Playing Pretend by Cassie-Ann L. Miller

Thirty-Four

Liam

The high-pitched feedbackscreeching out of the speaker system sends an ache all the way through the nerve-endings in my teeth.

Half of the nightclub’s partygoers flinch and stick their fingers into their ears as the singer on stage aims for the high note. And misses. Terribly.

Declan Harris is an international rockstar, one of the former members of the renowned Rockhard Butterflies band and one of my favorite assholes in the world. When he texted this afternoon to say that he’d be in town performing a one-night-only concert at Club Mermaid, I said I’d be there. Because usually, listening to him perform is a treat.

But tonight? Let’s just say he’s not at his best.

“What the hell is up with him?” I ask Jace where he’s sitting across the table from me with an arm slung around Sera’s shoulder. My friend throws a pained look to where his brother is making a fool of himself on the stage.

With both hands, Declan tenderly cradles the mic’s mouthpiece against his lips while listlessly gyrating against the microphone pole.

Jace puffs out a breath. “I don’t know what’s been going on with him but he’s been acting strange as hell since Minka left town a couple weeks ago.”

Sera lifts her giant fishbowl cocktail to her lips and eyeballs the anguished musician with sympathy in her expression. “He has a broken heart, guys. Show some understanding.”

Her big brother, Wyatt, grimaces toward the stage. “A broken heart? Sounds more like a broken windpipe, if you ask me.”

Sera leans across the table and slaps Wyatt on his massive, concrete bicep. “Stop being an asshole.”

I lean back in my barstool and chuckle. Tonight’s subpar entertainment notwithstanding, it’s great to have my high school crew reunited. Bonus points for Wyatt and Jace finally putting their petty drama aside and working things out between them like grown men.

We don’t see each other nearly enough. Jace is always on the road playing football. Declan tours around the country most of the time. And Wyatt’s been doing a lot of travelling since he was discharged from the military. So nights like this are a rare occurrence.

It feels like something’s missing, though. Can’t quite put my finger on it.

But whenever Jace affectionately brushes loose tendrils of hair from Sera’s face or when she picks lint off of his shirt, I feel a pang in my chest that I can’t explain.

On stage, Declan humps the microphone pole some more. This is getting really uncomfortable.

“Is that supposed to be Minka?” Wyatt asks, looking as disturbed as I feel.

Jace winces. “I’m pretty sure it is.”

Minka and Declan have been in an inexplicable frenemies situation most of their lives. They absolutely can’t stand each other and they’re always bickering. But anyone who’s spent any time around those two know it’s just unresolved sexual tension.

“What exactly happened between them?” I ask.

Sera’s brow creases with concern. “I’m not sure. All I know is Minka suddenly left town and Declan’s been a love sick puppy ever since. It’s sad.”

Declan takes a moment to wipe a tear from his eye before transitioning into a new, equally depressing song. It quickly devolves into yodeling.

“It’s pathetic,” Wyatt corrects his sister. “And this is precisely why I stay the hell away from love.”

I can barely keep from rolling my eyes. There he goes singing the same tune he sings every time I see him. Wyatt insists that love is the work of the devil and in the past, I wouldn’t object to his stance but tonight, right as I’m about to chime in with my agreement, Eliza struts into my mind.

The woman is challenging all the beliefs I’ve held about relationships. About love.

Yes, she is a distraction. No doubt about it.

But all of a sudden, I’m not so sure that’s a bad thing.

My wife keeps my days entertaining while we’re at the office, bantering over the paperwork scattered across the conference table. More and more, I want to spend my evenings with her too, bantering over empty takeout containers spread out across the kitchen counter. I want us to spend our nights whispering to each other in the dark with her mess of blonde hair spread out across my pillow.

Dammit—I need to stop obsessing.

Eliza’s role in my life is temporary. I need to stop imagining anything beyond that with her.

My friends are still discussing Declan and his sad state when Sera suddenly hisses. “Shh! Stop it. He’s coming this way.”

