People whistle and clap.
“Speaking of,” he looks around, “tonight was made possible by someone you might know. He’s here somewhere …”
The crowd goes nuts, especially Heidi and her friends. Latson appears from the side of the stage and walks toward Dean. He squints into the spotlight and holds up one hand in a wave. They share a manly one-armed hug before stepping apart and exchanging some words. I notice Latson has changed his shirt. He’s back to the plain white tee. I have to admit it suits him. His tattoos stand out against the color, and he looks every part the rocker with his dark denim.
“What do you think?” Dean leans toward the mic. “Can we convince him to join me for a reunion? One night only?” He laughs.
People start to chant Latson’s name. It doesn’t take much convincing though, as he willingly grabs the Fender. The crowd goes ape-shit crazy.
“No way.” Gwen grabs my arm. “He never plays.” She meets my eyes. “Never.”
Anticipation runs through me as Dean moves to the side and swings the acoustic he was playing in front of him. As he messes with the tuners, Latson steps up to the mic and grabs it with both hands. He says four words that put everyone on their feet: “This one’s called “Easy”.”
Holy hell. His voice. Amplified it’s…it’s… I look away from the stage.
I’m in so much trouble.
Dean starts to play, and Latson joins him. The crowd continues to cheer. The song stays instrumental for a few moments before I hear:
“It’s supposed to get better, not worse
It’s supposed to hurt less, not more
But I can’t stop loving you
There’s nothing I can do
Nothing about us is easy.”
The song is a ballad, but it has a hard edge to it. A vague memory hits me full force. Yep. Summer of 2005. I walked in on my brother, Adam, making out with his girlfriend to this same song. Shirts were off, hands were places. No wonder I repressed it. Now, hearing the song live, Latson’s voice is trying to make new memories for me.
“What do you think?”
I hear Pete over the music and the crowd. I find him, Felix, and Carter standing near Kenzie. As I glance around, all the employees I can see have stopped to enjoy the show. Gwen sings along, Kenzie sways, and Felix is playing air guitar. It makes me smile.
“I think it’s great!” I shout to Pete.
He gives me a thumbs up, and I let myself be a fan.
When the song ends I clap with everyone else. Performing the song that started their career was the perfect end to Dean’s show. The people can’t get enough. I put my thumb and forefinger in my mouth and whistle. The sound is loud and sharp, and it carries through the bar.
As the noise dies down, I start to clean up. We’ll be closing any minute. I move along the bar, grabbing empty glasses with my fingertips. With four in each hand I carry them over to the dump sink and start tossing out the used ice and drink stirs.
“Okay, okay. One more.” Latson’s voice echoes.
I hear shrill shrieks and assume they’re from Heidi and her crew.
“This one …” He pauses. “I didn’t write this one.”
I dump the last glass and stand up straight, curious. Latson pulls his guitar strap over his head and sets the instrument on its stand. He returns to the mic, then holds up a hand to block the spotlight shining on the stage. He squints as his eyes roam the room, until they find me.
“Today … today I was told I know nothing about romance.”
I freeze. I hear more shrieks for the word romance and a few boos for the awful person who told him that.
“I know, right?” He shifts his gaze downstage to the dissenters. “She’s crazy,” he mouths and makes a swirling motion with his finger. People cheer and his eyes land back on me. “So, this song is for that person. She knows who she is.”
Oh no.
Latson takes the microphone off the stand and says a few private words to Dean. Dean nods and smiles, then starts to play. He strums and plucks the strings of his guitar in a familiar, upbeat tempo, and all the blood drains from my face.
I know this song. By heart. I know the chords. I know the transitions. I know when it was written and what album it’s on. When Latson opens his mouth and sings the first line, I mouth it with him.
It’s “Little Bird” by Ed Sheeran.
I’m rooted in place, my pulse keeping time with the music. As Latson sings he works the stage, his eyes occasionally jumping to where I stand. It’s obvious he didn’t just learn this song for my benefit. He anticipates each line and clips his words in all the right places. Ed is a pansy my ass! What a liar.
I decide to focus on that, his lie, to get through this without literally swooning. It’s tough when he’s singing about mouths reading truths, missing you, and lips tasting like strawberries. As long as he stays on the opposite side of the room, I should be fine.
He hops off the stage.
Fuck.
He tries to make his journey casual, by stopping every now and again to sing a few notes. As he gets closer to me I can’t decide if I want to throw myself at him or hide. He focuses on my face, and it’s obvious who he’s singing to now. My eyes dart to Pete. His smile is rapidly fading.
I don’t know what to do. The song is coming to an end and all attention is on us as Latson takes his final steps. He stops directly in front of me, and I think I might overheat. His chocolate brown eyes bore into mine as he sings the last line of the song. I can’t breathe.
The crowd erupts in applause. They start to converge on Latson. He continues to stare at me as random hands pat him on the back for a job well done. Ignoring them, he lowers the mic and leans over the bar top.
“How’s that for romance, Little Bird?”
Chapter Eleven
“I knew it was you,” Gwen whispers. She’s found me standing in the corner, in the farthest spot behind the bar.
“No shit, Sherlock,” I respond over the rim of my cup. “Everyone knows it was me.”
For this evening’s round-up drink, I’ve opted for something with a little kick. The first time I worked here, I chose water for Torque’s closing time tradition. The second time, I never made it that far. The third time ... well, I need something to calm my frazzled nerves. Or my raging hormones. I’m not sure which is higher.
“I meant I knew before he sang.” She rolls her eyes. “You’re the only one who would tell Latson he isn’t romantic.” She turns and glances around the bar. “What an insane night.”
I follow her gaze. No one wanted the impromptu Sacred Sin semi-reunion to end, and my brother and Carter, amongst others, had a hard time getting people to leave. Now, an hour after closing, most of the staff has finally taken a seat. They’ve given up trying to throw Heidi and her friends out. They’re busy at the opposite end of the bar, fawning over Latson and Dean while obnoxiously giggling.
Ugh. The giggling.
I take another drink.
“He doesn’t look interested, you know,” Gwen says.
I avert my eyes. “What?”
“Latson. He looks like he’d rather descend to the seventh circle of hell than put up with them.”
I look at him again. He’s talking to Dean, despite Heidi trying to weasel her way between his legs. He’s sitting on a stool, and she keeps touching his knee. I mentally smile when he grabs her hand and shoves it away.
“You should go save him,” Gwen suggests. “Put her in her place and claim your man.”
I make a face. “He’s not my man.”
“Please.” Gwen gives me a blank look. “Denial looks awful on you.”
Pete approaches the bar. “Are you ready to go?”
I nod.
“What are you drinking?” He reaches out, snags my cup, and smells it. “Whiskey?”
“And Coke.” I grab the cup back. “Is there a problem with that?”
He scowls. “You’re not supposed to have either.”
“I can eventually.”
“Eventually is not a week after surgery.”
I quickly down the rest of my drink. “Pffft. Surgery was eight days ago.” Not only will the alcohol relax my mind, it will soothe the tiny twinges of pain I’m starting to feel. Maybe working a full shift tonight wasn’t the best idea.