by J. A. Coffey
He’d never know how much loving him had cost me. I haven’t made music in so long that I’m not sure my hands remember how to do anything besides stock liquor, change diapers, and wipe down bar booths.
Liam catches my hand, forcing me to stop again. “How’s the old gal doing? Some friends said she was hitting the booze pretty hard.” His eyes scan the pub. “Place looks fine, though. And you. You look better than fine.” There’s a weight in his words that sends a shiver up my spine.
“She’s fine. I’m fine. Cormack’s fine. We’re all just fine, Liam.” My gaze assesses the noisy booth as one of the blondes hooks her fingers into the belt loop on the back of Liam’s jeans.
“Come down here, handsome.” The blonde tugs, and Liam stumbles backwards onto the bench. “I’m lonely.”
“Get. Off. Me.” Liam’s voice reminds me of his Dad, before the fists start flying. I flinch without meaning to, and Liam blanches at my expression. With a growl of frustration, he swipes at the girl’s probing fingers and jumps to his feet. “Wait a sec, Beth.”
“Nice to see you, Liam. Good luck and thanks for dropping by.” I shake off his attention and flee to the back hallway, willing him not to see the tears stinging the corners of my eyes.
Some things never change. And some things are irreparably changed, thanks to one night of tipsy irresponsibility and a broken condom. I haven’t had a drink since.
The back door is propped open to the alley behind the Rogue. I gulp a lungful of cool, damp air, trying to rid myself of old memories.
“Bethany?” my mother slurs, coming into the alleyway wearing her old green housecoat. “Is that Liam Hensley I see darkening my door? What the devil does he want?” She hefts a case of new craft beers as if she’s raising a shield, as if she’s planning to charge out front and do battle for my honor.
That’s the last thing I need.
“He just dropped by, Ma. Patrick will send him on his way once he’s finished.” I move to take the crate before Ma drops and breaks them. “Here, let me help with—”
“I’ve got this, Bethany. Stop handling me.” Ma frowns, a gathering storm cloud, as the booze and her infamous Irish temper flare. “Is Liam here for you?”
“He didn’t even recognize me,” I lie. I step inside and start stacking the shot glasses on the black shelves outside our small commercial kitchen to keep busy. “There’s no way he knew I was here.”
Which is just fine by me.
As long as he stayed away from me, we could all continue to be just fine. I could keep my secrets and he could keep his freedom.
We’d both get what we wanted, or close enough.
“Thought he finished with you last year.” Ma sets the case down. “He sniffing after your skirts again, girlie?”
“He stopped in for a drink with a bunch of his crew. I’m sure it’s just nostalgia.” The stunned, hopeful expression in Liam’s eyes, the one I’m trying to forget, says it might have been otherwise. I throw my shoulders back. “It’s fine, Ma. He doesn’t suspect anything.”
“Don’t be too sure of that.” Ma pulls a cigarette and a lighter from her apron pocket, nudging me with her shoulder. The shot glasses I’d been so neatly stacking tumble to the rubber mat on the shelf with a soft clink. “The boy’s always had an unnatural way of reading your mind.”
“He’s not after me again, Ma.” And if Liam could read my mind, he’d be out the door faster than DeSilva’s private plane to L.A.
“Well, I say he isn’t done with you yet.” Ma’s breath smells like coffee with a healthy dose of something extra. Dang it. If she wasn’t already in her cups, she’d realize that things between me and Liam would never be finished. I’d loved the bastard with my whole heart, only to watch him walk away from me. Talking about him wouldn’t chase away the pain.
“You made coffee?” I say, to change the subject.
“Cormack did. I added some of my own sweetener.” Ma smacks her lips. “Could be Liam’s looking for a wee bit of sugar hisself? You going to fall for his ‘love ya and leave ya’ bull again?” She punctuates her joke with a hiccup that stinks like Jamison. I’d only left her unguarded for an hour.
“Doubt it.”
“Leave her be, Ma.” My brother Cormack comes out of the business office with a stack of receipts and tosses me an apologetic look. “Bethany can handle Liam.”
