Page 11 of Ring My Bell

I narrowed my eyes. “Did you spend the night here, Paige?”

They shrugged. “I don’t sleep much, and I wasn’t sure you’d let me in if I came back this morning, so I cleaned your kitchen, borrowed your internet—don’t worry, used my own Netflix account—and waited for one of you to get up.”

I eyed my phone on the counter and then Paige, leaning next to it. I could definitely call the cops, but at the same time… “Fuck it, okay, what do you want?”

“You’re one of those pre-coffee people, huh? Like, you don’t function well before it?” They turned to my coffeemaker and started it up. Seeing my glare, they shrugged. “I had a lot of time to kill. I was gonna make pancakes, but you’re out of, like, everything so…”

“So,” I gritted out. “You hate Raymond too.”

“He’s got himself a real fan club,” Paige chortled. “But yeah, I want in. Raymond fucked me over good, too, and I know I’m not gonna get my career off the ground anymore, but that’s not why I want to be part of this.” They paused to pour me out a cup of the—damn it—perfectly brewed coffee with just the right amount of creamer and sugar. Seeing my annoyed look, they grinned. “One of my other jobs is a barista. I’m good at guessing people’s orders. You’re definitely one of those guys who tells people they like black coffee, but add a shit-ton of creamer and sweetener when you’re on your own.”

I didn’t dignify that with a reply.

Paige grabbed their mug—my mug, rather, since it was from my own damn cupboard—and took up a seat at my tiny kitchen table. “So, without going into the deets, what I know is this: We all got fucked over royally by the same dude. We all had our lives… Not ruined, but very very derailed.”

“Putting it mildly,” I muttered.

Paige rolled their eyes. “Look, Raymond’s fucked over a lot of people, okay? A lot. It’s not just a case of sour grapes. It’d be impossible. Look at his rate of success in the industry, okay? He’s been doing this for twenty years, and over three-fourths of his clients get dropped for ridiculous reasons. If he was in any other industry, had any less clout thanks to his money and name, he’d be considered terrible at his job. Hell, if he ran the coffee shop I work at, his turnover rate would get him all kinds of questions from corporate. But because he’s Raymond Montaine…”

“People let it slide,” I sighed. “And I know this. But what good is playing at Bremen Town going to do? It’s like Iggy is trying to live some fairy tale where he gets a happy-ever-after by showing the big bad how clever he is.”

Regarding me over the rim of the mug, Paige tipped their head thoughtfully. “And is that such a bad thing? Showing Raymond you’re not something he can just throw away? And what’s the worst that can happen?”

“We look ridiculous.”

“Is that the worst thing? Really?”

My jaw tensed, making my headache ratchet up a few notches. Iggy’s rough snoring wasn’t helping. I wanted to wake him up and kick him out, throw Paige out right behind him, go back to bed and sleep until I could return to the bar again and start playing.

No, I corrected myself. I wanted to go back in time and tell Raymond he could fuck off when he approached me at the festival when I was sixteen.

Because returning to that festival would just rip off an old scab, over a wound that hadn’t healed at all.

“What if,” Paige said quietly, “the worst thing is you get out of a rut and pull your head out of your ass? You get to play in front a different audience. You might get some gig offers. Or let’s go big here: approached by a label’s rep. Or going the other direction, the worst that happens is nothing. You play. You get applause. You come back here and step back into the life you’re living now, but you’ve got hope.”

“Is one of your part-time jobs working as a motivational speaker?”

“I do Uber Eats sometimes and end up seeing a lot of daytime TV while I wait for orders at the counter.” Paige took their mug to the sink and turned back to face me, giving me a small smirk. “Not like we’ve got a lot to lose, any of us.”

“You make a compelling argument,” I muttered, and they laughed. “I’m not agreeing with him, but I’ll talk to Iggy about his, ah, plan, when he’s awake and sober.”

“Cool beans. Let’s go get his car and come back. We can go get breakfast. I want waffles.”

“You paying?”

Paige snagged Iggy’s keys from the counter where I’d left them the night before and winked at me. “Let’s not quibble over things like payment.”

Already regretting my choices, I shook my head and grabbed some clean clothes from the dryer and dressed in the tiny bathroom.

“Hey.”

Iggy’s scratchy voice made me jump, banging my head on the inside of the dryer before I could turn around. “Ow! Fuck!”

“Sorry!” He scooted back, blushing furiously as I turned to face him. “I was just gonna tell you thank you for… for taking care of me last night. It was a really bad day and…” He sighed, worrying the edge of the shirt he’d pulled back on, rubbing the fabric between his thumb and forefinger, not meeting my eyes. “Look, I get it. I really do. If you don’t want to do this, then I’ll go solo. I just thought maybe, like, extra whammy, seeing two of his victims, you know?”

“Victim’s a little harsh,” I murmured.

Iggy shrugged. He really was beautiful, and my face heated up when I realized I was staring at him like I’d never seen a man before or something. “So, Paige and I are going to go get your car, and they were suggesting talking about this over breakfast?”

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