Page 94 of Out of the Blue

“I know what you’re saying, Dwight, and I’m. Not. Interested. Don’t bring her name up again. Got me?”

He raises his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay. We all agreed with you to get her fired. Don’t bite my head off.”

“Don’t be a dick and I won’t.” I turn away from my asshole best friend and engage with Cheri. Get the hint, dude?

When we’re done, we leave the restaurant. Joey, Maurice, and their wives leave for whatever club they’ve selected, while Dwight and Denice hop on the new Harley I bought for him. I grab a nearby pedicab to our hotel and ride in silence. The gorgeous antebellum surroundings don’t penetrate my anger-fueled brain. I wish I could forget her. But I can’t figure out how.

The next morning, someone knocks on my door at some ungodly hour. Checking my clock, I realize it’s already after ten. Shit. I shuffle to the door and open it, where Brax stands holding two coffees. “I brought sustenance.”

I chuckle and let him in. “Thanks. Let me throw some water on my face and I’ll be right out.”

He calls to my back, “Feeling okay?”

“Yeah. It took me a while to fall asleep last night.” I don’t bother telling him my mind was looping memories of Cordelia and me. She’d be so excited to see this scene happening here. For the millionth time, I utter, “Never again.”

After brushing my teeth and tossing on some workout shorts, I remember the first time I called him “Brax.” The way it rolled around my tongue. How his eyes glossed over. Now, it’s like second nature.

Returning to the living room area, I take a sip of my coffee. Brax added the perfect amount of creamer. “This is good. Thanks.”

He holds his cup upward. “I noticed your band had cleared out last night before we finished playing.”

“Yeah. We all went to Circa 1886 for dinner. A kickass restaurant downtown.”

He nods. “Been there. It’s really good.”

As has been a routine we’ve started over the past weeks, he launches into a critique of our performance the night before. Not to criticize us, but rather to help us improve. Having Hunte as our mentor is a dream. And since my secret’s out in the open, things are getting better between us. Still shocks me, though.

“So, tell me what runs through your brain before you go onstage. I’ve found my mindset from behind the curtain can really affect how the gig goes.”

I focus on blowing on my hot coffee. When I can’t avoid him any longer, I answer, “That’s the worst part of my performance, honestly.” I take a deep breath. “I have a routine I’ve been doing before going out. It involves some deep breathing, positive mental images, and a short burst of cardio.” The routine my therapist outlined for me so long ago. As refined by Cordelia.

He nods. “Sounds good. What image do you envision?”

Without thought, I say, “The beach.”

“Ah. You can take the boy away from Jersey, but not the other way around.”

“Yup.” I blow on my still hot java.

“How about tweaking your image a bit? What do you think about adding your band on a stage to your vision of the beach?”

The purpose of my exercise is to calm me down, not shoot adrenaline into my already hyperalert body. “No.”

“Why not? I picture my band on the stage performing in front of a huge open-air arena before I hit the stage.”

Maybe I should share my stage fright with him? He is my father, after all. I dip my toe. “I need to regulate my breathing before walking out. Thinking of the beach helps.”

He frowns. “And being with your best friends, doing what you love to do, doesn’t?”

I run my hand up my arm, ending with a squeeze over my tattoo. “Actually, this routine was developed to help me with stage fright. Not to psyche me up to perform.”

“Ah.” He places his cup down onto the coffee table. “Things are making sense now. Have you always felt nervous before hitting a gig?”

In for a penny. “No. It started when we opened for you.”

“Well, I know jumping the size of your audience can mess with your head. But you’ve been doing great.”

I swallow my coffee. My chest expands as I prepare to tell him the truth. “It’s not that. It all started after Mom was killed. If I don’t calm down before performing, I picture a gunman busting in and shooting up the place.”

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