Out of the corner of my eye, I spot a familiar face. I blink,willing this to be some trick of the light. But it’s Russel, laughing in a small group of people I don’t recognize. “Shit.”
Quinn frowns, then zeroes in on Russ and huffs a loud groan. “Seriously? What’s he doing here?”
I shrink a half step back, so Quinn will shield me if Russel happens to look this way. Though he’d recognize her and it wouldn’t take him long to figure out that of course I’m here too.
“Ignore him, okay?” Quinn says, turning toward me and sipping her beer. “I won’t let him get anywhere near you.” She’s tall and lanky and though warm and genuine, underestimating her is a bad idea. At a bar in Tokyo last winter, she laid this jerk who groped my ass flat on his back in about three seconds.
The band starts playing, blasting the space with a bright, edgy melody, their voices big and true. I let the music wash over me, giving in to the way it blocks everything out.
Quinn is right. I don’t have to talk to Russel if I don’t want to. And I don’t.
What the hell is he even doing here? We sold our condo in Seattle last fall and as far as I know, he’s with his side chick in San Diego, though he insists he’s living in Boise. Finn River ismyterritory. He could have gone anywhere else tonight. Why can’t he leave me in peace?
My jackass neighbor’s cocky grin flashes through my thoughts. Ugh. It’s like the universe is trying to fuck with me, because the only time I’ve experienced true peace since I moved here is when Linden is on shift, or when I’m floating in the lake beneath a clear night sky.
I sip my beer and close my eyes, swaying to the beat. Tonight, I’ll just have to escape to the music.
By the time the opening band finishes their set, I’m in a pleasant alcohol-induced bubble. My limbs are loose and the low lightingmakes me feel invisible as I dance and jump around. I haven’t forgotten about Russel but I’ve been able to push him to the fringes of my mind.
Quinn and I beeline for the bathroom, but we’re too late to get ahead of the line, which snakes along the right wall so the men coming and going from their restroom have space to pass. At the end of the hall is a black door labeled STAGE.
“I’ll get us waters and meet you back here,” Quinn yells over the pumped-in music they’re playing while Boxcar Doves sets up.
I give her a thumbs up as she spins away and disappears into the crowd. The dark hallway is lined with playbills and advertisements several layers deep, the staples denting the paper.
The two women in front of me are laughing about something. One has an athletic build, her brown hair pulled into a high ponytail, and the other is more slight, wearing a low-cut green velvet top. “Fucking stop or I’m gonna pee my pants,” Green Velvet says, crossing her legs together.
I look away just as a guy comes out of the STAGE door. He’s broad shouldered, with thick dark hair. Because of the dim lighting, it takes me a moment to realize it’s Linden.
He’s dressed in faded Levi’s and one of his ridiculous t-shirts. This one is lime green with a big yellow campfire in the middle flanked by trees and “NATURE FIRES ME UP” in bold letters across the top.
I must let my eyes linger too long, because he gives me an amused smirk as he passes, leaving a woodsy, manly scent in his wake. Is it his? I’ve been up close to him only a handful of times, but I don’t remember getting a whiff of something worth remembering. Mostly he smells of sawdust, sweat, or barbecued meat.
Athletic Girl has turned to watch Linden go, her big brown eyes tense with longing. “Damn is it hot in here?” she says under her breath.
“I heard he’s single—”Green Velvet catches me looking and gives me an icy glare before turning back to her friend.
I cross my arms and huff a stray hair from my hot face. Just my luck. Not only is my ex here, but my jackass neighbor is too—with his fan club in tow?
What was Linden doing on stage?
Quinn slides in next to me and offers a plastic cup of water. “Jeez, you’ve barely moved. The band’s about to start.”
I gulp half my water but it does nothing to quench the prickly heat rising up my chest.
Finally, the line moves up, and I’ve just polished off my water when it’s our turn. The bathroom is dimly lit and loud thanks to the stage being just on the other side of the wall. When I step out of my stall to wash my hands, the two women who were in front of me earlier are crowded into the far corner, where it’s darkest. Green Velvet bends forward, then they quickly switch places, and I get a flash of the compact open on the counter, dusted with white powder.
I’m no prude or anything, but I’m still surprised to see these women are so bold. I refocus on washing my hands, then hurry out of the bathroom, where Quinn is waiting by the entryway back into the bar.
She links her arm with mine and we half jump, half shimmy our way back to the center of the dance floor. Everyone is moving, bodies pressed close. The music is even louder, and faster than the opening band’s, and I quickly lose myself in the sea of gyrating bodies. Waving my hands in the air, I spin around, welcoming the way the wall of sound blasts my thoughts and lights up my skin. I’m finally free of the wrecking ball that was my divorce. Free to finally heal my shattered heart. Free to move on.
I wish it felt fantastic. Liberating. While there’s relief that the awful divorce process has ended, I mostly feel…empty.
When we order another round of shots from the bar, in thegiant mirror hanging behind it, I spot Russel on the far end, talking close with a woman, a coy smile on his face. He touches her back, bringing her closer. They laugh about something. Behind him is another pilot, Eric. He’s younger than Russel. Just starting his career. He leans closer to the woman facing him, and she smiles at whatever he’s just said.
Quinn grabs my shoulders and urges me to turn away, but not before it registers that the pilots are with the two women from the bathroom. The ones snorting coke.
“Don’t give them any of your precious energy,” Quinn says in my ear.
