Page 168 of On The Rocks

“A benefit for the taproom.”

“Beckett is going to kick your ass.” She squeezed my hand. “But I think it’s a great idea.”

Mel came by with our food and we hashed out the specifics. Since Baron and I hadn’t been on a real stage in two years, it might bring people in.

Might.

“How bad is Marc? Do you think he’d come out?”

“I honestly don’t know. He might be pissed enough to do it, even if he had to sit for the entirety of the show.”

Lennon dunked her grilled cheese in her chili. “What if we built him a throne? Remember when the guy from the Foo Fighters broke his leg? That was pretty awesome.”

“You’re a genius. Marc couldn’t resist a throne.”

Baron laughed. “No, he sure would not.” He pulled out his phone, put it on speaker, and tossed it on the table between us. The sound of a ringing line made my stomach drop.

I hadn’t talked to Marc since he drove off that day.

“What’s up, fucker?”

“You’re on speaker, keep it civil.” Baron rolled his eyes.

“Like I care. Who’s there with you?”

“Hey, Marc,” I said, with an audible hitch in my voice.

“Well, if it isn’t the bandwrecker.”

I sat back in my chair, crossing my arms. “Fuck off.”

Marc’s whiskey and smoke-battered laugh came through the speaker. “Ah, I did miss you, Griff, my boy.” There was some rustling, and then a muttered oath. “So, what made you finally call me?”

“Irene.”

“That cunt can die for all I care.”

“I’m sorry, Marc. I know she fucked you up royally.” I relaxed a little when Lennon put a hand on my shoulder. I glanced down at her and pressed my forehead to hers.

“She got what she wanted. Me obsessed and me near dead. It’s going to take me a year to walk without a cane, for God’s sake.”

“How about a little payback?”

The other side of the line went quiet long enough that I leaned forward to make sure he didn’t hang up on us.

“Marc, she’s been messing with G, as well. And his girl.”

More rustling. “Girl?” His voice was clearer as if he’d picked up the phone.

“Hi. She drove me off the road too. Luckily, my Jeep is a bit sturdier than your bike.”

“Who the fuck are you?”

Lennon’s eyebrows shot up and she shifted in her chair. “Is he always like this?” she asked in a whisper.

“Yes,” Marc answered.

I shrugged. “Pretty much.”

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