Page 42 of Bitter Beats

I knew the Byrnes were divorcing because it’s been literal news. Splashed in newspapers and commented on in circles throughout Boston. But I had no idea Mckenna was practically estranged from her parents without actually being estranged.

That must be rich people shit. I bet my newest, custom Zildjian cymbals that if Mckenna’s parents called and asked her to attend some event, smile for photos, and sit at their table, she would. Partly because that’s the type of woman she is. I mean, clearly, look what she’s doing for me. And somewhat because her parents would expect her to. Mckenna would say yes to avoid disappointing them.

Even though they have no clue how much she’s struggling. They probably haven’t given her tuition a second thought. In their minds, it’s settled.

I end the call with A and toss down my phone.

Staring at myself in the mirror, I brace my palms on the vanity and sigh.

“Don’t fuck her over,” I warn my reflection. “You can be a decent friend. Be that for her. This is nothing more than friendshelping friends. A business transaction. An agreement. That’s it.”

Confident in my commitment, I give a sturdy nod. Then, I flip off the bathroom light and head downstairs to wait for my date.

Twenty minutes later,Mckenna is a no-show.

I heave out a sigh and drop my head back against the cushion of the chair I’m propped in. Did she blow me off? Did she forget?

I stretch my legs out, stacking my left heel on my right foot’s toes. I pull out my phone and glance at the screen, scrolling through the messages I don’t give a shit about to see if I’ve got any from her.

Nope.

I pull up Flip’s name, about to send him a message to inquire about getting fucked up tonight, when my phone rings.

Mckenna’s name floats across the screen.

“Mckenna?” I ask, my tone mostly annoyed with a thin thread of relief.

“Mav? Are you coming?” she asks. Her tone is flustered, and I sit up straight, glancing around the empty living room as if expecting her to jump out from behind the couch and yell, “Surprise!”

“What are you talking about? I’ve been sitting in the living room, waiting for you, for over twenty minutes.”

“The living room? We’re supposed to meet at the restaurant. I’ve been—” She lowers her voice. “Everyone is looking at me. I’m, well, about to take another sip of wine, so…unless you get here soon, everyone will think your girlfriend is a lush and you stood her up.”

“Fuck,” I wheeze. “Why didn’t you?—”

“I sent you an email this morning,” she cuts me off.

“An email?” I repeat, baffled. “Mckenna, are you fucking kidding me? Do you really think I’m the kind of guy who would check my fucking email inbox?”

She doesn’t respond to that since the answer is obvious.

Instead, she huffs, “Are you coming?”

“Yeah.” I stand and grab my wallet. “I’ll be there in…well, when I get there.”

“Hurry.” She disconnects.

I groan and step outside. After exchanging a few words with Drew and Alfred, I’m on my way, sitting in the evening downtown traffic.

But within twenty minutes, and I imagine a second glass of wine for Mckenna, the SUV pulls to a stop in front of the trendy, modern Italian kitchen Kimberly arranged for Mckenna and me to dine at tonight.

I’m relieved that Kimberly felt tonight should be a practice run and didn’t arrange for any paparazzi or well-placed journalists to document my late arrival and my girl guzzling wine solo.

“Thanks, mate,” I tell Alfred as Drew quickly sweeps the sidewalk.

Alfred catches my eyes in the rearview mirror. “She’s a good girl, Mav.”

I narrow my eyes. Now I’ve gotta take shit from my driver, too? “I know,” I snap.

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