Page 49 of Side Trip

Why was that?

Simple: guilt.

An emotion she was all too familiar with. Only this time it had nothing to do with Judy and everything to do with Mark.

Dylan was here. Mark wasn’t.

There was also one more thing that rubbed raw. Dylan was right, too, about Mark not knowing her the way he should. The engagement ring? By golly, it was obnoxious. She’d never admit it to Dylan, but Joy had wanted to tell Mark after he proposed that the ring was over the top. A solitaire mounted on a gold band would have sufficed. Minimalist was more her style. But Judy would have gushed over the setting, and Mark seemed so pleased to see it on her finger. Joy kept the ring on and her thoughts guarded.

The ring sparkled in the beam of the bouncer’s flashlight as he checked Joy’s ID and she paid him the cover charge. The bouncer noticed the glitter, too.

“You alone tonight?” he asked in a gruff voice. Interest glimmered in his ink-black eyes.

“My fiancé’s inside.” Lie. She twisted the ring around her finger to hide the two-carat diamond. It always caught when she styled her hair, and it snagged on her clothes when she dressed. It also attracted unwanted attention. She should have left it in the room after she’d checked in. But the motel didn’t have a safe and Mark would never forgive her if someone stole the ring or she misplaced it.

Mark would never forgive her if he found out about Dylan. But she didn’t ask for her cash back and return to her motel room, steeped with remorse that she’d even consider entering the bar, knowing full well her desire to be there wasn’t just about the music. She wanted to see Dylan. She’d find a seat toward the rear and out of view, kick back, drink a beer, and enjoy his performance the same way she’d enjoy that of any other musician. Dylan would never know she was there. And when Mark called tomorrow morning and asked about her evening, she wouldn’t have to lie, a welcome relief for a change. She’d spent the evening alone at a bar listening to good music.

The bouncer grunted and gave Joy her change. She pocketed the bills and muttered a “thanks.”

The Wagon Wheel was a biker bar, as if the line of Harleys parked outside and heavily muscled, leather-clad men inside hadn’t tipped her off. Thank goodness she wore black jeans and a black T-shirt. She fit right in. Almost. The black Mollusk logo cap from the Venice Beach surf shop barely covered the blonde hair that would have been a beacon in the dim bar. Oh, right, and her shoes. There had never been a time when she wished she had her black Dr. Martens combat boots rather than her white Keds. She shouldn’t have shipped those to New York with her other stuff.

Either way, Joy had intentionally dressed to look as inconspicuous as possible. Dylan didn’t want her there, and she was determined that he wouldn’t see her. She wanted to hear him play. She loved the buttery rasp of his voice, and after today’s long drive she wanted to hunker down in a corner with a beer and listen to good music.

Joy ordered a beer and found an empty chair toward the back behind a wall of bikers. Leaning left then right, she confirmed that from onstage, Dylan wouldn’t be able to see her.

The tables were nothing more than barrels topped with round-cut wood. Red-checked curtains fringed the three windows. Smoke clung to the air like June gloom fog. People drew on lit cigarettes and sucked on saliva-soaked cigar tips. Joy bounced her knee and the blanket of peanut shells on the floor cracked under her sneakers. Nervous energy rocketed through her. The bar’s atmosphere made her uneasy. The people more so. Judy would never have found herself in a place like this. Which had Joy wondering ...

What sort of obligation had Dylan performing in dive bars and on street corners?

He sold songs to chart-topping artists. His dad was a Grammy winner several times over. Dylan’s own voice, let alone his surname, was worthy of a stage at an exclusive club in a better section of town, one that charged hundreds at the door, not tens. He hadn’t given her much of an answer when she asked earlier. It would seem they had more in common than a love of music. They both harbored secrets.

A man at the table in front of Joy’s nudged his buddy and nodded in her direction. The buddy turned and looked at her. He smiled, showing off a crooked row of yellow-stained teeth. Great. Joy swallowed the sour knot in her throat. Her heart pounded in her chest. The hair on her nape rose. Did he have to leer at her?

“Hey, pretty lady, you all alone tonight?”

“There a problem with that?” she snapped, well aware that if she showed any meekness they’d be on her like flies on sticky tape.

What was with guys? Couldn’t a gal sit in a bar and not be harassed? It wasn’t as if she was the only woman here. Though she did stick out like a yellow dandelion in a field of grass. She wasn’t wearing leather. And aside from the other night, she hadn’t gone to a bar alone since ... ever. Taryn always went barhopping with her. So did Mark. Joy eyed the barren stool beside her and felt a thickness in her throat. For the first time since she’d left home, she longed for Mark. He should be here, she thought, then almost laughed out loud. He’d hate this place with its dirty floor and dusty light fixtures. But he’d love Dylan’s music.

And that ate at her more than the lies. Mark and Dylan were opposites, but she could easily imagine them meeting up for a beer. At the very least, Mark would go out of his way to watch Dylan play. She was a horrible fiancée.

No surprise there, she thought, snatching up her beer in disgust. She’d been a terrible sister and despicable daughter. All the lies. So many years of lies.

She tipped back the glass at a steeper angle than she intended and swallowed a too large gulp. She coughed. Beer leaked from the corners of her mouth. Her eyes burned. She swiped off the beer, her ring catching the biker’s attention. She’d almost forgotten about him.

“No problem at all,” he said, still grinning as he answered her question. “Just wanted to ask you to join us in a game of liar’s dice.” He shook the cup of dice. For real, or was that a backtrack for hitting on her? Who knew? He gestured at her left hand. “Your husband here?”

“My friend. He’s playing tonight.” She nodded toward the stage. At least that wasn’t a lie.

The man glanced at the stage, then gave her a look. He didn’t believe her. “Gonna be hard to see him from where you’re sitting.”

She grimaced.That’s the idea.

“He doesn’t know I’m here. It’s a surprise.” She wiped a damp hand on her thigh. She was beginning to see why Dylan hadn’t told her where he was playing tonight. Maybe it had nothing to do with his embarrassment over performing and everything to do with the location and crowd. Joy didn’t feel safe. She felt exposed. And despite her efforts to blend in, she stuck out. Alice in Wonderhell.

“What time is the band supposed to start, Pete?” Liar’s-dice guy asked his friend.

“Nine thirty,” Pete said.

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