I couldn’t even bring myself to think about Santiago being the one who wanted to push me aside. He was my love, the man I thought was strong enough to stand by a woman like me. But no. He couldn’t even tell his own brother we were together, much less tell me to my face I was out of the band.
Haven slid two shots down, one for me, the other for Yael, and I tossed that sucker back with lightning speed.
Haven held hers up. “To douchecanoes everywhere.”
I tapped my empty shot glass on the bar. “Hear, hear!”
Clive leaned on the bar in front of us, giving me a wink. “Are you back for good, darlin’?”
I laughed. “Here? No. Never. No way. In New York? Maybe. I’m all kinds of up in the air right now.”
Yael curled her arm around me, pressing a sloppy kiss to my temple. Girlfriend had been pregaming before she met us. “If my fucking brother thinks he can do better than you, I will make it my personal mission to get you a job with...I don’t know...U2? Are they still a thing?”
“I think they have a drummer. But I appreciate the thought.”
“Doesn’t matter. They’ll be knocking down your door with offers,” Yael assured me.
Clive slipped me another shot, which I promptly disposed of. Low Bar was busy tonight, but he gave us a lot of attention, even though word had gotten back to me that he and Melody from the VIP section were officially an item. That was fine by me.
Three or four shots in, Yael, Haven, and I had to dance. It was necessary. My old friend, Leon, kept the wolves at bay, so it was truly a girl’s night. No dudes dancing all up on us, trying to cop a feel or see if any of us were drunk enough to go home with him.
When I’d left Drew, I’d spent months down on myself, trying to fix what was wrong with me. What the hell made me so easy to leave at home while he went out and got photographed with his co-stars? It took nights like this, dancing, drinking, laughing with Haven, and sometimes Liam, and losing my cares to come to the conclusion that sure, I wasn’t perfect. I was learning and evolving. But there was nothing to “fix.” Drew had been lacking, not me.
At twenty-one, I’d put up with a lot of nonsense for “love.” At twenty-three and three-quarters, my nonsense days were over.
It hurt. My chest ached from the thought of losing Santi—and Unrequited. But I was too damn good to be second choice in any way.
So, I drank. I danced. I forgot. I’d be feeling it tomorrow, but tonight? Tonight was a big ol’ middle finger to every damn person who’d done me wrong.