Maysie nodded. “You’re right, as usual. Guess it’s time for grinning and bearing it. But you’re coming tonight. I need a swift kick in the rear if I start getting too morose about it,” she said, reaching out and squeezing my arm.

Focusing on someone else’s problems made it easy to forget about why I had been so upset when I got home. I could pretend that I hadn’t wanted to gut Garrett alive for being with my friend. I could ignore the insatiable homicidal urges that were unfairly directed at Gracie Cook.

Being needed by my best friend was the best medicine for a conflicted heart and mind.

“Sounds good,” I replied, giving her a smile.

The tiny, hole in the wall dive bar in the basement of a rundown building was the last place I expected Maysie and Jordan to drag me to. This was such a far cry from the crazy club and hopping bar scene they tended to inhabit that I had to look over my shoulder as we walked in to make sure they were still with me.

There was a small stage at the front and only around fifteen or so tables scattered around the dimly lit room. A bar took up most of the back wall and was lined with stools. There wasn’t a pool table or television playing sports in sight. And I for one found the atmosphere to be a nice change.

There were only about thirty or so people there. If this was the meat of their Friday night crowd then I couldn’t understand how it stayed in business. But the sign reading “Benny’s” over the front door had proclaimed it a local treasure since prohibition where it had started as a place to run moonshine on the down low.

Maysie and Jordan walked hand in hand toward a shadowed corner and I trailed behind them like the third wheel they swore up and down I wasn’t. A night spent watching two of my closest friends play tonsil hockey, now that’s what I call a fantastic time. (Cue the sarcasm.)

I was happy to see that I wouldn’t be alone in playing unintentional voyeur this evening. Gracie and Vivian as well as Mitch and Cole were seated at the only large table in the place. Three pitchers of beer had already been consumed and it seemed the party had started way before our arrival.

I glanced around the bar, looking for the one person who was noticeably absent. But I’d be damned if I would ask where Garrett was.

I sat down between Mitch and Gracie. I hadn’t spent an inordinate amount of time with the other guys from Generation Rejects (well aside from the na**d kind of time I had spent with Garrett but that didn’t count since I could barely remember it). Cole had always come across as a crude, try too hard womanizer. Mitch was the cute teddy bear with the heart of gold.

I had never thought we’d have anything in common to warrant socializing. They lived in their townie, band dominated world and I was firmly ensconced in the land of academia. But since Maysie had jumped to the dark side, I had found the lines between the two worlds becoming more and more blurred.

Mitch poured a beer into a glass and passed it to me without a word. I inclined my head in thanks and took a sip, grimacing at the taste. Mitch smirked. “We could only afford the cheap stuff. It’s hard to live off playing at Barton’s every other week,” he explained finding my abhorrence of their chosen beverage amusing.

“Hey, I dig a cheap beer every now and then,” I told him, slugging half of the beer down my throat, making an effort not to cringe. Mitch patted me on the back in genuine affection.

“Sure you do, Ri,” he teased and I had to smile at his use of a nickname. I hadn’t realized until then how being a part of a group could actually feel pretty darned good. It was a shot of warm fuzzies straight to the heart.

Gracie slung her arm around my shoulders. “I’m so glad you’re here, Riley!” She leaned into my arm and I could tell she was barely holding her head above water. I tried not feel annoyed by her drunken affection. Typically I took her need for a tactile interaction while she was drinking with a stiff upper lip. But tonight, after seeing her this afternoon with a certain someone, I was feeling a lot less charitable.

I glanced at Maysie, hoping she’d save me from Gracie on the drunk side, but she was entirely focused on Jordan who was cupping her face in his hands as he whispered something to her. I suppose I didn’t have to worry about her channeling Coldplay this evening. She seemed to be coping with her earlier freak out quite well…for Maysie.

Gracie poked my arm, still not lifting her head from my shoulder. “I think you should look for a boy tonight, Riley-Wiley! Let’s find you a f**k buddy!” Gracie singsong’d loudly and I nudged her off my arm.

