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SYMPHONY

I don’t know what to call what Diesel and I are doing.

Random dates and banging?

Mostly banging.

Hookup companions?

Not really companions.

Fuck buddies?

That works, except we seem to be exclusive.

I’m not sure I like it. I mean, yes, I like what we do. But the emotional swirl around it all confuses me. Like, fuck buddies should laugh afterward and not be obsessive, right?

Based on his sketches, he’s catching something other than casual sex.

Based on my inability to stop thinking about him, talking about him, texting him, planning our next rendezvous, something is up with me, too.

I’m not sure a pair was ever as doomed. Maybe he’s not a Montague, and I’m not a Capulet, but damn, he’s wrong for me.

Nothing illustrates this better than when I get a call for an interview at the federal building.

It’s for real!

We book a time for next week, and I have to email my professor because I’ll miss my imperialism class.

But it’s real!

And so are the risks of being caught on social media downing shots at a biker bar with a room full of possible former felons.

I feel like Dolly Parton and Burt Reynolds in The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas, which I was exposed to at an impressionable age. For me, “I Will Always Love You” will always be Dolly’s anthem about why she’s all wrong for a sheriff. Wait, was he a sheriff?

Okay, so my memory on this is full of holes, but I know he was the establishment, and she was against the law. And even though I’m not exactly a politician, and Diesel isn’t a madam, it’s the same sentiment.

We’re star-crossed lovers. He can cost me my career. I can expose whatever he’s got going on at the Leaky Skull to people in power. People who can snuff his biker bar into oblivion.

We can’t do this. Not long term.

But I refuse to think about the future. At least not any further than our next collision.

On Thursday, I sit on the lawn with my class. Mina also got a call for an interview.

“This will be so exciting,” she says. “I hope all of us get in!”

I spot a familiar figure crossing the quad. Is it?

It is!

I jump up. “Bailey! You’re back!”

She hurries across the grass, tan and pink-cheeked in a white jumper. “I am! I have to check in with my adviser. I’m hoping she understands I haven’t made any progress on my thesis yet.”

“She’ll get it. You’ve been on your honeymoon!”

We return to the circle. “You remember Mina and Henry,” I say. “I’m not sure you’ve met Billy.”

Everyone waves.

“Walk with me to the poli-sci building,” Bailey says. “I want to hear about what happened with Diesel.”

“Sure.” I wave at the others. “I’ll report back on my interview next week.”

Bailey leads the way down the sidewalk. “You have an interview?”

I sling my backpack over my shoulder. “I applied for a position at the federal building.”

Her face lights up. “That’s so great!”

“Tell me about the honeymoon.”

We take off across the grass. “It was beautiful. Boat. Sun. Beach. But that’s boring. Diesel left the wedding early. I’ve been dying for almost two weeks to know what happened!”

The sun is blinding as we approach the more modern glass-drenched buildings, so I drop my sunglasses down from where they are perched on my head. “The Pickles pissed him off.”

She halts. “What do you mean?”

“Sherman and Diesel’s dad were talking shit about his bar, and he got pissed. He took off.”

She frowns but takes up walking again. “What did they say?”

“They acted like they were going to change it or make sure it was running smoothly. I don’t remember exactly. Diesel got upset and left the wedding.”

“Have you seen him since?”

How much to tell her? “Yeah. Marietta and I went back to the bar. She’s really into it.”

“Really? So, you saw Diesel again?”

What is she fishing for? Bailey has been my friend for ages, but this is the first time I’ve felt like I should hold something back. “We did. Both he and his brother Merrick were working, just like the first time.”

“And they didn’t talk to the Pickles any more than the one conversation?”

Something about her questions worries me. Bailey is too interested. Too invested. I slow down as we approach the humanities buildings, all stone pillars, the opposite of the glass ones we’re leaving behind.

I explain the best I can without saying more than Diesel might want me to. “It wasn’t exactly a conversation. They were acting like Diesel and Merrick couldn’t run a business. I don’t blame them for being mad.”

Bailey stops again. “You’re on their side?”

“Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?” My anger rises, and I’m starting to suspect that Bailey had some other motive for going to the Leaky Skull during her bachelorette. I decide to ask her straight out. “Why did we end up at Diesel’s bar that night?”

“I threw up, remember?” She glances away and takes off at a brisk pace.

I follow her. “Pretty convenient, winding up at your husband’s missing cousin’s bar.”

She won’t look at me. “Are you saying I threw up on purpose?”

“I don’t know. It’s a big coincidence. And Diesel doesn’t know any wine bar out there. It’s like we were driving to nowhere.”

“Well, there is one. The Wild Grape. Look it up.”

“We could have gone anywhere in Miami, but we rode way out there.”

We’ve reached the steps of our building. Bailey pauses by the door. “I didn’t throw up on purpose. But yes, I did have an idea that their bar was out there somewhere. I thought it might be fun to stop by, get an eyeball on this missing cousin. Then we ended up there.”

I’ve known Bailey a long time, and I don’t think she’d lie. “How did you know where it was?”

Bailey adjusts her backpack on her shoulder.

“We did some digging when we started addressing invitations. We knew the brothers had opened a bar, and we suspected it was in Florida. We cross-referenced their letters, their tours of duty, their likely discharge date, and took a guess about where they were based on real estate sales. The Leaky Skull was the only new business that fit the timeline.”

Shit. She figured it out.

“Why didn’t their dad find them?”

“They assumed the brothers would settle near where they were from. It was Rhett who remembered how they talked so fondly about their Florida trips.”

So, the brothers were outed due to the wedding. “Are you going to tell the Pickles about the bar?”

“That depends on this conversation.”

Shit. “And?”

“Symphony, surely you know the importance of family. You got stuck in the system without anyone adopting you.”

My face grows hot. “I know the importance of escaping bad family, if that’s what you mean.” Tears smart my eyes. “You can’t make someone want you.”

“But the Pickles are so great. I promise I only have their best interest at heart.” Bailey tries to hug me, but I resist.

“Bailey, no. Family who wants to be lost should stay lost.”

She frowns at my resistance. “If they were abused by family or in danger or bad things are happening at home, sure. But the Pickles aren’t like that.”

I take a step away from her. “I couldn’t disagree with you more. You’re taking away their choices. You’re outing people who want to stay gone.”

Bailey shakes her head fervently. “What if something happens to Grammy Alma? Or their parents? We need to be able to contact them. They can’t stay hidden forever.”

“You’ve made sure of that.” I turn away and race down the stairs.

“Symphony!” she calls, but I ignore her.

I know she lost her mom, and that’s hard. But that’s no reason to make other people’s choices for them. For you to assume you know what’s best.

She’s wrong. I know she’s wrong.

And it’s urgent I warn Diesel. The Pickles will know the location of the bar.

He needs to know what’s coming.