smash things.”
“Please don’t remind me that I’m a rich prick.”
After staring at me for several seconds, she falls on the other bed across from me. “What’s going on, Justin?”
I rub my temples. “Nothing.”
“So you look all devastated like something awful happened
“Yeah.”
“No.”
She stares at me with a stubborn expression. Riley really is a decent person, even if she is madly in love with Romeo. But I don’t talk about feelings. Because usually, other than the occasional flash of anger at my bandmates, I don’t have them.
She crosses her legs. “So?”
I scowl at her.
“Why did you smash your guitar?” When I don’t answer, she persists. “Well?”
“Because I fucked up.”
“Big surprise there,” she mutters.
My eyes narrow.
“O-ka-ay,” she says, drawing out the word. “What did you mess up?”
When I’m silent, she gives me an expectant stare, drops her chin in her palm, and waits.
“I kind of lost it with this girl I’m seeing.”
Her eyes get big. “You’re seeing someone?”
“Kind of.”
“Do tell.”
“There’s not much to tell.”
Riley glances at the mess on the floor. She gives me a pointed look.
I run my hand through my hair. “She doesn’t want anything to do with me, and I’m not taking it well.”
Her expression conveys that’s obvious. “Why do you think she doesn’t want anything to do with you?”
“Who are you, fucking Dr. Phil?”
“What are you? A five-year-old who can’t talk about emotions? Just answer the question.”
The kid comment hits a nerve. I lean my elbows on my knees and sigh. “Probably my rep. And because I’m an ass,” I say, hissing out the words. “And most definitely because I freaked out when I found out that she has a son.”
Riley’s eyes widen.
“We met like a month ago. We went on a couple of dates.” There’s no way in hell I’m explaining to Riley that the first one was mostly fake. “We’ve talked. We’ve texted. She never said anything about a kid. I found out about her kid in a roundabout way earlier today.”
Her fingers tap the metal frame of the bed in a slow, rhythmic beat. “So she was never serious about you.”
I stare at her with amazement. There are so many unfamiliar emotions warping my thoughts that Riley understands the situation more clearly than I do.
“But were you serious about her?” she asks, her tone questioning.
“I…She’s different. There’s something about her, something in her eyes. They’re lonely or…”
Riley stares at me to the point her eyes almost pop out of her head. “I’m shocked,” she says. “I’d never expect—well, you use girls for one thing, you know?”
“Yeah, and now I know why.”
“Maybe you need a couple scars on that heart of yours.” She kneels on the floor and starts tossing more of the broken guitar pieces into the trash. “Other than her lonely eyes, what’s different about her?”
“Well, she has an ex-husband to go with the son.” I bend and toss in the pieces closest to me.
Her mouth turns down in distaste. “What the—? You hooking up with a cougar?”
A sad laugh escapes me. “Not exactly. She’s only twenty-two.”
“Well, that’s different, but how is
“I don’t know. She—when we’re together, there’s no bullshit between us. She makes me feel real. I haven’t felt real in a long time.” I rub the back of my neck. “I know that sounds stupid.”
“No,” she says, and shakes head. “That makes it sound like you shouldn’t let this girl go.”
Suddenly, Romeo is standing in the doorway, looking between us. “What’s going on?”
Riley stands and brushes the knees of her jeans. “I’m waiting for you. Justin’s playing rock star and smashing guitars.”
Romeo glances at the mess on the floor. “What the fuck? What instrument you plan on playing next Saturday?”
“I’ll get a new one,” I mutter.
“Damn right you’ll get a new one.”
I scowl at his bossy ass.
“Come on.” Riley winds an arm around Romeo’s. “Let’s get something to eat.”
He smiles at her and she smiles back. For once, I’m truly jealous of their relationship.
“See you later,” Riley says over her shoulder as they leave.
Once they’re gone, I slam the broken stem against the mattress in frustration. I’m about to slam it again when a guitar riff comes out of my phone.
At the sight of the name on the screen, the stem falls from my hand.
After picking up my phone, I cautiously say, “Mom?”
“Hello, Justin,” she says in a formal tone. I swear the older she gets, the more uppity she sounds. “I’m calling you back.”
“I called you almost a month ago.”
“We returned this week.”
Not today. Or even yesterday. They got back days ago. “I’m pretty sure they have phones in Barbados.”
“We were getting away.”
“From your son?”
“Please quit the dramatics. What was the reason for your call?”
To talk to my mother, but the need is fading with each passing second. “Can’t remember.”
“Well, if your memory comes back, we’re home now, but please don’t call past ten.”
“What if it’s an emergency?”
“Then call the local authorities, that’s what taxes are for. Besides, what am I going to do across the state?”
“Give a shit?”
“How lovely. Drama paired with vulgarity. Good night, Justin.”
She hangs up, cutting off my response.
After tossing the phone on my bed, I forget about smashing my guitar stem against the bed and start beating it against the garbage can, trying to forget my mother’s icy, nasal voice. Even more than that, I want to forget the reason why my temper exploded in the first place.
I slowly climb the stairs to the apartment above the tattoo shop, pulling up my hood to ward off the cold rain. I’ve been putting off talking to Shay, but Trevor keeps bugging me to increase her rent. Usually, I’d agree. I tend to make decisions with a business head when it comes to the shop, but with Shay, it’s a different story.
