Track 12: Side A

Groupies Aren’t Love

 

Jace

Is closure supposed to feel like a gaping hole opening in my chest? Sitting against the door to my bedroom, I rub fruitlessly at the painful spot. I wanted Lincoln to be the self-centered rock god I’d been picturing him as for the past ten years. I wanted him to be pretentious and greedy, unfeeling and cruel. How can he be the same sensitive, wonderfully sweet boy I fell in love with a lifetime ago?

“God damn you, Lincoln Miller.” My curse echoes in against the walls of the empty cabin. I shiver and close my eyes, willing the waves of emotion to stop crashing through me.

When I manage to pull myself together, I get to my feet and grab my laptop out of my bag. Letting myself get lost in my work is what’s kept me from thinking about Lincoln for the past ten years, and it better work today because I need to get lost in something logical for a few hours.

At the kitchen table, I settle into the familiarity of reading through peer reviewed articles and making notes of the methods used and their results. I also make notes of ways I can improve the method I have planned for the experiment I’ll be starting when I get back to work. Science has always been one of my safe havens. Most things in life don’t make much sense to me, but with science, there’s a method to follow. Even if you don’t get the results you expected, there’s a procedure. That doesn’t work with people.

After a few hours of working, my back is getting stiff and my stomach is rumbling. I haven’t eaten all day, so I’ll have to remedy that. I consider cooking something, but what my stomach really wants is a nice greasy burger, so I decide to hit the diner.

I force myself not to look at Linc’s cabin as I head out to my SUV. I don’t care how he spent the rest of his day or what he’s eating for dinner. I took his razor blades, so how much trouble could he really get himself into?
Then I remember his story earlier about getting drunk and falling asleep outside. How is it possible for a person to have so little self-preservation? Sure, he used to cut when we were teenagers, but he never had a blatant disregard for his own life like he seems to now.

It’s not my problem, I repeat to myself over and over as I drive into town.

The diner looks exactly as I remember it, cracked plastic booths, grimy floors, and the mouthwatering scent of onion rings hanging in the air.

It seems like the whole town decided to eat here tonight as I glance around for an empty table to grab. My shoulders sag when I catch sight of Lincoln, waving me over to join him at his table. I look around more frantically, hoping I’d missed one. Unfortunately, the universe seems determined to force Lincoln upon me. Thanks a hell of a lot, universe.

I reluctantly weave between tables and plop down in the chair opposite Lincoln.

“Seems like everyone had the same idea the both of us did tonight,” Lincoln says with an awkward chuckle.

“It would appear so,” I agree, reaching for the sticky menu and flipping it open to the sandwich section unnecessarily. I already know what I want, and this isn’t the kind of place with twelve different kinds of burgers. You can get a burger or a cheeseburger, and for an extra fifty cents, you can add bacon.

“Listen, Jace, I wanted to apologize about earlier. I didn’t mean to say anything to make you uncomfortable.”

“It’s fine. I’m the one who broke my own rule and brought up heavy shit I really wasn’t ready to get into. Let’s forget it, okay?” I suggest, tension rolling through my body as I wait for his agreement.

“No problem.”

The waitress stops beside our table.

“What can I get you guys?” she asks absently, then she looks at us and her eyes go wide. “Lincoln Miller and Jace Greene? I feel like I just went back in time about twelve years. You boys were inseparable when you were kids, never saw one without the other. That’s so nice to know you’re still friends.”

“Uh, yeah,” I mutter, not having the heart to correct her. “I need you to tell me something to remind me why I hate you,” I say once our order is placed and the waitress is gone.

Lincoln frowns, and he gives me his patented puppy eyes that always made me do anything he asked.

“What if I don’t want you to hate me?”

“Tough shit, now tell me about fucking groupies or something.”

Lincoln sighs, casting his eyes downward.

“I haven’t.”

“No way. You’re one of the biggest rock stars on the planet, and you haven’t had a groupie orgy? I’m calling bullshit.”

