Things That Shine

by Bria Quinlan

  “We don’t have any hazelnut soy milk. You’re going to have to live without it. Maybe find a hipster place that serves overpriced specialty drinks that are too sweet and trendy.”

  “Okay.” Abby took the guy’s money and shoved his drink toward him. “That’s enough of that.”

  The guy sprinted toward the door, probably never to return. No big loss.

  I snorted. “That guy is not a Brew customer.”

  “Not what I’m talking about.” Abby crossed her arms and gave me a look. “And what’s up with your hair?”

  “I chopped it off and dyed it black like my soul.” I really didn’t feel like having a soft-and-mushy with Abby.

  It had been two days since The Accusation, and I still didn’t want to talk about it. Ever again. Ever.

  “Yeah. So, I’m pretty sure your soul isn’t black. It’s more like baby blue with sunshine yellow hearts all over it.” She waved away one of the regulars who came up for a refill. “What did he do?”

  I knew she meant Sage, obviously, but I just didn’t want to talk about it anymore.

  But, as Abby stared me down, I knew I wasn’t getting out of at least a perfunctory explanation. “He accused me of stealing.”

  “He what?” The outrage in her voice was so thick it almost made me cry. Even Abby didn’t think I’d steal, and she’s the most cynical person on the planet.

  Just as I was getting ready to explain, the door opened, sun shining in, momentarily blinding me, and fell shut behind Sage.

  “Hey.” He shoved his hands in his pockets, looking somehow both nervous and annoyed. His gaze traveled up to my hair, giving it an odd glance.

  My hands started shaking and I wanted to run—wanted to hide. But where was I going to go in this tiny café?

  “You are not welcome here.” Abby stepped between us, crossing her arms.

  “It’s a free world.” Where had Belligerent Sage come from?

  “No. It’s not. It’s private property, and we have the right to refuse service.”

  “On what grounds?” His cheeks were getting pink, but he didn’t look as if he were 100% ready to take on Abby.

  “Didn’t you see the sign out front?” She pointed toward the door. “No Shoes, No Shirt, No Soul, No Service. Don’t make me call Max.”

  Oh. Wow. She was threatening to bring in the big guns.

  “It does not say that.” Sage really did not have a self-preservation bone in his body.

  Abby spun, pulled the Sharpie out of the can next to the register, and marched to the door. Flinging it open, she dropped to her knees and added soul to the bottom of the No list.

  “Yes. It does. Out you go.” She held the door open, waiting for him to march out of it.

  Sage glanced my way, a near plea on his face. “Emily?”

  I tried not to blink back the tears that threatened to fall, instead turning and heading into the kitchen where even Sage wouldn’t dare try to follow.

  “Fine.”

  I heard the door fall shut before Abby stuck her head in the kitchen.

  “Okay, he’s gone.” She stuck the Sharpie in her pocket. “Here’s the deal. Enough with the grumpy, and you can’t get any tattoos for at least three months.”

  With that, she turned and headed back into the main room, accepting as always in her own Abby way.

  32

  Sage

  Sage let the door to the garage slam behind him. He ignored the stares of the five guys in the studio and sat down heavily in his chair at the soundboard.

  Today sucked.

  Today could kiss his ass before going straight to hell.

  It was, believe it or not, worse than yesterday. And yesterday had been a real bastard.

  “Did you talk to her yet?” Mike asked. The spokesman had been chosen.

  “Nope.” Sage sighed, trying to block out the image of her face behind the counter at The Brew. She looked like she hadn’t slept in days. At first, he was hoping that was a good sign. Because he also hadn’t slept in days. Maybe she’d give him a chance at extracting his enormous foot from his mouth. It would be hard, since his foot was in his mouth and his head was also up his ass. The removal process was bound to be painful and lengthy.

  “Why didn’t you talk to her?” Mike asked cautiously.

