Chapter Fifteen
Darren
There are about the same number of people in Trailhead tonight as there had been on Thanksgiving—some faces are the same, too—and when the barn doors open again, I’m eager for the relief they’ll usher in. I keep myself busy behind the bar while Jake makes his way to the stool he favors any time it’s free, and there’s a Guinness in front of him before he can ask for it. His smile is careful, and I want to deserve it.
“Merry Christmas, Jake. And thank you for coming.”
“Merry Christmas, Darren. And you’re welcome.”
We hadn’t talked on the phone for long before I’d given up and asked if he’d mind hanging out for a bit. His answer was immediate, and he only wanted to stop by the hospital first to check on everyone there. I don’t think he has anywhere else to be after this, but I’m not needy enough to push him to stay with me tonight.
Or maybe I don’t want to hear him say no.
“Guess you probably want to know about last night.”
Jake shrugs. “I want to know whatever you want to tell me.”
“It feels like a lot,” I admit.
“I’m sure it does. He got to you.”
“What do you mean?”
He takes a sip and shrugs again. “You’ve always referred to him as your father before. When you called me today, you saiddadinstead.”
I flinch at that and take a swig from my water bottle before I leave him there to pour a couple of drinks. To be honest, I don’t remember what I said on the phone, but I don’t think Jake is a liar. He’s unbothered when I return, and I fuck around with a stack of coasters.
“We weren’t busy. Even quieter than tonight, actually. And when he came in, he walked right up to me and held out his hand and said, ‘Hi, Darren. I’m Drew Barrett, and it’s an honor to finally meet you.’”
“An honor?”
“A motherfucking honor. Like he couldn’t have been honored over and over again my entire fucking life.” I throw the coasters into one of the sinks and hate that I’ll have to clean up my mess later. “I wish I could’ve denied it—that he’s my father—but I look exactly like him. So much for not recognizing him, huh? He’s a stranger, and I look exactly fucking like him.”
We’re quiet for a minute because I need to calm down, and Jake is rarely in a rush. Eventually, he taps the side of his pint glass.
“Did he tell you what else he wanted? His original comment was something about Trailhead, right? Back in October?”
“Yeah, it’s about the band.”
“The band? As in the one that was barely more than a hypothetical back then?”
He glances over my shoulder, to where an empty space awaits a small stage we’ll need built sooner than later. I just sigh.
“I guess he’s got a connection to one,” I say. “And before you ask, no, he said he wasn’t stalking the bar. Told me someone else mentioned the live music thing to him, so then he saw me in one of the videos talking about it—”
“And not only do you look like him, you’ve got your mother’s last name and none of your personal social media accounts are private, so he probably did stalk those.”
“Yeah, he admitted that much. Anyway, he wanted to talk to me back in October, but then there was some personal thing happening behind the scenes, so he was dealing with that, and when he finally had time to look us up again, he saw that we’re gonna make it official and want to talk to people in January, so he was getting a jump on that like being my dad will help his friends get this gig.”
In all my babbling, I’ve accidentally made Drew Barrett my dad again, and while I doubt Jake missed it, he doesn’t call me out. “But you’ll meet the band?”
“Sure. I don’t really think there’s a good way around that if I want to do what's best for the bar.”
“I agree.”
“Gee, thanks,” I mutter, biting my tongue before I say anything about being fair to a band that might be full of really great parents.
Jake shakes off my shitty attitude. “You took this project on, and it comes with a lot of pressure, even without your father being part of the equation. I’m happy to tell you when I think you’re doing something right.”