“Let’s talk about the rapid deterioration of your motor functioning instead,” I said shortly, hoping that even through her drunken haze, Gracie could see she was touching on a very sensitive subject.

“Gracie, you need to freshen your lipstick. Here use mine,” Vivian intervened, shoving her tube of lipstick into our friend’s face. Gracie rubbed at her lips and took the offered makeup.

“Thanks Vivvie,” Gracie slurred, pulling out a compact. I looked over at the older girl and gave her a look of gratitude. She grinned and shrugged.

“So, I’ve never been here before. Why the sudden change in weekend venue?” I asked the guys. Cole didn’t acknowledge my question, seeing as he was much too busy shoving his hands up Vivian’s shirt. Apparently they were in one of their “on again” phases.

Mitch poured me another glass of beer before refilling his own mug. “They have open mic night on the first Saturday of the month. We’ve been coming here for the last two years,” Mitch said in way of explanation.

I looked around at the small crowd and turned back to Mitch in disbelief. “Is this place harboring the next Dave Matthews and I didn’t realize it?” I asked. Mitch chuckled and gave me a strange look.

“Not exactly,” was all he said.

I watched as the bartender went to the tiny stage and set up a microphone stand and a small amp. He didn’t announce the beginning of any act. He simply switched on the power and went back to his post behind the bar.

Slowly, a guy from the audience came up with a beat up electric guitar. He began to play a horribly out of tune version of All Along the Watchtower. I felt embarrassed for the poor man as he hit the wrong chord over and over again. His voice wasn’t half bad but it was hard to notice over the horrendous way he butchered his guitar.

No one clapped when he finished and I felt bad for him. Two girls came up next and sang some country song I didn’t recognize. They weren’t as bad as the last guy but they still sucked. Jeesh, this was becoming painful.

Nobody at our table was paying a bit of attention as the acts filed up one after another. They continued to chat amongst themselves and get more and more drunk. I was completely confused. I thought this is why they had chosen to come here.

I was about to ask what the deal was when Jordan got to his feet, put two forefingers in his mouth and let out a loud whistle. Mitch and Cole joined him in a riot of cheering. Maysie was beaming as she got to her feet to clap.

I watched as someone made their way to the stage with a guitar case in hand.

I should have freaking known.

Garrett set the case down on the stage and slowly and purposefully unhooked the latches to open the top. He pulled out the well-worn Taylor acoustic I recognized as the one he played at his house. His hand smoothed down the fret board lovingly as though this inanimate object meant more to him than anything else.

He hooked the guitar strap around his neck and under his arm before sitting on the stool and resting the instrument in his lap. He blew out a breath to move his blond hair out of his eyes. He put a pick between his teeth as he began to turn the tuning pegs.

“Playing without backup this evening?” I asked Mitch dryly, trying like crazy to disguise the uncomfortable thudding of my heart at seeing Garrett on the stage by himself and strangely vulnerable. He looked so much like that other Garrett from weeks ago. The one I had found so compelling.

Mitch’s eyes slid to me as he tried to assess whether I was being a bitch or not. It was an understandable confusion considering most of the time I was being just that. “He’s been playing here every month for years. He was doing it awhile before the rest of us figured out where he was disappearing to,” Cole piped up, answering my question.

Gracie clapped her hands and looked as though she were about to swoon as she watched Garrett tune his guitar. “Isn’t he amazing? Seriously Riley, he’s so awesome!” she remarked, patting my arm a little harder than she probably meant to in her zealousness.

“Wow, when did you become Garrett Bellows’ number one fan?” I asked sarcastically. Gracie was too drunk to notice how irritated I sounded, though my overly astute roommate picked up on it instantly and gave me a funny look.

“I just think he’s so freaking sexy. I mean look at him,” Gracie said breathlessly. She leaned in close and said in a loud whisper in an effort to be discreet and failing miserably. “I’ve been trying to get him between my legs for months. And I plan to seal the deal tonight.”

Ugh. I felt sick all over again. Though I had the consolation of knowing that Gracie and Garrett hadn’t slept together…yet. Though the exact reason I was pleased by that knowledge was a bit unclear in my deep pit of denial.