  “Because apparently I have no soul.” He flipped the switches on the console with more force than necessary. “Abby even added it to the list of requirements on the door. I’ve been banned from The Brew. Emily won’t take my calls, and I’m pretty sure if I show up at Emily’s apartment again, Megan will castrate me with a shrimp fork. I’m officially out of options.” He shrugged, sardonic amusement coloring his speech. “Unless of course I go full John Cusack stalker mode and just embrace the coming restraining order.”

  “They banned you?”

  “Yep.”

  “Didn’t you explain you were just a dumbass, like I told you to?”

  Sage had had about enough of everyone meddling. They all had an opinion on what he could and should do to fix this shit storm. His frustration in the situation and in himself came to boil. It may have taken him a full twenty-four hours of replaying all of his stupid remarks and reliving her heartbreak at his callous words, but it eventually sunk in. Good for him, he could be taught.

  “You know what?” He stood up with enough force to knock over his chair. “I’m not a rock star, okay? I’m just an average Joe idiot who caught a really lucky break. I had the girl of my dreams in my reach and I screwed it up. This is real life. My real life. My apologies are too little, too late.” He tore a hand through his hair and paced across the room, breathing hard.

  “Dude, calm down. You’re gonna get the chance to make this right. That’s how love works.” Sway looked so sure of himself. All smug in his perfect marriage, with his perfect hair and his perfect chill.

  They didn’t get it. None of them were going to get it.

  The door to the garage opened up and Zelda stepped through. Their eyes connected. Hers narrowed, his rolled. Awesome. He’d introduced Emily to his boss’s wife and now they were besties. This couldn’t get any better.

  “Can I talk to you?” Zelda asked.

  Sage sighed. Again. Because what else was he supposed to do at this point?

  He stepped out the door and Zelda followed, pulling it closed behind her.

  Zelda started in on him right away. “I don't know what your girl’s story is—”

  “She’s not my girl.” Sage cut her off.

  Zelda glared and rolled her eyes. “Right.”

  “She’s not!” Sage exclaimed, throwing his hands out to the sides. “I wanted her to be my girl. I wanted it so bad I could taste it! I was willing to do anything to make her my girl, but I blew it.”

  “Well, clearly, suspecting her of stealing was not the way to go.”

  Sage’s mouth fell open in shock and he struggled for words. “You think I don’t know that? With what her shitty fake family did, and that twat monster of a boyfriend? The last thing I wanted was for her to group me in with them! But I went ahead and did it all by myself.” He stomped over to his truck and kicked the tire in frustration. “She was always looking for a reason to not trust me, and I went ahead and served it right to her. On a freaking silver platter.”

  “Sage!” Zelda’s head shook in short, jerky motions. “You can’t tell me stuff like that! This!” She used her index finger to make a circle including the two of them. “Right now, what you’re doing, telling your girl’s secrets, that’s a big no. Huge!”

  Sage grabbed his head with both hands, at a loss. “See? I’m the worst!” He swallowed hard and dropped his hands to his sides as it all became very clear to him. Emily’s smile, her laugh, her shine—it was all out of his reach now. “She’s not my girl, Zeldy,” he said slowly. “I did that.”

  Zelda didn’t argue with him. She took a deep breath and let it out. “She’s kind of amazing, you know. I adore her just a little bit.”

  His smile
was void of humor. “Right?”

  He’d just wanted a chance. And right when she’d finally given it to him, let him inside for one glorious moment, he’d taken her trust for granted. It was that simple and that awful. He’d messed up.

  Not just messed up. Mess wasn’t a big enough word.

  He’d wrecked it.

  He still couldn’t believe he’d actually accused her of taking it. Couldn’t believe the thought had actually come out of him. What kind of an idiot does something like that?

  It had been a huge moment for them.

  A moment that mattered more than all the others.

  She thought he’d had her back, and instead he’d stabbed her in it.

  All while selling it to her as if he were going to be her hero.

  She didn’t need a hero.

  Here was a girl who had long ago learned how to fly with one broken wing; she didn’t need the added weight of a guy who wasn’t going to pull his own. Who couldn’t be on her side when it counted.