Yeah, I could handle him. I could handle everything. I was a different woman now. Responsible. Reliable. I wasn’t that same dreamy teenaged musician heading to Julliard.
“See that she does, then.” My mother grumps her way into the small kitchen to finish washing glasses and my brother and I head out front.
“You heard her.” Cormack jerks his chin towards the front of the bar, where Liam’s band of groupies is attracting even more attention. The blondes are now standing on the carved benches, gyrating to the music on the speakers. Things are threatening to get rowdy. “Handle it.”
I run a hand over my smooth ponytail, wishing I’d taken the time to do my hair. “Just waiting for them to finish their beer.” All we need is a slew of crappy reviews on Yelp to land us in even more trouble.
I don’t do trouble. My dreams of my music taking off are long since dried up. Dried up and dissolved in a mountain of dirty diapers and bar debts. Ma—also a single parent—had made a series of bad deals that Cormack and I were slowly starting to clean up. Just last week, she’d almost blown up our tiny kitchen trying to light a cigarette in front of our dinosaur of a gas oven. We haven’t been able to serve food since.
Until we could afford to get it repaired, that means no more lunch crowd and a steep drop off our regular evening patrons
If it hadn’t been for Cormack stepping in, cosigning the loan to repair the damage, and helping me and Ma with the bookkeeping, the Auld Rogue would’ve gone under last year, taking us all down with it.
I’d be damned if I’d see them all go under, especially now that Cormack has his own family to worry about. And I have my daughter Cadence.
Liam’s daughter.
I eye the booth up front, filled with carefree laughter. People like I’d once been. No more. I’m shackled to my life here, more than I’d ever been tethered to a star like Liam Hensley. People like me and Liam were like cream and Coca-Cola. We don’t mix well.
My stomach hurts just thinking about it.
“Is he going to the luncheon tomorrow, Beth?” Cormack’s expression is thoughtful. “Could be rough.”
My palms go slick at the thought. I wipe them on the sides of my pants.
“Don’t think so. His band is here for some wedding.” There are three members in the band—Liam on drums, lead singer and bassist Zane Ryder and guitarist Finn Richards, who’s getting married in a few weeks. I never met any of them, but they’re all DeSilva’s clients. Liam was contracted to join Wylde Ryder after he subbed in during a concert in Vancouver.
“Is that so?” Cormack seems surprised.
“Mhmm.” I don’t want to admit that I still scan magazines and news channels for updates on Liam or Wylde Ryder. Thankfully, my brother doesn’t ask how I came across the information.
“Paige is watching the girls tomorrow?” Cormack’s wife has an early-childhood education degree and a five-year-old named Lucy. She runs a home-based daycare and is the only family member besides my brother that I trust with Cadence.
I nod. “Yeah. Tell her thanks again for me.”
“You could have the whole day to yourself, away from…” His voice trails off and his eyes flicker meaningfully towards the front of the pub.
“I get it. You hate Liam.”
“I was thinking of your waitressing at the Rogue, but Liam will do just the same.”
The fact that my brother hates Liam on my account is disturbing. “Liam has nothing to do with anything anymore.”
“Oh really? Seems to me, he’s the main reason you’re still here.”
“What’s wrong wit
h being with my family?”
“You’re always working or watching over Ma. You haven’t played the violin in weeks. You need to get back in the swing if you’re going to audition for the Seattle Orchestra. Unless you want to be stuck here forever.”
“I know.” But I’m so exhausted, I haven’t made any plans outside of escaping to the Conservatory for a whole afternoon. Just one glorious day before I go back to taking care of everyone and everything. Now, with the threat of Liam star-dusting the event, maybe taking an afternoon to myself isn’t such a great idea. There are a lot of memories buried in the musical notes and cozy classrooms at the Conservatory. “I’ll get back to playing again. I promise.”
“Good.” Cormack’s forehead creases, a mere shadow of our mother’s thunder. “And I don’t hate Liam, Bethany. I thought you did.”
“No,” I blurt, then shake my head. “Yes. I don’t know, Cormack. I didn’t think I’d see him again.” Never dreamed he’d come back here, charm up a dark corner of the pub, and steal the oxygen out of my lungs.
