The last piece of junk mail caught her eye before she tossed it into the trash. It was a postcard for a bar downtown. She’d never even been to that bar before, so she couldn’t imagine how she’d gotten on their mailing list.
Frowning, she flipped over the card. It was advertising a special event on Wednesday. For a moment, her eyes flicked over the words without processing them. Then her heart leaped in her chest and she read it again.
Dollar-beer Wednesdays. No cover charge. Musical entertainment from seven to nine by singer/songwriter Ian Lawson.
That was interesting. She stared at the card for several moments, waiting for her vision to clear and the words to change. When they didn’t, she had to come to terms with what it meant. Ian had found a way to make room in his life for his music. It seemed it was easier than making room in his life for her.
With a sigh, she held the postcard out over the trash can and dropped it in with the rest of the junk mail.
Good for him.
Twelve
“She’s not coming.”
“Relax,” Keith assured him and handed him his guitar. “The set doesn’t start for ten more minutes. She’s coming, even if just out of morbid curiosity.”
Ian’s talent manager at SpinTrax had stepped in to help Ian kick off his new musical career. At the moment, he was serving as his manager, agent, roadie and moral supporter, and all out of the goodness of his heart. Tonight they were playing for fifty bucks and free beer.
So maybe not entirely out of the goodness of his heart. Keith really liked beer.
“No. She’s not going to come,” Ian insisted, voicing his fears. “She’s too angry with me.”
He hadn’t gone out on a limb and booked this show for her. He’d done it for himself, but if she wasn’t here to witness it, it wouldn’t feel as important. She was the reason he was here. She planted the seed in his mind, pushed him to think outside of the box he’d forced himself into. She was right, of course. He needed to do this. He couldn’t suppress the music inside of him any longer.
His future was full of possibilities tonight. There wasn’t a fork in the road; there was a starburst. This show might lead to other bookings or it might be his last performance. He might end up only playing for personal enjoyment. He might land his own record deal. Maybe he’d try focusing on songwriting and see if he could sell his songs for other people to sing. It didn’t matter. The point was that he was trying. He was putting himself out there, making time in his life for something other than work.
He thought for certain that no matter how she felt about their relationship, she would come to support his music. Or at the very least, come just to rub it in that she was right. Or outright heckle him from the crowd.
And there was a crowd. More than he’d expected to see. It was a good thing he’d done nothing but practice all week. A few tables were scattered throughout with some people at the bar and others standing near the back. Even with all those people, he knew Bree wasn’t here. He’d know the moment she arrived. He could feel it when she was near to him. And right now, all he could feel was sick to his stomach.
“Maybe she’ll do what you did and show up three minutes before it’s over. It would serve you right,” Keith noted.
Ian narrowed his gaze at him. “Whose side are you on?”
Keith smiled. “Yours. I’m trying to distract you from your nerves.”
Ian opened his mouth to argue that he wasn’t nervous, but that wasn’t true. He hadn’t performed for more than one person at a time for almost a decade. To go from that to a bar packed with one hundred drunk critics was a little unnerving. More than a little. He was a mess.
Doubts pounded at him from all directions. What was he doing here? He was a record executive. He had no business playing at a bar. He had no business playing anywhere. This was going to be a disaster, but he still had a chance to avert it. Would anyone notice if he slipped out the back?
“Maybe this was a mistake.”
“The only mistake would be you walking out and pissing off a bunch of people who came for some good music.” Keith leaned in and patted him on the shoulder. “You’re good. I wouldn’t tell you that if it wasn’t true.”
Ian knew that. He’d personally witnessed Keith destroy the dreams of countless wannabe musicians. If you weren’t good enough, he would tell you. That was why he’d gone straight to Keith when he decided to give his music another shot. If he was delusional and Bree was just coddling him, Keith would say as much. Instead, his talent manager had crossed his arms over his chest and narrowed his eyes and when the song was done—he’d smiled. It had been damn stressful, but Keith had liked it.
And now, here Ian was. The small platform in the corner of the bar had a stool, a microphone and an amplifier to plug into his new electric acoustic guitar. They’d done a sound check before most people came into the bar and everything was ready to go.
“It’s time. Knock ’em dead,” Keith said.
Ian nodded and went up onto the platform. Adjusting his guitar, he scanned the crowd again but still no Bree. He tried not to let that get him down. There were a hundred other people in the bar who expected a good show, whether his ex-girlfriend showed up or not.
Leaning into the microphone, Ian introduced himself and thanked everyone for coming. There were a few rowdy “whoops” from the crowd, but they settled down as soon as he started to play. He opened with his acoustic version of “Layla” to get the crowd warmed up.
Five songs into the set, he looked up and saw a group of women pushing their way over to an empty table near the back. He finished his song and watched them settle in as the crowd applauded. There was a shorter girl with curly dark hair, a fiery redhead, a brunette with a sleek ponytail and a blonde whose face he couldn’t see.
It was Bree. In that moment, she turned to look at him, her eyes widening with surprise. Her gaze flicked from him to the redhead. She smacked her friend on the shoulder, her lips moving rapidly with angry words. She tried standing up again, but a woman on each side grabbed her arms and tug