Garrett
Past
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
Age 18
“GARRETT, WE’RE SO PROUD OF YOU.” My mother’s face shines through the haze of the smoky bar.
“Son, we couldn’t be prouder,” Bill says, squeezing my shoulder.
Son.
It still feels weird and a little uncomfortable, but I called Bill ‘Dad’ accidentally a few weeks ago, and he’s been calling me ‘Son’ ever since. He’s a great guy and loves Mom so much. He’s given us both a wonderful life and hasn’t ever looked down on the profession that I’ve chosen.
Of course, it wasn’t so easy the night that my mom found out that I hadn’t really gone to Rob Shultz’s house almost three years ago. She called Mrs. Shultz the second I walked out the door, confirming her immediate suspicions that I was lying to her. As soon as I got home, she grilled me about where I’d gone and why I felt like I couldn’t tell her the truth. So I stopped lying and told her everything.
I told her that I’d gone to find my father. She was crushed, like I had kicked her in the stomach. I told her that he hadn’t been there, and I had been strangely relieved. I honestly don’t know what I would have done if I’d seen him that day. The last time I saw him was when I was seven. That wasn’t a pleasant day, nor was it a great memory to have of your father who abandoned the only family he had. Mom told me it was for the best. I told her that the guys next door said he was in jail, and she nodded like she already knew that.
Who knows if he’s still in jail. I don’t really care. Even before he left us, my mother had taken over all of the parental responsibilities. She was both my mother and my father for so long. That is until Bill came along. He moved into our lives effortlessly.
I’m thankful for him and so happy that my mother ended up with the type of man she was meant to be with.
“Thanks,” I say to my parents as Bill gives me the best bro-hug he can imitate.
Tristan catches my eye, and he’s being followed by no less than a dozen girls. I smile and kiss my mom on the cheek. “Thanks for coming, but I—uh—I have to be somewhere.”
“Be careful, Garrett.” My mother looks disapprovingly toward Tristan and our first-ever groupies. “Those girls don’t look like they have your best interests in mind.”
Bill laughs out loud and squeezes my shoulder. “Claire, let him have fun. He’s a good kid.” He pats the back of my neck and pushes me toward Tristan. “Let’s go home.” He pulls my mother close and kisses her on the cheek.
“Dude!” Tristan yells after my parents leave the bar.
“Stop,” I say. “No need to make fun. They had a great time and now they’re gone.”
“I didn’t say anything. Them coming was nice and all, but it’s about time they left so we can have fun with the ladies.”
Several squeals come from his entourage, and I walk toward them. A short blonde catches my eye, and she flips her hair. “Hey,” she says, her voice soft.
“Hey.” Suddenly, I’m pulled backwards toward a booth in the corner. Dax says, “She’s off limits.”
“What?” I ask and slide into the booth across from him. “What do you mean she’s off limits? Since when do you have dibs?” I ask jokingly.
“No dude, she’s Bob’s niece.”
Bob is the bartender here at The High Note and, if I remember correctly, she’s only fifteen.
“What the fuck is she doing in here—looking like that?” She’s wearing the shortest shorts I’ve ever seen with half of her ass hanging out. Her tank top is way too small and her tits are practically spilling out the sides.
“Bob’s on vacation with her parents. She snuck out tonight with her very underage friends. Stay here while I grab Tristan before he gets arrested for what he’s about to do with the redhead.” Dax bolts out of the booth and sprints toward the girls surrounding Tristan.
Alex walks over and slides into Dax’s spot. “What’s with all of that?” he asks and gestures toward the group.
“Something about Bob’s niece and her friends. Whatever,” I say and toss some popcorn from the bowl in between us into my mouth.
“Shit, Bob is going to kill him.” He looks over at Tristan, who’s now flanked by both Bob’s niece and the redhead. We watch as Dax whispers into Tristan’s ear and his face suddenly turns white.
I practically choke on the popcorn just watching his expression. I can read his lips perfectly as he says, “No shit.”
They desert the girls quickly and join us in our booth.
“Jailbait.” I smirk and punch Tristan in the shoulder.
“Not funny, you fuckers. That girl looks at least twenty, if not older.”
“You almost went for Bob’s niece, douche-face,” Dax says to me and throws a handful of popcorn into my face.
Tristan punches me back and declares, “We’re even. Now don’t punch me again.”
I shake my head and wince.
Girls are easy to find, especially here, but hooking up with Bob’s niece would have been a major problem—on so many levels.
“We should start asking these chicks for I.D.,” I say. “It would suck if one of us got nabbed for sex with a minor.” I look to my right and Tristan is twirling a straw in his fingers.
“Whatever, man,” he says. “I’m no trolling pervert, but there is no way you can tell those girls are only fifteen and sixteen years old. Their parents should seriously lock them up.”
Alex is silent, and he’s totally out of sorts today. He rubs his ribs and winces. Dax witnesses his discomfort and asks, “How’s the new tat?”
“What did you get this time?” I ask. Alex has been getting ink for as long as I’ve known him. He’s always been able to pass for a little older, and the tattoo parlors he’s gone to have never questioned his age. Now that he’s eighteen, he can get anything he wants.
“Nothing,” he says, dismissing my question.
“It’s dark. That’s all you need to know,” Dax says, protecting Alex as usual. Those two have a pretty strong bond, and at first I thought they were brothers. Alex has lived with Dax for a few years, and I only recently found out why.
Alex’s father killed himself four years ago after he tried to kill Alex.
Totally fucked up.
I can’t even imagine his situation. My dad was never abusive toward my mom or me. He put us in harm’s way when he owed tens of thousands of dollars in gambling debts, but he would never raise a hand to hurt either of us.
Thank God Alex was taken in by Dax’s family. I think he would have self-destructed otherwise.
“What’s next?” Tristan asks, addressing Dax. “When’s our next gig?”
Dax pulls a folded piece of paper from his pocket and smooths it out on the table in front of him.
“Next Thursday, Friday and Saturday we’re back here. We play one gig on Thursday night, two on Friday and one on Saturday.”
Tristan groans. “Does that mean we’re playing Happy Hour on Friday, because the last time we did that, we were singing to fifty-year-old dudes.”
“Suck it up, asshole. Do you want to be able to pay your rent this month?” Dax says, annoyed.
Tristan pipes down and Dax runs through the next several weeks’ worth of shows. Apparently, there’s a record label interested in seeing us. Alex is skeptical, but the rest of us think it’s a major deal.
“We’ll use these next few weeks to get ready for the label rep to come see us next month. He’s coming here on the eighteenth.”
“My birthday,” I say, smiling.
“It’s going to be an epic night.”