Cormack frowns. “Don’t you think he deserves to know about Cadence? He makes a lot of money. Things could be a lot easier for you and the baby.”
“No.” I’m crystal clear on that. “Absolutely no.” I have my reasons and Cormack doesn’t need to know what they are. “He’s damaged goods, Cor. Not family material.”
“Didn’t stop you from loving him,” my brother replies.
I inhale sharply, steeling myself for the old arguments I’d had with myself for the past eighteen months. His music is the reason I lost him; I’m not taking any handouts from it. But now, seeing him again, I’m not so sure. “His lifestyle isn’t exactly the best thing for any of us.”
Given the bruises Liam’s father had given him on more than one occasion, I couldn’t blame him for bailing out on me and Seattle at the first opportunity. Hadn’t blamed him, actually, until I’d peed on a plastic strip while he’d jetted to his first concert in Vancouver.
“If you say so,” he replies, in that tone that says he doesn’t agree with me. “Take tomorrow off. I can handle things at the Rogue. Might give you some breathing room to clear your head,” Cormack suggests.
“Okay.” Maybe I do owe Liam that much, at least. To tell him we shared a child.
A burst of loud conversation sounds from the front booth, and I hear Liam’s too-loud guffaw followed by a few choice swear words.
No. Keeping him in the dark about Cadence had seemed like a good idea at the time. Still did.
As long as Ma stays relatively sober and away from flammable things, we would be just fine. Liam is a trigger point, a blip in my otherwise tidy existence that signaled disaster.
He can never know how devastated I’d been when he’d left. And he can never know that every night I stare into a pair of aquamarine eyes just like his and wish we were still together.
“If you’re sure Paige won’t mind the extra hours, I wouldn’t mind taking you up on the offer of a free day.” Usually, Paige watches my daughter during my six-hour shifts. As great as his wife is, I feel guilty asking her to babysit just so I can steal some time for myself.
“She won’t. I’ll take off early, too. Just in case.”
“In case what?” I ask.
Cormack shakes his head, his eyes darting toward the front booth one last time. “In case you run into anyone you care to talk to at the luncheon.”
My cheeks burn. “What about Ma?”
“Patrick can keep an eye on her.”
“Why ask Pat when I can do it?”
“We aren’t all your responsibility, Beth.”
But they are. All of them. Mom, Cadence, Cormack, Paige and little Lucy…even Pat. We are family. And family sticks together.
Liam was a rock musician hell-bound to party till he dropped. He had a temper and a horrible home life. He didn’t understand family and responsibility. We don’t fit and never will. Best to leave things as they are, with Liam free to chase his every desire and me free to...take care of my family. Right?
He isn’t father material. I know he’s not. I’d seen the tabloid news featuring Wylde Ryder’s hard rocking lifestyle. Trashed hotel rooms. Police reports and hefty fines. A DUI here and there.
I—well, Cormack and I—are barely keeping the family afloat as it is. The last thing we need is Liam dragging gossip columnists and paparazzi into our already difficult lives. I had to keep my precious daughter away from that. To bring Cadence up properly, with people who loved her and wanted the best for her. Away from attention or scandal. Away from Liam.
I bit the inside of my cheek. Hard.
Feck.
Should I have told him?
Should I tell him?
Seeing him again...hurt. Was I doing the right thing?
“You miss him.” Cormack nudges me. “I see it on your face.”
“I don’t. And he doesn’t need to know, Cor.” It would completely wreck Liam. As angry as I was, I just can’t bring myself to derail both our lives. Mine is bad enough.
My brother crosses his arms. “Every man deserves to know.”
“It’s the best thing for Cadence and for me.” I square my shoulders resolutely.
Cormack turns away. “Your call. But I still say he deserves to know.”
Maybe he does and maybe he doesn’t. The most important thing is what’s right for Cadence. “What are they going to do? A diaper change for a photo shoot in Rolling Stone?”
Cormack just stares at me. My heart sinks, and I’m too tired for any more.
