Her brows shoot up. “Really? That would be...big.”
My stomach knots and I shove my hands in my pockets, thinking of Beck’s comments the other night. “Do you think we have to make peace with the past to move forward with our lives?”
“Peace seems ambitious. But I do know that arguing with things that have already happened only brings us more pain.” Callie’s gaze flicks toward the hall. “A lot of the women who come through these doors think they’re broken in some way. They’re looking for justice, or vindication, or absolution. But often what they really need is to know that they get to choose how to act, how to feel, who they want to be today. That’s all any of us can control.”
* * *
BLUE is darker than its namesake color. A black club with fish tanks around the perimeter.
I haven’t been here since the week before Tyler and Annie’s wedding when I played and saw a woman assaulted.
Harrison promised he fixed the problems at this club, and the others.
I need to know if he’s telling the truth.
I put on high heels and a short, black dress and plum lipstick. There’s mace in my bag, though it’s more of a security blanket than anything.
Inside, I head to the bar alone.
This place is a shark tank, but I’m not the bait. Instead I scan the crowd, looking for men doing the same kind of looking I am. Searching for a particular kind of partner.
The DJ is good, a guy I’ve heard locally and in New York. But I’m not here for the music tonight.
“Can I buy you a drink?”
A tall guy with dark hair and a leering grin cuts off my view of the dance floor.
“I’m a big girl, I can get my own.”
“Baby, you shouldn’t have to.”
Ignoring my rejection, he reaches a hand around my waist to grab my ass.
I shove at him. “I said I’m not interested.”
“Sure you are. We’re getting along great.” He tries again, and this time I shove harder, stepping back, bodies bumping mine in the dense crowd.
“Excuse me. Is he bothering you?”
My heart pounds as I look up to see security at my shoulder.
“No,” the guy snorts, annoyed.
“Yes,” I say at the same time.
The security guy moves between us. “We have a zero-tolerance policy for harrassment. That means you have to leave.”
The guy puts up a protest, but security escorts him to the door.
A breath trembles out of me. This time when I scan the room, I spot security at several points around the perimeter. They’re attentive. Focused. On the crowdandthe DJ booth.
Tonight could be an anomaly. But judging by the robust staff, this isn’t the same club it was.
“Yes?” the bartender shouts over the music, and I reluctantly turn to face her.
“Whisky. Neat.” She reaches for a bottle, and I lean over the counter. “Wait.”
I see Harrison’s fingerprints all over this place, and I want to believe he meant it when he said he changed things here.