Page 19 of The Man I Once Hated

“What.” I answer the call with irritation. Not a question but a statement.

My father’s voice is pinched, as usual, and his economy of words is top tier. Also as usual. He wants to see me. Urgently.

He kills the call before I respond, which settles the matter. Fuck whatever I have going on or whether I even want to see him. I have Ethan over here pleading with me to grow up and then there’s Edward Spencer II, who treats me like a child no matter how old I get.

“It’s on the house.” Ethan holds up a hand when I pull out my wallet.

I say nothing. Give him a nod of thanks and leave the bakery.

9

Cara

Alex has been in LA for a little over a year but Zoey and I are her only friends, pretty much. This means that it lands on us whenever she has one of her ‘intimate gigs’ like she calls them. Tonight we’re her number one fans at the open mic in a hole-in-the-wall bar.

“Thanks,” I say when Zoey comes back to our table with a fresh pitcher of beer. “Next round’s on me.”

I’m feeling a slight buzz as it is, but I’m determined to keep going. The past few days have been intense with Edward plaguing my every waking thought. And when I finally get to sleep, his face shows up there too. His stupid face with his stupid, soft lips, and his stupid, manly jawline.

“Please tell me we’re coming to the end of the sad songs,” Zoey gives me a pleading look. “I’m out here fighting for my life, Cara. I swear to God.”

I bite back my laughter. Like any singer-songwriter worth her salt, Alex has dedicated most of her playlist to heartache and heartbreak and the ones that got away. It doesn’t make for an uplifting night out, which is the other reason we’ve been plying ourselves with drinks.

Just as I’m about to answer her, Alex breaks into yet another careening bridge and drowns out whatever hopes I have of being heard. Zoey and I share a look and both break down laughing. Then, as if feeling Alex’s eyes on me, I quickly regain my composure and let out a loud whoop, my solo applause making me the target of disdainful stares from the other patrons.

Zoey cups her hands around her mouth and yells, “Go, Alex!”

“Isn’t there supposed to be a three-song limit?” someone calls out from the bar.

My gaze darts over to the stage where it’s clear that Alex has heard him. She shrinks a little on her stool, fingers fumbling the chords. A series of groans floats over the small crowd and this time when I look over at Zoey, even though we feel the same, the look we share is different.

Because nobody fucks around with our friend.

“One more,” she holds up her finger in the count of one.

I give a stiff nod and raise my glass. “I’ve got your back.”

The hiccup that escapes me then doesn’t bode well for an impending barfight, but I feel like the haze in my head is just enough for me to exchange harsh words. At the very least.

“Thank you,” Alex’s mouth is pressed right up against the microphone when she says it, resulting in an ear-splitting scream of feedback.

The groans and haggling gets louder, with one guy yelling at the bartender to make it stop already.

I down the rest of my beer and while Zoey tops me up, I jump from my chair and yell out, “Encore!”

It’s enough to move the attention away from Alex, with everyone getting mad at me instead. The smile on my young roommate’s face is worth whatever these drunks want to throw at me. Except a shoe.

A brown leather loafer comes zooming past my head and flies straight for Alex on stage. She ducks out of the way just in time and it goes crashing into the brick wall behind her.

“What the fuck?” Zoey’s standing too now, her eyes scanning the bar for the possible source.

A burly man the size of what Zoey and I would be if I stood on her shoulders steps forward, chest puffed out. He’s wearing a stained white vest and a raggedy trucker hat, looking like he hasn’t showered in years.

“Get that floozy off the goddamn stage!” Saliva sprays from his mouth as he slurs his way through the demand. “My left nut can sing better than that.”

His drunken stupidity gets a few laughs from the patrons but Zoey and I are fuming. We have the same idea at the same time, and storm over to him.

“Why don’t you get up there then?” I ask.

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