“As always, tip your bartenders.” I gesture to the bar, and they all take a bow. The crowd cheers in their direction. “And don't be an asshole. Goodnight!”
Toni slow claps as we make our way over to the bar. “Holy. Shit. Y'all.” She emphasizes each word, and I notice a little twang sneaking into the edges. “That was amazing!”
“I know I am,” Lucy tosses her long bob.
“Shots!” Ginelle announces, setting out shots for the four of us.
I raise a brow. “Just handing out shots?”
Ginelle rolls her eyes. “They're from Matt.”
As if being summoned, Matt manifests, along with a whole group of people. Everyone is nice enough—mostly friends of Lucy and Oliver—but the press of bodies and the din of everyone trying to be heard begins to sap away the dopamine from being on stage.
I look down at Toni beside me, she's quiet but doesn't seem uncomfortable in the chaos.
“I'm gonna step out for a minute,” I say close to her ear.
“Can I join?”
I nod, taking her hand in mine on reflex and lead her through the crowd. It's not until we're outside that I realize, but neither of us lets go immediately.
She let's out a large sigh. “That's better. I was struggling to hear myself think.”
“You hid it well.”
“I mean, I was fine. Everyone seems great. It all just becomes static after a bit.” She makes a dismissive noise. “But that might just be me, or maybe that last shot.”
“Not just you,” I assure her.
She releases my hand suddenly, placing herself in front of me. “Why didn't you tell me you could sing like that?” She crosses her arms over her chest.
“Why didn't you tell me you draw?”
Her perfect mouth opens and closes, arms falling to her side. “How...” She shakes her head, blinking as if she could clear the surprise from her features. “Don't change the subject. You have an actual gift.”
Old bitterness slithers through me. There was a time when anyone making comments like that would sour my mood for days, send me into a spiral of what-ifs and could-have-beens. Years of therapy had certainly helped temper that reaction, but this was a wound I'd likely never be rid of.
“Thank you,” I manage. “It's just a hobby, though.”
“Ginelle said you had a scholarship. To some prestigious music school?”
My cousin and I were going to have to have a talk about not telling other people's business. “Had. It didn't work out.”
“Why not?”
“Could we change the subject?” I snap. Toni flinches back, so subtly I'm sure most wouldn't notice it. But as someone who started pushing six feet by the age of 14, I've had a lifetime of being aware of people's reactions to me.
“Sorry,” she says.
I shake my head. “No. I am. I just—It's the first domino in a long line of shitty things. Things I'd rather?—”
“You don't have to explain. We all have our skeletons.”
Some of ours are literal.I think sourly.
“Oof.” Toni huffs, letting herself lean heavily into the brick facade.
“You good?” I ask, reaching for her waist, stopping short of touching her.
