Page 82 of Whirlwind

“There’s a segue, I’ll take it—how’s your dancing girl, I forget her name?”

“Yeah, what was her name?” He cocked an eyebrow and shot me a devil within grin as we wandered around the crowded parking lot checking out a row of colorful, uniquely designed bikes. “So are you and Beck in touch or was that night a one-time thing?”

“We’ve talked a few times.” I sucked down a heavy swallow of the foamy beer, enjoying it’s cold slide down my hot and dry throat. I hadn’t told Wes about Nashville yet.

“He’s going through some heavy shit again. Did you see that—”

“Hmm, I saw.” I drank more beer.

He slanted his head at me. “And there’s more she’s not telling me.”

I secured my camera strap on my shoulder. “The week before, Beck and I met up for a few days in Nashville where he was working.”

He tipped his head. “No shit?”

“Yes shit. And no, it wasn’t shit, it was fantastic, but I fucked it up.”

“You? How?”

“Ladd showed up.”

“In Nashville?”

“At Beck’s door.”

“Jesus, Violet, you’re still seeing that…”

“Don’t. I’ve said it all to myself over and over and over. ”

“So what happened?”

“I left with Ladd, and effectively did to Beck what Mae did—lie and cheat. So it makes sense to me that once I left Nashville, he hooked up with this Lisa chick. Nothing like angry revenge on the world sex.”

Wes shook his head stiffly. “I don’t believe it. He wouldn’t fuck his bandmate’s girlfriend. That’s so not Beck.”

“Yeah, but…”

His eyes narrowed at me. “But what? Because he’s a guy, and guys do that sort of thing?”

“Well, yeah.”

“Violet, I get that you’re dealing with your dad’s crap now, but not all men are pigs.”

“If you say so.” I tossed my empty beer cup in a recycling bin.

“And you running off to booty call with Beck in Nashville, what was that?”

“Geez, I was having fun tonight, can we just—”

He grabbed me and hugged me, and I sank into his tight embrace. All my life Wes had been there for me, in good times and the very, very bad, the worst.

My face rubbed against his worn leather jacket taking in its familiar comforting scent of metal, smoke, and old leather. “Have you talked to Beck?”

He released me. “I tried, but he hasn’t answered any of my calls since this news broke yesterday. That’s not like him. Why don’t you call him?”

“I’m probably the last person he wants to hear from.”

“You don’t know that.”

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