10 years later
No matter how many times—no matter how many ways—some memories just can't be recreated. No hole-in-the-wall, no swank lounge could ever replace the place I'd called home.
Even after all this time, I still felt like an outsider. Moving from city to city, state to state, country to country. I felt transient, unfixed, constantly changing who I was and why.
The man who had become like a father to me, Mr. Pelletier meant well and I knew there was more to the story, but I was growing tired. Weary, maybe.
"You think they'll let her out early?" Caleb Keene draped a long arm around the back of my chair. The smell of his cologne, subtle and earthy, tickled my nose.
Maya, who had been largely silent up until now, grabbed my hand under the table and gave it a squeeze. I smiled as best I could back to her but she and I both knew.
You could only get denied so many times by the same judge before you became resigned to your fate. But then, what evidence did my mother have that she was innocent? Did she care?
People said she killed him. Others said she had one of her Johns pay him to stay away. Like my mother was some prostitute.
Or, maybe she was and I just didn't see it.
She was never anything less than gold and light in my eyes.
I shrugged, fixing my eyes on a framed newspaper clipping across the room. There was a woman, dressed up real nice, her dark hair perfectly coiffed. Even though the picture was black and white, you could tell she had the rubiest red lipstick painted on.
Something twinged in my chest. "Not if the past decade's any indication."
The MC stomped back on stage with the line-up for tonight's showcase. He smirked and announced the next act. "Next up to the stage, we have…Raging Canines…? All right!"
"What?" Caleb snickered, taking a swig of his drink. "20 bucks says it's another emo teen band."
I rolled my eyes. He was gorgeous—a little older than Maya and I, with tan skin, emerald eyes, and a smile that was as bright as he was flirtatious—but good God was he a jackass.
The crowd waited awkwardly, the only noise the sound of the speakers buzzing and the low hum of anticipation.
At first, the band wasn't much different than the last. Three guys, one drummer, two guitarists…And then the fourth guy stepped out of the shadows.
"Holy shit," Maya breathed.
The room suddenly felt…electric. Everyone's attention focused on the stage as the lead singer—a 7-foot tall russet-skinned Adonis in a tight black tee-shirt—adjusted the mic stand. He smiled, bright and blinding. "Thanks for coming out. We're the Raging Canines, formerly known as the Rezolutes."
A loud and rowdy group by the stage whistled and shouted, their laughter reverberating through the room. The lead singer rolled his eyes, grinned, and nodded to his mates.
Maya grabbed my hand. "Let's, uh, let's go get a closer look. Caleb, watch our drinks."
I let her cart me down to and through the crowd until we were shoulder to shoulder with what I guessed to be the band's friends. The heat here was stifling, tiny beads of sweat prickling on my skin.
Maya didn't seem to mind so neither did I. She cast a look at the group of mostly tall, insanely well-built men next to us and waggled her eyebrows. "Dibs," she mouthed.
It was impossible not to laugh. Maya Watkins had been my friend since I stepped foot in Washington just a year and a half ago. Quite literally. She sat across the aisle from Mr. Pelletier and I on the plane, traveling by herself for the very first time. The whole flight to Seattle was spent keeping her from a panic attack and, later, bonding over music.
This was the longest I'd lived anywhere since leaving Louisiana. We were always on the go, always "on a new adventure," as Mr. Pelletier called it. To me, it felt like running.
But with Maya—and even with Caleb, on his good days—things felt…right.
Maya nudged me out of my thoughts and grabbed my hand, raising it in the air with hers as we danced with strangers. Hot, tall, and boisterous strangers.
