The rustic bar is quiet tonight, which we are lucky for as it's usually packed on the weekends. We each take a seat next to each other at the bar. We place our orders and talk to the bartender for a bit after he gives us our drinks. We talk for a while as I ask him more rapid-fire questions to get to know who he isnow.
"So, tell me something…"
"Hmm, what's that?" He asks, with a raised eyebrow and a panty-dropping smirk.
"Why the oilfield? I mean, you've always hated it. You swore you wouldn't follow behind your dad, especially after seeing how miserable it made him. You always wanted to move away and chase your dream of pursuing music. What changed?"
He doesn't seem taken aback by my question. He almost seems grateful for the conversation and my interest. His smirk even seems to widen a little.
"Life. Life changed.Life happened." He pauses, taking a sip of his drink.
"I worked on the ranch for a while. Then, Dad's health took a turn. He decided to retire, and the ranch started to suffer financially. We needed money. So, Jett took over managing everyday life on the ranch, and I took over supporting it financially. I began working my way up the ladder in the oilfield to help bring in a steady income to avoid having to sell. Now, the ranch is doing well and is financially self-sufficient again. It's definitely not what I wanted or pictured for myself. The schedule is shitty, and the work itself isn't much better. Don't get me wrong, the money is great, but I don't see myself doing it forever."
I nod, understanding. Of course, Ander stepped in when he was needed. It's what he does.It's who he is.
To my surprise, Ander now doesn't seem very far off from the boy I remember so vividly, and that doesn't add up to me. I feel like who I was then is different from who I am now—like time changed me. How is he still so authenticallyhimself?
Before I can respond, he takes my breath away with his next sentence.
"Also, my dream was never about just chasing the music. It was about followingyou." His eyes flash away for a brief second, and I swear I can see all the pain that's buried inside of him. The pain thatI'vecaused. As he looks back at me and our eyes lock, he smiles sadly and shrugs.
Just then, the bartender approaches with our next round of drinks. This time with a side of water, at Ander's request. I'm thankful for the interruption as the air between us was beginning to get heavy.
I'm very aware of the hurt I've caused him. I felt it, too, but seeing it painted so clearly on his face makes it all too real.
Once the bartender walks away again, I change the subject, attempting to lighten the mood.
"So. . ." I begin, with a sly smirk on my face, "I hear 'Mr. TikTok' is quite the internet sensation?" I ask playfully, his smile turns into a frown, and he rolls his eyes.
"Mr. TikTok?" He spits out a little as he lets out a rumble of a laugh. I nod in return as my lips form a line and slightly curl up at the corners, trying to stay serious.
"Yeah, a few of my songs blew up after some of the guys at work recorded me and posted the videos without me knowing. Since then, I have posted videos independently and even recorded a few for iTunes and Spotify. It's nothing serious, though. I don't even really pay attention to it. Honestly, I only started posting so they'd hopefully reach someone in particular, but it doesn't seem like they ever did," he says, his eyes intent on watching my reaction, and he shrugs slightly.
"Well, it sure sounds serious," I smile as I push the topic, not letting him downplay his success. "Your voice is worth hearing, Ander. It always has been."
He doesn't respond, but he continues to watch me. "Would I have heard any of your songs?"
He laughs, "Well, they were just playing in the truck. Other than that, I don't think so."
My mouth falls open, and I'm at a loss for words. "Ander, that was your music?" I ask, honestly in shock. Those were gorgeous. They played low, but the vocals were so prominent that I noticed the lyrics. That is not the style of music Ander used to write and sing. These songs were about love, loss, and yearning. They reminded me of love letters. . .Oh.
I reach over and grab his hand on his lap nearest me. "Ready for the next question?" I ask.
He turns his hand over mine and laces his fingers with mine. We both sit there for a moment and stare at our intertwined fingers. We both take time to relish this moment. Both of us are unsure how long this will last.
He finally shakes his head with a sly curl of his lips as he softly squints his eyes like he's got something clever to say.
"Actually, areyouready for the next question? I do believe it's my—" He's cut off mid-sentence by an ear-assaulting loud squeal in the small bar as a group of women approaches us with their smiles on display almost as much as their cleavage.
"Holy shit, aren't you. . .Bear Anthony?" the shorter woman screeches as she leans between us, forcing our hands to break contact. She touches a hand to his knee. Another woman, the tall brunette, whispers to one of the others, "Yeah, he's that hot guy from TikTok who has a voice so raspy that it makes me wet on the spot."
I let out a very unladylike snort and cover my mouth with both hands to try and control the chuckle that escapes behind it.
The alcohol is doing its job at this point, and I can feel it buzzing through my system. I don't mind it, though; I haven't let loose like this in years. What I do mind is that I'm not sure if I can hold my thoughts back from becoming words out of my mouth quite as well as I can when I'm sober.
All six of the women's eyes flash to me. Most of them looked me over curiously, judgementally even. Two of them roll their eyes at me as if I'm an inconvenience and don't belong. Which only makes me chuckle harder and smile wider.
Damn alcohol.
