Page 11 of Wish You Would

“I am,” he finally answered with a nod. “I appreciate you holding things down here so I can do this.”

Guilt was a hot knife in my gut. Selfish, I thought. Still just a selfish kid. I smiled, though, and it was genuine despite what was going on inside my person. “Good,” I said, picking my pencil up once again. “I’d be pissed if I was boring myself to tears with shit like this,” I motioned to the schedule in front of me, “and you were miserable.”

Vaughn laughed as he cracked his book back open. “You think that’s bad, wait until I teach you how to reconcile invoices.”

I retched, which made him laugh harder. And the sound of his joy somehow made me feel better and guiltier?

As he read, I marveled at this new reality I’d found myself in. A year ago, I came home, tail between my legs, to an angry brother—rightfully so—and a failing family business. After groveling for forgiveness, and busting my ass at the bar, Vaughn had cracked open his boarded-up life and let me back in.

No way in hell was I going to take that for granted.

Beside me, my phone vibrated again, and Halle’s name flickered across my screen. Like a siren song beckoning me back to the sea, back to the stage. I stared at it until the screen went dark, pulse pounding in my ears. I wanted to reply, wanted to say yes. Wanted to feed that part of my soul that came to life when music flowed through it.

But I also wanted my brother to be happy. Even if that meant I was not.

I’d turn her down.

Later.

I had to.

Didn’t I?

Flipping the phone face down to remove the temptation, I pulled my paperwork closer and got back to work. No time for siren songs. Not now. Maybe not ever.

6

PARKER

SHE'S SO HIGH

“Good, you’re here.” I collapsed against the bar, breathless. “I’m freaking out.”

Gigi didn’t even look up from the wine glass she was polishing. “Oh?”

“I don’t think I can do this. I’m not ready. I haven’t even decided what I’m going to say. I—”

“Parker?”

My mouth snapped shut. I straightened, hands still gripping the edge of the bar tightly. “Yeah?”

“Kindly calm yourself. You’re killing my vibe.” She finished her task and looked up, her dark eyes calm and steady as they met mine. Holding my gaze, she reached beneath the bar and pulled out a can of Vernor’s and a highball glass. She poured a shot of whiskey over ice, then added the golden liquid and perched a lime on the rim. Then, she slid it across the counter. “Drink.”

I obeyed, the bubbles dancing over my tongue in the most calming way. Swallowing, I exhaled a long, pent-up breath.

“Good girl,” Gigi said, her deep red lips twisting in amusement. “Better?”

A flush crept up my neck and burned my cheeks. I nodded, pulling my eyes from hers. “Thanks,” I murmured, something twisting hot and sharp in my gut.

She hummed her response, oblivious, and reached for a new wine glass. “Now,” she said as she began to polish. “Why the freakout?”

Cradling my glass between my hands, I trained my eyes on the effervescent liquid before me. With each bubble that raced to the top of the glass, I felt my heart rate slow a little more. Apparently, Michiganders swore by this stuff to fix all their ails. I was starting to believe they were right. Finally, I blinked and looked up. Gigi wasn’t looking at me, but I could tell she was paying attention. She had this…aura about her. She could be doing twenty things at once and still somehow manage to listen to what you were saying. It was probably what made her such a good bartender.

“Out with it,” she said when I didn’t say anything. “I don’t have all day, Samuels.”

“What if it goes badly?” I finally spat out. “What if I embarrass myself? Or say something stupid? Or—”

“Look.” Gigi sat her glass aside and wove her fingers together, resting them on the bar before her. “Halle is human. Just like the rest of us. She eats and sleeps and farts like you and me.”

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