“I think the only thing you’ll be doing tonight is passing out and hoping you don’t choke on your own vomit,” I bit out angrily. Gracie giggled as though I had just made the funniest joke ever.

The soft strains of music caught my attention as Garrett began to strum a few chords. He pushed his hair back from his face and looked out into the crowd, finding our table and giving his friends a big grin. His smile lit up his face and made my breath catch in my throat. He pointed at his bandmates and made some gesture with his hand that the other three imitated, followed by a fresh round of yelling and cheering.

Without an introduction, Garrett began to play a song. It took me awhile to recognize it. Huh, he was playing an unplugged version of Soundgarden’s Black Hole Sun. And damned if his voice didn’t give Chris Cornell a run for his money. Garrett’s voice was melodic and pleasing to the ear with a slight rasp that gave his singing a raw edge. Why in the hell had Cole become the lead singer when Garrett had a voice like that?

After he finished that song he launched into an up tempo rendition of Pink Floyd’s Comfortably Numb. It was weird but oddly catchy. I found my leg bobbing up and down in time to the music. I looked around the bar and saw that aside from our table, no one else seemed as entranced with the set as I was. Conversation carried on in spite of Garrett’s supreme talent. People were so freaking rude.

Garrett ended the Pink Floyd song with a screech along the strings and then promptly jumped into a new set of chords that melded in with harmonics beautifully. I remembered the gentle melody all too well. It was the same tune he had played for me before. Back all those weeks ago when I stupidly thought there might be more to him than I had originally thought.

Then he opened his mouth and began to sing. And I forgot to be bitter. I forgot to be annoyed about seeing him with Gracie. All I could think; all I could feel was complete and total awe.

I hadn’t expected it

I thought you were a joke.

Your whispered words

Wrapped around my throat.

I hated that I loved it

The way you reached inside

Clawing through the wreckage

And the pieces that have died.

You don’t even know it,

You’re blind to what you see

The disillusioned lies

Bleeding out of me.

Quiet slumbers before the storm

Violent eyes, passionate cries,

Resisting and tormenting wanting more.

There is no beginning without an end,

No tomorrow, no future,

losing it all again.

Our story is a nightmare,

Written in stone,

Nothing can change it,

I’ll still be alone.

You want me to need you.

You’ll be waiting awhile,

Piercing my world

with the ice of your smile.

Your touch is toxic

Your heart’s a mess

Which is why you’ll always be

My perfect regret.

My perfect regret.

Regret…

Garrett’s voice faded into a soft hum as he strummed his guitar in a complicated dance along the strings. His song gave me chills. Seriously, I had goose bumps on my arms. The hair was literally standing up on the back of my neck.

When Garrett had finished, Cole let out a whistle. “Damn, that was a new one. Good shit,” he said, getting to his feet with the empty pitcher. I swallowed thickly, wondering, perhaps a bit vainly, whether I had been the muse of that particular song. The words rang a little too close to home for my liking.

Garrett played a few more covers and one more original song. When he was finished, our table erupted in applause and I clapped along with them. Garrett put his guitar back in the case and walked over to our group. Jordan clapped him on the back and Maysie gave him a hug.

Gracie tried to get to her feet, finally succeeding after much effort. “Garrett!” she squealed and practically fell on him as she attempted to wrap her arms around him. He laughed and helped her back into her seat.

“A little too much to drink again, huh, G?” he said with an obvious affection that annoyed the shit out of me. G? Garrett called her G? His use of my nickname for her bugged me more than it should. He accepted praise from the rest of his friends and purposefully ignored me the entire time. Okay, so this is how it was going to be obviously. How quickly the two of us fell back into our comfortable pattern of loathing and disdain for one another.

Garrett sat down across from me and Cole poured him a beer, which he accepted with a thanks before finishing it in one gulp. Vivian gave him a one armed hug, which he returned easily. I was the only one with my awkward hat on, feeling all kinds of socially dysfunctional.