Page 7 of Playing the Backbeat

“Why do you have to be the voice of reason?” I ask with a groan.

“Eh.” Dom shrugs. “We all get to take turns being stubborn and stupid. It’s a fun day for me when it’s someone else. Now”—he plants his hands on my shoulders, steering me toward the doorway—“all this apartment shopping has made me hungry, and I’m pretty sure we hit the end of your list. Let’s grab some food, call and set up a few more tours, and go see a few more apartments before you agree to move into our place.”

“You’re hovering, Mom,” I say with a heavy dose of sarcasm.

“I’m being realistic. Come on. You know I’m right.”

“You, more than most, know I’m not the easiest person to live with.”

He waves that off and gives me a disappointed look. “Stop. You have never been difficult to live with. The offer stands, even if you don’t take it today.”

He means well. But rooming with me, he learned more than I typically want to share with anyone. Saw more than I want people to see. I don’t struggle as much as I used to, but it isn’t something I broadcast. It’s easy to hide when I’m out in public, but at home? It’s simply not possible.

“Thanks, Dom. I promise I’ll keep that in mind. I’m honestly surprised Ellie let you make that kind of offer.”

“Oh yeah.” He senses my redirection, but allows it, the mood lightening a bit. “Well, she said it’s conditional.”

“Do I even want to know? What are her terms?”

“Free concert tickets for the rest of her twenties.”

I laugh, but I’m also relieved to hear Ellie is even interested enough to strong-arm me out of concert tickets. She and Dom have had a difficult time adjusting to the demands of parenthood, and for a while, we were all pretty worried about them. But now, they’ve put in the work this last year, and their marriage and their family are stronger than ever. Getting out of the house with friends has become a rare occasion for them, because of course parenting comes first. I’m always happy to see them make time for themselves too.

“Ellie has a complimentary ticket any day of the week for any concert.”

He shoves my shoulder as we enter the elevator, heading down toward the lobby. “And me?”

“Eh, it’s conditional.” His affronted look makes me chuckle.

“On what?” he demands.

“On you beating me atDistant Galaxy.” The new video game has had the guys and me in a chokehold for weeks, but unfortunately for Dom, he sucks at it.

“Not fair. I’ve got a wife and a kid. I don’t get nearly as much game time as you.”

I shrug. “Don’t blame your family. I’m just naturally gifted. What can I say?”

He grumbles his grievances as we head to my car. We agree on our favorite burger place for lunch, and after we place our order, he asks, “Any word from the Bridge’s owner lately? Is he still planning on selling the venue this year?”

I shake my head, taking off my hat to swipe my hair back before sliding my hat back into place. “Who the fuck knows? I’m pretty sure I’m getting dicked over.” I lean back, relaxing into the cushioned booth seat, one arm reaching across the table, spinning my glass.

His voice drops into that concerned tone, sounding more paternal than ever. That dad life really takes over and never eases up, does it?

“Fuck, I’m sorry. What happened last time you two spoke about it?”

The sigh that puffs from my chest leaves me deflated. I’ve told the guys and my family all about my hopes of someday purchasing the Bridge. Back in college, when I was barbacking nights and weekends, Ed would tell me all about his elaborate retirement plans and how selling the venue would make it all possible. This was the year he always talked about turning that possibility into reality.

But now? Not a word.

I worked my way up over the years, learning as much as I could about the business. When he brought me on as the general manager, I made my intentions clear: when he wanted to sell, Iwanted to be the buyer. I’ve been planning my life around this. Saving and scraping every last penny for this goal. This dream.

“We’ll see, I guess. My suspicion is that he has another interested buyer.” It’s the only explanation for why he’s freezing me out of the conversation when I’ve made my intentions crystal fucking clear.

“But you know that place up and down. You’ve been working there since sophomore year of college.”

I shrug, pressing my lips together in aWhat the fuck can I dogesture.

Dom shakes his head. “I think you’re counting yourself out before you even know what’s happening.” He leans in, voice dropping lower. “Don’t let your anxiety run with this. You don’t know what his plans are. He could just be delayed in retiring. A lot of people get shy when it comes time to make the call.”