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“Mercy is my girlfriend. Why else would I have had dinner with Old Man Mercury?” I claim.
Jett snorts. “Try again. Everyone here knows you enjoy fucking with crazy people. And Old Man Mercury is as crazy as they come.”
My stomach burns at his accusation about Mercy’s uncle. “He’s not crazy.”
“Did you forget about his argument with the gossip gals?” He challenges. “He egged them on in front of the entire town.”
“The gossip gals enjoy a good argument.”
The gossip gals isn’t a derogatory title. The five older women – Feather, Petal, Sage, Cayenne, and Clove who have been dubbed the gossip gals – love the title. They even have t-shirts made up with the name.
“But what about when he—”
Dylan cuts Jett off. “We’re getting off track here.”
I don’t say anything since the track they want to be on is not where I want to be. I don’t want to be at the same racing circuit, let alone on the same track.
Cash nods. “Back to the subject at hand.”
My bandmates stare at me. If they think they can force me to talk this way, they’re wrong. I may have been susceptible to this tactic in the past but not when it comes to Mercy and our relationship. Fake relationship, I correct.
Mercy needs my help to get her uncle moved into a nursing home. I can’t let her down. I won’t let her down. Based on the hints Mercy made last night, I can guess a lot of people in her life have let her down before. I won’t be one of them. I know how it feels to be let down. I have no intention of making Mercy feel abandoned or uncared for.
“I thought we had practice for the tour,” I say as I plow through them to get to my closet.
“And I thought you were smarter than this,” Cash says.
I snag a pair of jeans and put them on. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“You know exactly what we mean,” Dylan says.
I sniff the t-shirt on the floor and rear back at the smell. Nope. Need another one. I dig through my drawers, grab an old Cash & the Sinners concert t-shirt, and slip it on.
“Let’s go.”
I attempt to herd my bandmates out of the room but they aren’t going anywhere.
“Can I at least get a cup of coffee? I have a massive headache.” When everyone sighs, I’m quick to add, “I always have a headache the day after an allergy attack.”
Jett moves to let me pass and I make my way down the stairs to the kitchen with them hot on my heels. I don’t know why I thought getting coffee would be a solo endeavor.
I make a coffee and take a fortifying sip before turning around and leaning against the counter to face them. I’m all out of delay tactics.
“Out with it.”
“We’re worried about you,” Dylan begins. “We know drinking helps you to forget your family.”
I growl. “This is not about him.”
“Nevertheless, we’re worried about how much you’ve been drinking,” Cash says.
I knew this was coming. It’s the whole reason I agreed to the charade with Mercy in the first place. I thought – apparently wrongly – if I had a girlfriend, my bandmates would get off my back about my drinking.
“I’m not currently drinking,” I say.
Jett points to the clock. “Because it’s 9 a.m.”
“Weren’t we supposed to be at the studio at eight?”