“I’ll start the clean-up.” I don’t want to be here a millisecond longer than I have to. I head to the kitchen to wash the glasses and wipe down the spilled booze.
I’d grown up without my dad, and I’d turned out all right. Way better than Liam’s parents—a mother who disappeared a few years after he was born and a father who used him like a punching bag. While I didn’t think Liam would hurt me or my baby, he definitely couldn’t handle being a family man. Not without losing his rock star fame. The one thing he’d dreamt of his whole life.
Getting the feck out.
In the secret places of my heart, I know I still love him. I can’t bring myself to ruin his dreams. By the time I finish cleaning, I’m even more exhausted and confused. I yank off my apron, hanging it on the peg in case they need me at the pub tomorrow.
Yeah, just in case.
Chapter Two
Liam
Just can’t keep me dowwwn.
The song lyrics echo in my head from the moment I realize it’s Beth standing there offering me a beer as if I’m no big deal, just some banged-up loser who’d strolled in off the street, instead of arriving in a flash of private jets and news cameras.
I hate Seattle. Every part of this city reminds me of who I once was.
“Hey man, you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Trev laughs and nudges me. He and Gordon are my agent’s assigned watchdogs tonight. The roadie’s eyes toss me a mute appeal to play up to the blond honey clutching his arm.
“Yeah, fine.” I watch Beth through the front windows as she tugs a coat over her emerald-green T-shirt and marches towards the corner bus stop. “She’s just an old flame. It’s cool.”
Cool? Not. The sight of her sets me on fire. I feel like I’ve downed ten cups of coffee. I’m antsy, and my knee starts bouncing like I’m kicking the bass drum. I keep jiggling it so I won’t run after her.
“Pretty, but not your type,” Trev pronounces, watching her through the window. I clench my hands around my drum sticks. “Looks too pure.”
“Since when do you know my type?” Any minute now, I expect my high-powered recording agent Marco DeSilva to march in and haul my ass back to the hotel. But every inch of me wants to stay right here, nestled in the sights and sounds of the old neighborhood with sweet, clean, pretty Bethany MacGuire.
“Hey, hey…just a joke, man.” Trev turns his attention back to the
laughing girl at his side while I swallow the last bitter dregs of my beer.
The music business is brutal. A far cry from what I’d dreamed. It’s harder than I expected, too, with appearances at odd hours and endorsements and shit that comes along with the so-called free handouts. Like an idiot, I’d thought the industry was just about making good music, but me and the rest of the band are getting schooled the hard way. At least I get paid well to play. No way I’m coming back home—as if I ever had one to return to.
This pub, this place, is about as close to a home as I ever got. A cot in the back storage area when things got too tense. Dinner at the MacGuire’s house, under the watchful eyes of Beth’s mother and brother. And Beth, holding my hand under the table, making me believe that anything is possible.
So I sit here, eyeballing her through the window. She’s still breathtaking, easily the most beautiful girl I know, even after all this time. Seeing her again is like being hit by a bolt of lightning, every nerve ending sizzling with surprise. I stifle the urge to run after her, to sniff the clean air where she’d passed.
She’d been delicate, almost dreamy, when I’d left her sawing on her violin strings; now she was passionate, pissed-off, and likely to wrap her bowstrings around my neck if I dared come near her. Man, would I love to be curled up next to her again.
I wet my lips and taste nothing but ashes.
Long-distance love sucks.
Our relationship had gone up in smoke, just as DeSilva had told me it would. And DeSilva would know. He’s the top agent for our record label—a man that every band in America wishes they had gunning for them. He’s really sharp, and he’s cut over thirty hit albums so he knows the score.
When he signed me on after graduation, I thought I’d won the lottery. Six months later, I was officially part of Wylde Ryder. Marco’s done a lot for me—more than my pathetic excuse for a father had ever.
Thinking of my father reminds me that I’m back in the old neighborhood.
I slouch further down in my seat, trying to avoid the constant flash and flicker of women’s smiles from around the pub. It’s a far cry from the dark looks Cormack is shooting me. His eyes are as green as Beth’s, but his hair is black, not auburn, and his expression is more serious. Or, more serious than Beth’s used to be.
