When I Was Theirs

36. Jared

36

Jared

I ’m not performing tonight.

So there’s no logical explanation for why I’m here at The Setlist, sliding onto a stool and categorically not looking in Emilia’s direction.

I’ve been here pretty much every night for the last month. Doing a set, then hanging out before walking Emilia home.

Sometimes we talk. Most of the time, we don’t.

I don’t know when it started to become the best part of my day.

Casually, I glance over in her direction. My fingers tap against the bar in time with the music, and I nod at a couple of the regulars in greeting.

She hasn’t seen me. She’s frowning, her eyes on the stage. Some friend of Adrian’s is doing a full set, so I’m out on my ass for the night.

Someone coughs. Carla is grinning, her blonde hair up in her usual knot. “Can’t keep away?”

I press my lips together to hide my smile. “Just came for a beer. That’s it.”

“Sure you did.” Emilia’s co-worker takes no bullshit. She handles the guys here with effortless charm mixed with a tinge of domination that sends them out of the door obediently at the end of every night, wondering exactly how they got there.

I like her.

Her eyes look red as she slides my drink over. “You okay?”

Carla nods. “My kid… you know she has leukemia?”

My hand jerks, sending beer sloshing out of the neck of the bottle. “I… no, I didn’t know.”

“Most don’t.” She glances around, looking for customers. Emilia is at the other end, serving. “Anyway. This is Katie’s second relapse, and she finished her last round of chemo today. We’re just waiting now. It’s worse when you can’t do anything, you know?”

“Yeah,” I say hoarsely. And the words come out. “My brother had glioblastoma.”

She stares at me. “Well, shit. I’m sorry, hon. It always seems to pick the good ones.”

I can’t disagree. “Yeah, it does. Ben was… he was definitely one of the good ones.”

But something picked him. Picked Ben, when it should have been me. The one thing I couldn’t carry for him, couldn’t hide from him. The one thing that I couldn’t protect him from.

Carla pauses, eyeing me. Then she digs around in her pocket. “This is my Katie.”

My chest constricts. Carla’s daughter doesn’t look any older than six, maybe seven. A gap-toothed, massive smile and short, tight brown curls. “She has a great smile.”

I feel obliged to pull out my own phone. Flicking through it, I turn to show her before I realize.

Recognition crosses her face.

Because of Emilia.

“Oh,” she breathes. Her hand flutters to her chest. “I see.”

She blinks rapidly, a sheen appearing in her eyes. Carla offers me a small smile. “I met him a couple of times, you know. He was always so helpful. Always smiling.”

My chest feels tight. “He was happy?”

Carla follows my look. “He was. And I never saw Emmy so happy, either. I wondered what had happened.”

“She didn’t mention it to you.” It’s not a question.

You fucking idiot, Jared.

“No,” Carla says softly. “Will you excuse me?”

“Yeah.” My throat feels tight. “Sure, Carla.”