Page 113 of Guitars and Cages

I groaned, because this was starting not to sound good at all.

“Plus, we’ve got to come up with the taxes on the place; they’re due at the end of the week and with business in a slump the liquor sales have been down and I don’t know how we’re gonna make it.”

“How much?” I asked, scared to hear the answer.

“Forty-three hundred dollars, of which we have not quite half. If I hadn’t had to replace the truck none of this would be an issue, but add that to having to pay the distributor as well as covering the paychecks, and I’m tapped out right now. We haven’t had a good crowd in here since your band broke up, and we need a few good nights in the black to get back on our feet again. I’ve been racking my brain as to what to do, but unless I can turn things around soon, we’re going to be in a downward slide that we can’t come back from.”

I took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. I had about a hundred bucks left over from the last fight, and that was gonna have to keep me in gas and food until I got my first paycheck. I looked at Alexia’s tired face and Morgan’s angry one and I knew what I needed to do. “I can get the money,” I said.

“How?” Alexia demanded.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll get it.”

Morgan studied me, but said nothing, I hadn’t expected him to. I knew he hated me now, but maybe he’d think a little better of me when I came back with the money.

Alexia’s eyes got wide and she grabbed my arm. “You’re gonna fight, aren’t you?”

“It’s what I do. It’s what pays.”

“But...”

“Don’t worry about it,” I told her. “If I could fight for a cat, I can do it for the bar.”

I turned to look at Morgan. “I know it’s not much, but I can come play for a few hours each night. I don’t know how many people that’ll get through the door, but it’ll be live music at least, until you can get a real band. Just, I can’t get here until after eight most nights and I can’t stay past one.”

Playing until one would be exhausting, especially after a long day at work, but he’d always been there for me when I was younger. Maybe he wouldn’t have, if he’d known then that I wasn’t his, but that didn’t erase the fact that he had been there.

He looked thoughtful, like he was trying to peer into my soul. “All right, we’ll give it a shot.”

I nodded and moved to leave, but Alexia still had my arm. “What?”

“Just...be careful, Asher, please?”

“You worry too much,” I told her, gently peeling her hand off my arm. “I’ll talk to Cole and see if I can’t get him to come spend some time with Rory tomorrow so you can get some studying done.”

“Thanks.”

I smiled at her, and then turned to go. This time Morgan moved so I could get by. I was out in the hallway when I heard Alexia pleading with him to tell me not to fight, that we’d find another way to raise the money. Morgan told her it was time I did my share, and that he was hoping I would keep my word for once. I deserved that, I knew, but still it stung. I was trying so hard to do better, I was even working harder at not telling lies. I knew I could manage to keep my promises, too, I just wished he believed in me. I needed him to believe in me.

And speaking of promises... I’d been dreading the next fight, knowing I’d promised to take Conner with me, though with the way we’d parted, maybe he wouldn’t want to go. I stopped by his apartment on the way home. It was a little after eight; I figured he’d be home and I was right.

“I’m not up for laser tag, paintball, pizza, or anything else right now,” he told me as soon as he opened the door. He didn’t look in much better of a mood than Morgan or Alexia had been in.

“Sorry. Just wanted to let you know I’m gonna fight tomorrow night, if you still wanted to get pictures.”

“Decided not to give that hand a break, huh?”

“What can I say? I’m a glutton for punishment.” Okay, that was a lie. I’d have to add that to the journal, too.

“So, is fighting an addiction, or you have a death wish?”

I could hear the anger coming through his words. If he wanted to still be pissed about our conversation that was fine, I could go.

“Neither, but selling myself to the highest bidder doesn’t pay for all the coke I snort, so I’m better off throwing punches inside a cage.” Another lie, but at this point I was starting not to give a shit. What fucking difference did it make to any of them that I was trying to change? I was trash in their eyes anyway. “So you wanna go or what?”

“Yeah, fine, what time?”

“I’ll come pick you up around ten; nothing really kicks off until after that.”

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