  He’d failed her.

  It would be easier if Abby were right. If he had no soul.

  Because then maybe it wouldn’t hurt this bad.

  33

  Emily

  Day four without Sage.

  How had it gotten to this? I’d caved so easily. I was such an idiot.

  I’d spent years making sure things were safe. Even with the roomies I’d been careful—or as careful as someone could be with Megan, who wouldn’t notice a brick wall if she’d built it herself.

  But here I was. Let someone in—some guy in—for the first time since my brush with boyfriend betrayal. And, as soon as I fell to the trap of wooing, BAM!

  I ran a hand over my pixie cut. On the upside, I was going to save money on hair products.

  “You know, those glasses look even cuter with the hair.” Megan tossed herself down on my mattress and started folding my clothes with her extra energy. “If I got ticked off and did that to my head, I’d look like an alien.”

  The snort escaped before I knew it was there. Only Megan would see this as comfort. Of course, it oddly was.

  “So, here’s the new plan…” Megan sat up, setting my laundry to the side.

  “Does it involve you becoming an Uber driver?”

  “No…well, kind of. But no.”

  Usually I’d worry, but I couldn’t figure out how it could get worse. Unless, of course, Sage convinced everyone to press charges about the missing equipment and the cops picked me up. On the upside, I had the wrongfully-charged-with-lawbreaking thing down pat at this point.

  “First,” Megan went on as if this were an adventure, not my life, “we’re going to text Officer Max and ask his advice.”

  “Except we don’t have Max’s phone number.” And wasn’t Max a lucky man that Megan didn’t have him on speed dial?

  Megan waved a hand, as if this were inconsequential. “Abby does. Then after we inform him of the wrong that has been done to you, we ask him how to get Sage arrested.”

  She said this so calmly, like having someone thrown in jail was just the logical next step. It dawned on me I never asked about Megan’s family connections.

  Note to self: do that.

  “Ummm…” Brokenhearted I may be, but vengeful wasn’t really in my makeup. Life was hard enough. I could only deal with my own emotions, and right now those were getting over Sage and moving on.

  “After Sage has spent some time in the slammah, we’ll find out who really took the equipment and have them prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law…and then some.” She looked oddly like an avenging kewpie doll, all dark curls and pink, round cheeks.

  “When did you get a city accent?”

  “After that, we’ll let Sage out of jail only after he grovels.” She nodded like this plan made sense.

  “Okay, Nancy Drew, that’s an interesting plan.” Then because I really couldn’t deal with this, I added, “Why don’t you run it by Ash and get her to help us out.”

  She hopped up, nodding. “We’re going to need all our resources, and that girl is tricky.”

  As soon as she’d headed back to their room, I collapsed where she’d been stretched out on my bed.

  Today I had a Glamour Paws photo shoot. Usually just the idea of getting to play with photography equipment filled me with joy, but suddenly the idea of touching anything electronic or artistic made me nauseated.

  I packed my run-around tote and headed out the door. As I walked to the studio, I called Abby, knowing it was a slow time.

  “Hey. It’s Emily.”

  “You’re not calling out. I have plans.”

  “Fine, thanks. How are you?” I asked, ignoring her Abbyness.

  “Fine, fine. I’m good. You’re miserable. We both already knew that.” Abby sighed on the other end of the line. “Are you maybe less miserable today?”

  She sounded so concerned I made an uh-huhn sound to try to convince her that things were already looking up.

  “I’m not calling in, but I wanted you to know Megan is going to call you later. Do not give her Max’s number.”

  “Why would I give her Max’s number?” She sounded more suspicious than normal.

  “She has this absurd plan to have Sage thrown in jail and solve The Case of the Missing Light Meter.”

  “Huh,” Abby said. “So…just out of curiosity, what’s this plan look like?”

  “No one is going to jail. Do not help her with this scheme. She’ll probably end up being deported or something.”

  “Is she undocumented?” Abby was sounding more and more fascinated.

