Staying Grounded by J.S. Edge

Author:J.S. Edge [Edge, J.S.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2024-08-05T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

Fallout

CRAIG

From the second I arrive at the Red Bull Inn, I feel so on edge I think I might pass out.

Drink in hand, I shadow Alex through the door from the bar, passing by the toilets to the next door, looking about myself on high alert. It’s just an acute gut feeling I have that my being here is a recipe for disaster.

The dim backroom hasn’t changed one bit since I last set foot in it, more than a full year ago. Same dusty red curtains cover the tiny windows, same shoddy platform masquerading as a stage, and same circular tables, carved into and stained. That previous visit was brief and ended with Lyndsay in tears for reasons I can’t recall.

My roving gaze swiftly locks on her sitting closest to the makeshift stage, fair head leaning in close to the Magpie beside her. Neither one of the pair glances up at our entrance, and I’m almost certain it’s deliberate on both counts. Steph sits across from Lyndsay, the first to spot us. Her eyes narrow on Alex only to hastily look away, her middle finger flicking up at him.

Alex huffs out a sigh, crossing behind the trio. He claims a small table tucked in nearest to the street-side exit door.

“Fighting again?” I ask, dropping down on the chair opposite him.

“Little bit,” he replies.

“Want to talk about it?”

“No.”

And that’s where I leave that, thankful I’m at least saved from joining them.

Derek’s setting up his drum kit while his bandmates deftly organise themselves around him, filling their tight performance space. Catching me watching, he winks, and I snap my head away. The memory of Sebastian’s confession prickles my mind in a way I won’t even try to quantify.

Lyndsay laughs at something Mikey says, Steph remarking louder than necessary, “You adorable poof,” and I’m looking elsewhere.

There are occupants at two other of the room’s six tables, none of whom I recognise. It makes for quite the claustrophobic vibe.

“How are things at home, then?” Alex jolts me back to him.

“Fine,” I reply automatically. “I mean, I’m here now, aren’t I? So not as bad as things could have been.”

“Dad have much to say last night?”

“Nothing new.”

It’s true enough. For all that Dad voiced his piece the instant I’d settled a sleeping Christopher down in his cot yesterday evening, little of his speech differed from what Mum had already said — tone imperious and shoulder grip crushing. I’m banned from my ‘meddling’ at the farm, and I’m extra banned from YCS, while Gary’s been granted open access to my college notes alongside my time.

But Alex simply nods, knowing better than to push for details. “Cheers for coming.”

“Sure,” I say, although I’m not at all sure why he insisted I should.

We arrived in Roxy, and so I have to make my pint stretch. It wouldn’t usually matter because Alex isn’t much of a drinker, and he’s ever keen for the chance to take Roxy’s wheel. But for once — of all the times he could

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