“Hey guys.” He looms above our table, looking haggard and downcast with his scraggy beard and dark circles around his eyes.

“Hey Deck,” Sera chirps warmly. “How ya doing, bud?”

“Great.” He gives an unconvincing nod. “What’d you guys think of my performance?”

Somebody kicks somebody under the table. Wyatt is the one to wince so I’m guessing he got the brunt of the blow.

“It was great,” Sera says quickly. “Great. Very unique. Very…cross-genre.”

Declan’s weak eyes light up genuinely. “That’s what I’m going for. Something authentic. From the heart, y’know?”

“Yeah, sure.” Jace nods.

Declan glances back to the stage. “Anyway, I just wanted to come over and make sure you guys are enjoying yourselves. Gotta go piss before I get back on stage.”

Wyatt takes that opportunity to stagger out of his seat. “Y’know what, guys? I’m gonna get out of here. I’ve got a long drive ahead of me tomorrow.”

“I’m gonna get out of here, too,” I say, rising to my feet.

Declan looks a bit crestfallen and I feel bad about that but there’s a limit to what I’m willing to endure. At this point, I’d rather spend the rest of the night listening to that busker playing Mariah Carey’s greatest hits on his bagpipe outside of the Quickie Inn than listen to another minute of Declan’s ear-shattering yodeling.

After taking a second to say goodnight to Sera and Jace, I tell the waitress to put the night on my tab. Then Wyatt and I head for the exit. He tells me about his next solo cross-country road trip as we walk through the lobby.

Eliza on my mind again, I hear myself blurt out, “Doesn’t it ever get…lonely?”

He sort of shrugs. “I’m used to it, I guess.”

As stubborn as he is, Wyatt would never admit it, but I know that losing Desiree is one of the biggest regrets of his life.

He runs a big hand over his buzz cut. “Anyway, I plan on traveling some more but I’ll be back in Sin Valley for good in a few months.”

I nod. “Sounds good, man. Safe travels. And when you get back to town, let me know if you need any help getting settled in.”

“Thanks, bro.” We share a back-clapping half-hug before Wyatt heads for the building exit and I take the elevator up to my penthouse.

Once back in my room, the echoing silence in my vacant penthouse mocks me.

I’m spread out in my too-large bed, scrolling through my phone and trying to unwind. It’s so still in here, I can hear the air kicking on and off throughout the suite. I can make out the tell-tale sounds of a busy Friday night on the Strip several stories below.

Usually, I’d be down there, too. Friday nights like this are often spent mingling with wealthy business owners. Socializing and schmoozing with private investors. Wining and dining rich assholes. So that, come Monday morning, I have lucrative deals to finalize and paperwork to sign.

Yet, mindless chitchat, blaring music, and flashing lights hold little appeal tonight.

My mind is reeling. And Eliza Jenkins is on every goddamn channel.

The woman is entirely off-limits. Even though, she’s my legally-wedded wife. She drives me crazy, but at the same time, she pulls me in with her mysterious, magnetic waves.

She’s effortlessly gorgeous.

Now that I’ve seen Eliza in her element at home, I realize that her natural beauty is even more striking than any look she’s ever worn to the office.

The more I think about her, the more I realize...it’s more than her appearance that I find attractive.

Eliza is feisty, bright and she has a strong presence. She doesn’t hesitate to speak her mind. She doesn’t let herself get walked all over in a world where the majority of our clients are chauvinistic pigs. She maneuvers her way out of sticky situations with confidence and grace. Also, she’s freakishly smart. With her, I’ve never felt like I was talking to an assistant. She’s my equal and that’s so damn refreshing.

An idea hits me.

I want to do something for her. She practically spends every waking hour doing stuff for me and making my life easier. She deserves something special. Something to make her smile.

With just the right surprise in mind, I pick up my cell phone off my chest and scroll until I find the number I need.