’90s and guess what? I still didn’t give a shit about my hair.”

“You’re a mean drunk, Daniel Grim.”

“And a tired one.” He emptied his cup and tossed it in the trash before rubbing a hand over his eyes. That was supposed to be a prompt, I guess.