Page 93 of Out of the Blue

“Are you up for coming out with us tonight, Trent?”

I glance at Joey. We’re now in South Carolina, having resumed the tour as Hunte’s opening band. California Skies was disqualified from the competition due to the revelation that their roadie and guitarist were in cahoots in tipping offFirst RumorsandIn The Know. We'll make up the skipped New England part at the end. Brax thought this was the best way.

Brax? Over the past few months, our relationship’s gotten better. Still not a real father-son one, but we’re working on it. After all, he never knew about me.

I glance at Joey, who’s expecting an answer. “Thanks, man. I am feeling much better but can’t imagine staying out past ten. It’s only been three months since the transplant.”

“Then come to dinner with us and bail. Charleston’s supposed to have some frickin’ fantastic food.”

“Well, guess I have to eat.”

Joey puts his hands to his mouth and yells, “Trent’s coming out with us tonight. Let’s make it a big party!”

I shake my head at his antics, yet in my heart, I know he loves me as much as I love him. My band. My brothers. They, together with all of Hunte, have been here with me every step of my recovery.

From when I was released from the hospital.

When I moved into Brax’s house for rehab.

After I returned to my townhome, which the guys had made sure was back to its original format. I never needed to sleep on the main floor or use any of the other things she had arranged for me.

She. Cordelia. My heart rate flutters.

My band of brothers has been my lifeline. And now we’ve resumed the tour as the permanent opening band for Hunte. I do have to admit, we’ve never played better. Every night I’m feeling stronger, and the audiences respond with increasing enthusiasm. Tonight’s performance was, without question, our very best. And the crowd’s cheering cemented my opinion. Even our new PR manager graced us with a rare smile. Apex plucked him away from the tail end of another band’s successful tour, and we all can tell he’s more than ready for a break. We’re grateful he’s here, though, especially after our prior one’s lying ass was fired.

One hour later, we all sit in the courtyard of a restaurant called Circa 1886, enjoying a fantastic meal. Maurice adjusts his glasses. His eye’s not been red for a long time and he’s been properly weaned off the Prednisone. “Shit, this food’s the bomb. We may have to move here! What do you think, Fee?”

She pops the last bite from his plate into her mouth. “I don’t know. Would you love me if I gained a hundred pounds?”

He pulls her in for a kiss. “I’ll love you no matter what.”

Fee whispers something about Cordelia, but Maurice shushes her before I even make eye contact with him. Smart man.

To divert my thoughts, I grab the last biscuit from the breadbasket. I’m not usually this carb-heavy, but these corn thingies are fricking delicious. After slathering on some butter, I pop it into my mouth and savor its deliciousness, all the while trying to erase all thoughts of myex.

The waiter, who has round glasses and looks like Harry Potter, drops by. “Everything all good here? Can I take your plates?”

Fee’s fork clatters onto her empty dish. “Please. This food is to die for.”

He smiles. “I’ll tell the chef.” He produces some menus and distributes them. “Here’s our dessert menu. I’ll give you a moment.”

Joey points to the menu. “Check this out. They have a Bittersweet Chocolate Crémuex with salted bourbon caramel, seasonal berries, pistachios, and chocolate fudge sauce! Did you see that, Cheri?” He hits her forearm. “Although there’s also a Spiced Pear Cake.” His eyes roll back in his head. “And—Oh My God—a West African Milk Tart!”

I’m so full, I can’t even imagine eating another bite. But Joey’s running commentary about the various treats gives me pause. No harm can come from scanning it. Of course, my eyes zero in on the flan. Cordelia’s favorite dessert. Longing for her springs up, which I shove down. Hard. She lied to me.

All of my bandmates and their wives end up ordering desserts to share. Against my will, when Harry Potter asks for my order, I say, “Flan.” Fuck. Why did I chooseherpreferred sweet?

Maurice asks, “So, what club do you want to hit tonight?” His question launches a variety of suggestions. Me? I keep quiet.

Not that I’m physically unable to go clubbing with them. I am. Even got the go-ahead from my doctors to drink again, in moderation. It’s not my body that’s refusing to go out. I glance around my table. It’s the fact I’m no longer a pair. Nor do I have any desire to hook up with anyone. Other than Cordelia.

Which will never happen anymore, notwithstanding our promise to be patient if our relationship goes off the rails. Can’t be more cockeyed than this.

Dwight leans over to me. “We’ll be back in our home turf in a couple of months. Maybe you can reach out to Cordelia?”

I can think of her, but no one else has the privilege of saying her name to me. The right is mine alone. In a gruff voice, I reply, “Not happening, ever.”

“I just meant—”

---