“Seriously,” he insists. “I almost did a few times, but it always felt so weird. They’re just so…fawning and starry eyed. They make me feel gross.”

“God, you’re the worst,” I chuckle, taking a sip of my water. “Just say something dickish, please?”

“Jace—”

“Forget it,” I cut him off, shaking my head at how quickly I let him get under my skin again.

“This is probably a bad time to ask, but I was wondering if maybe you’d want to spend Christmas together?”

“What?” I ask, sure I misheard him. Hey, ex-boyfriend, I know I totally ghosted you and made it impossible for you to ever fall in love again, but I was wondering if we could spend a magical holiday together before I disappear again?

“I know it’s not until next week, and I understand if you would rather not. I was just thinking, it seems silly for us both to be alone only a few yards apart.”

“I don’t know, Linc. Let’s play it by ear. I’m not even sure I’ll still be here next week.”

“Oh”—his face falls—“I understand.”

“Don’t do that,” I admonish. “I didn’t break this, you did. You don’t get to make me feel bad about not wanting to pick up where we left off.”

“I know, I’m s—”

“No,” I cut him off. “I’m not ready.”

Lincoln nods in understanding and mimes zipping his lips.

The waitress returns with our food, and thank god, because I could use the excuse to not talk for the next few minutes.

Will I be ready to hear Lincoln’s apology eventually? And when I hear it, will I magically feel better? I can’t decide which would be worse—hearing the apology and having nothing change or everything changing.

“Tell me something?” Linc requests in a quiet voice, his seemingly innocuous words hitting me in the heart and dragging me back in time twelve years.

“What do you want me to tell you?” I ask through a dry throat, trying to hide the tremble in my hand as I reach for my glass of water.

“Anything. Your job, your life, something funny that’s happened in the last ten years that you wished you could tell me at the time?”

A humorless laugh huffs out past my lips, and I shove a fry into my mouth.

“Amanda and I were talking about getting a cat a few weeks before she left. I couldn’t understand why she was so against the idea since she loved cats. When I came home to find her gone, it made a lot more sense.”

“How’d you meet her?”

“At a bar. What a retro answer, right? Everyone meets on Grindr or Tinder these days,” I muse and Linc nods, waiting for me to go on. “I was out with a few friends; I’m not even sure why we were at a straight bar that night, actually. I’d dated a few women before her, but nothing too serious. She was the only serious relationship I’ve had since…” I trail off, letting it hang between us, realizing I’m showing my cards more than I’d like to. “Anyway, some drunk guy was hitting on her, not taking no for an answer, being a general dick, so I went over and pretended to be with her to save her. She hung out with us the rest of the night and asked for my number at the end of the night. I didn’t expect much, but she pursued me relentlessly over the next few weeks. It was flattering, I guess, and she seemed like the perfect partner on paper. She was great, actually. I was the one who ruined everything.”

“I’m sorry things didn’t work out,” Lincoln offers.

“I’m not, she deserves better than I had to offer her.”

“Why’s that? You’re attractive, successful, educated, polite…what more could a woman possibly want?”

A fiancé who isn’t still hung up on a ghost of the past.

“You’re right, I’m a catch. Why don’t you tell me about your last serious relationship?” I challenge.

“I’m looking right at him,” Linc counters, raising an eyebrow at me.

“Subject change please,” I request, squirming in my seat under his gaze.

“You’re the one who started this subject,” he points out.

“And now I’m changing it. All the gossip sites are saying your band is breaking up, is it true?”

Lincoln winces, and I immediately regret the jab.

“Not at the moment, but I guess time will tell.”

“Sorry,” I mutter, feeling like a total ass for putting the kicked puppy look on his face.

“It’s fine. Are you finished eating?” he asks, gesturing to my nearly empty plate. I nod, and he pulls out forty dollars—at least three times the cost of the two burgers here—and drops it on the table. “Think about Christmas, okay?”

“Yeah, I’ll think about it.”