“Yeah, I did, but I didn’t actually want to know.” He thrums his fingers on the bar for a few seconds, keeping his eyes on anybody and everybody but her.
“What can I get you?” the bartender asks.
“Two more shots of the same,” I say at the same time Gunner shouts out his order.
“Crown, light on the ice.”
The chick lodged in between us twists several times until she shimmies herself free. She just won’t give up. The heat of her body radiates from her, encasing me in a warmth I want to be free of. I decide not to look at her or say anything because I’m afraid if I give her a nibble, she’ll bite, and I’ll never be able to get rid of her. My eyes flit from the bartender pouring my shots to Gunner. He gives me a subtle nod as he continues that irritating thrumming of his fingers.
“Umm . . .” Her voice resonates from behind us.
“You can go now.” The words slip from my mouth before I realize what I’ve said.
“Damn, Slade. Asshole much?” Gunner asks as he grabs his drink.
I take a quick look behind me, and thankfully she’s gone. I guess she realized I wasn’t interested. “Just wasn’t feeling it tonight, ya know? Especially after you dropped that load of shit on me earlier today.” I shake my head and reach for shot number four. “My dick is just . . .” I shift my weight on this uncomfortable-as-fuck stool before looking at him. “Sad.”
Gunner spits out a laugh along with the Crown he had in his mouth. He sets his glass on the bar top and coughs a couple of times before clearing his throat. “Did you just tell me your dick is sad?” He barely gets the question out between the coughing and laughing.
“Yep. That’s what I said. Any other night I would have fucked her outside behind the building, but tonight, I’m feeling a little depressed, a little angry, and a whole lot sad. So, I just assume my dick is sad, too, because he wasn’t interested in her at all.”
“Damn, you’re taking this harder than I expected. I thought you came down here to drink and hook up with some chick, but I guess I was wrong.”
“You have no fucking idea just how wrong you are. But hey, it’s not your fault those pussies of the band formerly known as Broken Thunder sent you to do their dirty work. You didn’t have a choice but to give me the news that would ruin my life and take away my ability to hook up with some random chick tonight.” I survey the small room quickly before my gaze lands back on his. I’ve never had a problem with my dick. Never. And honestly, it’s fucking embarrassing.
“Look, man, I told you I was sorry—”
“I know what you said, but you being sorry doesn’t fix the problem.”
“Dissolving Broken Thunder wasn’t my idea. The guys didn’t give me an option either. They’re tired of trying to make something work that obviously isn’t.” Gunner shakes his head. “I’m sorry. Really fucking sorry, Slade.”
“Why are you even here?” I look at him.
He takes a long drink of his Crown before his gaze meets mine. “I figured you’d end up here or across the street at Shaggy’s, drinking until you either puked or passed out. And me being the good friend that I am, decided to find you and keep you from doing either.” He shakes his head again as he barks out a laugh. “All joking aside, you’re my best friend, and I’m here because I hate that you feel like you’re suffering alone.”
“I don’t need your pity, and you don’t have to stay. And for the record, I’m not suffering. I’m just trying to figure out what I’m going to do next.” Now that I have nothing—no band, no music, no future. Stop being a pussy, Slade.
“How many shots have you had?” Gunner asks as he turns to face me.
“I don’t know, not counting,” I tell him, but I’m completely aware that I’m about to sling back number five.
He pushes off his bar stool and stands next to me. “You can be an ass all night long, but remember that you’re not the only one who didn’t want the band to break up.”
“Well, it feels like it. When you told me the guys decided to dissolve my band, you didn’t sound like you were unhappy about it.” I guess he’s forgotten that Broken Thunder was my band first. Our first year of college, I came up with the idea to start the band, and he reluctantly agreed to be a part of it. After recruiting the rest of the guys, we worked our asses off. Gigs were hard to find at first, but eventually we pulled our shit together and really made a go of it. That was ten years ago. Ten fucking years. I motion for the bartender then look around the bar. Why are there so many fucking people here tonight? I should have gone to Shaggy’s.
Gunner’s voice pulls me away from my thoughts. “I was . . . I mean, I am pissed about the way the whole band breaking up shit went down. The guys were wrong to shut you out of the decision, but it’s over and done, so you need to let it go.”
“Fuck you, man. I told you when I left the condo earlier I didn’t want to talk about this shit anymore,” I grumble.
“Whatever you say, just sit here and feel sorry for yourself for the rest of the night. I’m gonna get the hell out of here before Reckless Fury takes the stage, because the women in this place are about to go fucking crazy.” Gunner picks up his drink and finishes it in one final gulp.
“Did you say Reckless Fury?” I glance over my shoulder at the makeshift stage set up in the middle of this small room. Dammit!
He sets his empty glass back on the bar and nods. “Yep, that’s what I said. Reckless Fury will be playing right over there”—he motions toward the center of the room as Chet, the guy who owns this hole-in-the-wall place, walks toward the stage— “in a few minutes.”
“Ladies and gentlemen, guys and girls, let’s hear it for Reckless Fury!” Chet screams loudly into the microphone, and the fucking women go crazy.
“Correction—they’re playing now, which is my cue to get the hell out of this place!” Gunner hollers as he heads toward the door.
Fuck my life. Reckless Fucking Fury, my motivation for starting Broken Thunder. Their lead singer Dane Phillips was my idol growing up. He’s the reason I fell in love with music and songwriting. According to everything I’ve read, music saved his life, and that’s exactly what it did for me up until about two hours ago. Now it’s fucking tearing mine apart.
The bartender slides another shot in front of me, and I stare at the amber-colored liquid for a beat. What the fuck am I gonna do?
“Hellooooo Huskers! How the fuck are ya?” I don’t have to turn around to see who’s screaming into the microphone, because I know who it is—Dane Phillips.
“Tonight’s the first stop on our Where We Started Tour. It’s the band’s way of giving back to the small bars who, in the beginning”—he strums a few chords on his guitar then chuckles—“gave our sorry asses a chance. So, we want to start tonight by saying thank you to bars like Huskers who always had their doors open for Reckless Fury! We haven’t forgotten you! And thank you, New Orleans, for coming out tonight!”
The crowd goes fucking crazy, and I swear the building is shaking, or maybe I’m just feeling the effects of the whiskey. The song coming from the stage is a familiar one, one Broken Thunder covered a hundred times. I love this fucking song. Dammit! Why am I torturing myself? This was supposed to be a suffer-in-silence kind of night. I eye the lone shot still sitting in front of me for a few seconds before I grab it and drink it down in one quick swig. Then I motion for the bartender one last time.