Sheepish, he hooks his thumbs in his pockets and rocks back on his heels. “I was an ass. I shouldn’t have ditched you.”
Silence.
“That’s it?” I finally ask a few awkward moments later. “No excuses?”
A breath of laughter escapes him, though there isn’t any humor in it. “There isn’t an excuse that would justify what I did, Dove. I was selfish. I thought I was strong enough to face my addiction on my own, but as soon as I walked into that house, I got the itch. And instead of fighting it, I ditched you to find a solid distraction before Marty found me and slipped me a hit. I assumed you’d be fine. And even if you were, it was still messed up to leave you in a random house with a bunch of strangers. I messed up,” he reiterates, his voice more serious than I’ve ever heard it. “And I’m going to take that shit more seriously from now on. Not only for me. But for the band.”
The sincerity in his gaze is promising, and I wish I could believe him. But it isn’t my job to make him face reality. It’s my job to support him and pray that I’m wrong.
“I think that’s a good idea,” I murmur. “To take your addiction seriously.”
“That’s the plan.”
“Good. And if there’s anything I can do to help, let me know, okay?”
“Sure thing, Dove.”
“Good,” I repeat with a soft smile.
“So…” He grimaces and leans closer to me. “Are you still coming?”
I pick up the damp rag from the table and ask myself the same question. Again.
Even though I’d already told Maddie I was going in the heat of the moment, now that I’ve calmed down, I feel…helpless. Like I’m at a crossroads with no idea which path to take or what’s best for me, let alone what’s best for Fender, or Gibson, or Maddie, or her unborn baby.
Indecisiveness gnaws at my stomach as I shrug one shoulder. “I have no idea, Fen.”
“Is it because I screwed up?”
I chew on the inside of my cheek, hating how my attention shifts over to the bar before I can help myself. Just like every other two minutes since I walked into SeaBird for my shift.
“Ooooh.” As if a cartoon light bulb has gone off above his head, Fender drops his voice low and asks, “So, what happened?”
“Nothing.”
I turn back to an amused Fen who smirks back at me. “You’re a terrible liar.”
“I may have been told that a time or two,” I admit grudgingly before I go back to scrubbing the already cleaned table. “Guess all my lying skills got passed off in my sister’s genes and skipped mine.”
He laughs. “It’s probably a good thing. My brother hates liars.”
“I don’t care what your brother likes or hates,” I huff, giving the bar my back. Maybe it’ll keep me from looking over at him again.
“Was that lie for me or you?” Fen asks, unconvinced.
“You should probably get back on stage.”
“Nah. This is much more interesting,” he chuckles. “You should let me help. I know my brother better than anyone.”
“Both of them? Tell me; was it Martin who got you hooked on drugs, or did you find those all on your own?” I pry, desperate to change the subject.
Fender pulls back, his earlier amusement dissipating instantly while making it very clear that I crossed a line. “You’re full of Hayes family secrets, aren’t you?”
Crap.
“I’m sorry,” I apologize, my throat closing with guilt as I drop the stupid rag back to the table. “That was uncalled for.”
“I was prying at your weakness first. I guess it’s only fair I took a blow too,” he mutters. “I gotta get back on stage.” He steps toward the bottom stairs that lead to the stage, but I get in front of him.