  “No. But if there was ever a citizen who could get deported by accident, it’s Megan. Her heart is always in the right place, but she has no idea of moderation…or a stop button.”

  I waited for Abby to agree on the other end of the line, but no affirmation came.

  “Abby.”

  “Fine, fine. I won’t give her Max’s number.” She sighed, as if this were just one more way I put her out. “But there’s nothing I could do if Max was here when Megan stops by.”

  “Right.” I tried to make my tone sound as fierce as possible, but I doubt Abby noticed as she hung up.

  My boss did a double take when I pushed through the front door, but didn’t say anything about my hair, which was a nice change.

  I stared at the cameras we locked up at night in the cage, my hands trembling at the sight of them. Maybe I wasn’t cut out to be a photographer.

  It had been a stupid idea anyway. I should have been working as a temp and trying to make a career—not to mention, having my benefits covered. It had been so stupid for me to think I could be something more. That path was for people who had a team, who had support. Who deserved good things.

  I figured I owed Michael at least two weeks’ notice.

  Tomorrow was Saturday, but I’d call the school Monday and see if I could get my deposit for my next class back. Then I’d call a temp agency and see what I could do about becoming a corporate drone.

  Life could be worse. There was always worse.

  I grabbed the camera, forcing myself to enjoy the feel of it in my hands. Maybe one day I’d get to do this as a hobby. But, for now, it was time to stop being a dreamer and become an adult.

  I stuffed some dog treats in my pocket, pasted a smile on my face, and headed out to enjoy the sunset of my dream.

  34

  Sage

  The thick growth Sage was sporting on his jaw and neck was stiff under his fingertips. The whiskers caught on his calluses and kept the movement from being fluid. He stared at the lights on the console, but he didn’t see them.

  She’d cut her hair.

  And dyed it black.

  Was that symbolic for cutting him out of her life? Like the song “I’m Gonna Wash That Man Right Outta My Hair,” though perhaps Sage wouldn’t wash. Perhaps he had to be cut out. Was that a good sign, or should it make him feel even worse?

  Could he actually feel any worse?

  H
e lost track of how many days it had been. It felt like years. It also felt like a bad dream that he couldn’t wake up from. Every day had that foggy, discombobulated look to it.

  Mrs. Callahan had come back and Sage finished her dining room. That’s where he’d come from today. The final touches and payment were taken care of. He’d stood outside The Brew for twenty minutes when it was over. Wanting to see her, not wanting to see the pain slash across her face.

  He wanted to go back. Fix it. Take it back to the workshop, strip it down, make it better. Make it new.

  Relationships didn’t work like that.

  The more time he had to go over what had happened, the more he understood exactly how epically he’d screwed up. Emily should have been his first thought, not his second.

  Sage was vaguely aware of the meeting taking place behind him. The entire band and Zelda were in the small room. He was supposed to be listening, but he wasn’t. He was marinating in his own heartache. He was brokenhearted soup.

  “I want Emily to be my second on this.”

  He jerked his head up and around, honing in on her name. Zelda’s eyes flashed at him from her perch on the arm of the sofa.

  “She has a gift, and frankly it would be stupid to not bring her.”

  “Can we afford her?” Luke asked.

  Zelda scrunched up her nose. “My own business is growing to an extreme. I have to turn down more jobs lately because I simply don’t have the time. I want to bring her on to work for me full time. If she says yeah, then she’d be covered under my own fee since she’d be my employee.”

  “Can we afford you?” Luke changed his question. Zelda grinned.

  Sage cleared his throat. “Uh, what tour?”

  “Garage tour. Small bars, clubs, lounges, things like that for a couple weeks. To try out the new stuff before final mixing. You know, work out the kinks.” Luke dipped his head Sage’s direction. “I expect you to be the one running the sound. We’ll need you there to make sure it sounds the way we’ve got it nailed down in here. Plus, with you doing the mixing when we get back, you’ll know better how to handle it. I want this tour to be as clean as this recording has gone. Which means you have to come with. No excuses.”