Page 70 of Everything In Between
Her eyes trace my face and I see the moment my words soften her. She exhales and tilts her head. “All right, let’s go.”
Together, we get out of the car and walk up to the front door. I pull it open, letting Jersey walk in first before following closely behind her. As soon as I step into the establishment, I know everything I read about it online was true to its word.
The bar instantly gives me a semblance of home. The warm wood paneling on the walls and ambient lighting are inviting and comfortable. The scent of french fries and smash burgers permeates the air and my stomach rumbles at the prospect of delicious food. At the far end of the dining area, next to the bar seating, is a small stage where a young girl stands, front and center, singing boldly into the microphone while confidently strumming at the guitar around her neck.
I figured Jersey would love a place with an open mic night, which is why I chose this place over all the other popular places here in LA
I suspect I was right.
Jersey gasps a little, her attention zeroing in on the young artist singing her heart out.
While she’s distracted, I find us a place to sit. Grabbing her hand, I pull her over to a small two-seater table close to the stage. Her gaze never leaves the singer as we walk past the oblivious barflies. I was also right in taking the chance that Jersey could fly under the radar here. We’re far enough away from the main scene—not to mention the general demographic of pub crawlers isn’t too into pop princesses—that I knew she’d be safe here.
Otherwise, I wouldn’t have taken the chance.
I’d throw myself in front of a bullet for her if I had to. I wouldn’t even hesitate sacrificing myself to keep her safe. It means a lot to me to know she trusts I’ll always have her back.
Jersey slides into the seat directly facing the stage, her eyes still glued to the young girl. When the singer finishes her set, the bar erupts into cheers and applause.
“Wow,” Jersey says.
“She’s really good.”
Jersey shakes her head as if I don’t understand. “She’s better than good. You can see that she reallyloveswhat she’s doing up there. She loves singing, she loves playing, she loves it all.” She presses her lips together in a tight line and her eyes grow shiny. “I’ve forgotten what it’s like to feel that way.”
My heart aches for her and I want to reach across the table to hug her, to take away whatever pain and frustration are eating at her. Instead, I place my hand up on the table, offering it to her. She slides her hand into mine, and I note how small her hand is compared to mine—dainty, delicate,perfect.
“You’ll get that back. I know you will.”
Something flashes behind her eyes, and I suspect it has a lot to do with the man currently steamrolling her career. “I hope so. One day.”
The waiter comes by then, giving us a warm smile as he puts down a few cocktail napkins and glasses of water. “Hey guys, what can I get you?” He scans over Jersey first, then me before doing a double take. “Oh shit. Hayes Vogt, right?”
I notice Jersey is trying to fight off a smile at not being the center of attention. Giving the kid a sheepish nod, I acknowledge him. “In the flesh.”
“Dude, youcrushedus this year.” He holds out his knuckles and I fist bump him. “You’re a living legend.”
I laugh, relieved that he’s being a good sport about it. “It was a good game across the board. The Lightning really left it all out on the field.”
“Yeah, I’ll say.” The server nods. “Anyway, good to meet you. If you have a minute on your way out, I’d love a picture and an autograph.”
“Sure.”
“Sick.” He fights off a broad smile before schooling his features. “What can I get you to drink tonight?”
I order a beer and Jersey orders herself a vodka tonic. The server hurries off to get our drinks and Jersey levels me with an amused smirk, mindlessly running over the petals of the flowers on the table with her fingers.
“What?” I ask her, feigning innocence as I take a sip of my water.
“Is this why you picked adivebar?” she teases.
“Definitely not. I figured we’d have the best chance of flying under the radar here. And besides, even if I’m recognized, I’m not as big of a deal as you are.”
“Hayes,” she protests. “That’s not true. You’re just as important as I am.”
“Maybe in the sports world, but my fans won’t be as feral as your fans, and you can’t even say I’m wrong. I’ve been to your show, experienced your fans.” She rolls her eyes but doesn’t disagree. Her attention falls to the flower again, a breezy expression falling over her face.
My phone buzzes on the table and I glance at it, biting back a laugh when I see the picture my housekeeper has sent of Periwinkle. She’s made a fort of sorts on the couch and has buried herself under the blankets and pillows. There’d be no way one could know she was under there if not for the two beady black eyes peering out. I flip my phone around and show Jersey, who fights off a smile and shakes her head at the amusing pup.
