Page 118 of A Little Jaded
When I spot my dad at the bar nursing a tumbler of whiskey, I square my shoulders and weave between the crowd. Ever the protector, Everett follows my lead, staying right behind me as I move toward my father.
“Hey, Dad.” I kiss his cheek, steal his drink, and take a sip, desperate for the liquid courage. My nose wrinkles at the burn, but I breathe the heat out, preparing for the inevitable.
I was anxious over the possibility of him running into Everett before this was real. Now? Now, there’s even more weight to it, and the idea of my dad not liking my boyfriend feels pretty freaking miserable.
Narrowing his gaze, my dad watches me down half his beverage, chuckling lowly and motioning to the bartender for another one. Then, he glances at Everett and tilts his head. “You drinkin’ tonight?”
“One beer. I’m driving,” Everett answers. “Good to see you again, Mr. Anders. Thank you for the invitation.”
“Is that what my girl called it?” My dad cocks his head. “An invitation?”
“More like a thinly veiled threat,” I interrupt dryly. “Have they played yet?”
My dad shakes his head. “Not yet. They’re supposed to start at eight.”
I check my phone for the time. “It’s 8:10.”
“You know Pax,” he says into his glass.
Yeah, I know Pax. Everyone knows Pax. Like how everyone knows Dodge. When the original guitarist died from a drug overdose while in town a few years ago, Paxton showed up and convinced my brother and Judge, the band’s founder, to let him audition.
Thirty minutes later, he was in, and they never looked back. Even though there’s a solid age gap between Pax and the rest of the members, he fits in seamlessly and basically turned into my brother’s unpredictable shadow.
The pulse of the bass drum from the stage grabs our attention, so I turn to it. The lights are still dimmed, but we’re close enough to see the members’ silhouettes. My brother’s at the mic. Judge is on the drums. Tuke is on the bass. And Pax is…I search the stage for the baby-faced guitarist. A shadowed figure appears from the side, slipping a guitar strap over his neck before playing the intro to one of IndieCent Vow’s popular songs.
I glance at Everett, curious as to how he’ll react. If he’s intimidated or if he likes my brother’s music or…honestly, I don’t even know.
His head bobs to the beat as my brother’s voice echoes through the speakers, and when Everett’s lips mirror the lyrics, I smile.
He knows my brother’s music.
My dad must notice, too, because he grunts into his drink, finishes the rest, and sets the glass down with a quiet clink on the bartop. Then, he steals the order he’d made for me as the bartender places it in front of me. “She needs another one.”
He gives me a disgruntled look over the rim and steals another sip, making my lips twitch with amusement. Apparently, Everett earned a brownie point despite my father’s stubbornness, and he doesn’t even know it. Maybe there’s hope after all.
Everett doesn’t ask me to dance. Okay, that’s a lie. He started to, but I interrupted and changed the subject. It’s for the best. If Dodge sees us from the stage, no matter how innocently we’re dancing, I'm pretty sure he’d jump off mid-verse or call us out over the speakers.
Instead, we watch from the bar as my brother belts out lyrics, and girls swoon up at him like he hung the moon. To be fair, I get it. My entire family was blessed with some pretty good genes, thanks to my mom and dad. And Dodge? He capitalized on each and every one of them. Light brown curly hair cut close on the sides and longer on the top. Freshly shaven face to show off his chiseled jaw. Strong biceps and veined forearms as he cradles the mic. And the voice of a fucking angel, though I have no idea where he got that particular talent. Scratch that. I blame my Aunt Dove. She’s my mom’s little sister and one of the lead singers in the insanely popular band, Broken Vows, so…yeah. I guess it’s her fault.
And even though Dodger and I don’t always get along, I am kind of jealous watching my brother kick ass at life. Meanwhile, I feel like I’m barely flailing along. Or maybe it’s the alcohol. I’d hoped it would settle my nerves, but when it’s combined with my dad’s silence? Yeah, I’m kind of on edge.
Why hasn’t he said anything to Everett yet? I mean, yeah,my brother’s band is playing, but still. Nothing? It’s…weird. I finish the last of my drink and set it down, climbing off my stool and smoothing my sweater out, anxious for a breather. “I’m gonna head to the bathroom.”
“Want me to come with you?” Everett asks. It isn’t because he doesn’t want to be alone with my dad. He’s anxious about Drake. About leaving me alone for a minute on the off-chance I’m cornered. It’s kind of silly since one, SeaBird isn’t exactly Drake’s stomping grounds, two, he doesn’t know I’m here, and three, I haven’t even heard from him in weeks. Pretty sure Everett can let his guard down, but it’s nice knowing he cares.
I really wish my dad could see it, too. How Everett wouldn’t hurt me. How we literally started dating so he could protect me. From my bad choices. From my demons. From my consequences. Even if I don’t deserve them—the consequences—Ichoseto date Drake. I chose to be with him and to open up to him, and now…now, I have to deal with looking over my shoulder until long after he grows bored. And what’s worse? Maybe he already is, and I have no idea. Even then, I’m not sure how long it’ll take until the feeling goes away. Until I can stop looking over my shoulder or questioning who’s on the other end of every random call I receive or if it’s okay to voice my opinions without pissing someone off.
Oof. That escalated quickly.
“Bo, you good?” my dad prods.
“Yup.” Patting Everett’s chest, I add, “I think I can handle going to the bathroom on my own. Thanks, though.”
Everett takes in the short line and nods, satisfied he can see it from where we sit. “Be safe.”
“It’s a bathroom.” I laugh. “But, yes. I’ll be safe. Be right back.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN