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Margo walks up again, carrying an ultra and a cider, the lovebirds’ usual. She sets the bottles down, pointing my way with her elbow. “What’s wrong with him tonight? He’s acting weird.”
“Who’s acting weird?”
I look up as Chelsea drops into the seat next to mine. I’m stunned that she hasn’t shied away, so Bash chimes in, all too pleased to answer. “This idiot. He must have swallowed too much water during his morning swim.”
I flip him off and look at the waitress without reacting to Chelsea. “Margo, I think I’ll try a mojito, a cosmopolitan, mai tai, amaretto sour, and an espresso martini.”
Her jaw drops, and I helpfully place the drink menu on her tray. The woman is so stunned that she walks off without taking Chelsea’s order. I’m met with bizarre expressions when I return my attention to my friends.
“I think you broke Margo,” Birdie says, chuckling.
Bash taps Jackson on the side of the head. “Forget Margo. What the hell is wrong with Pin?”
I shrug and finally direct my attention to Chelsea. “I didn’t feel like a beer, and since you don’t like beer, I thought we could both try something new.”
Chelsea
I…don’t know what to say. I half expected to see Jackson here and was proud of myself for not bailing. God knows his apology message_the one I haven’t acknowledged yet_put me in a tailspin.
If that weren’t bad enough, hearing Jackson’s drink order and explanation, my heart sinks to my feet. My reaction is to peek toward Bash since Jackson just outed me about my distaste for beer.
Bastien’s face is a mix of anger, pain, and suspicion, but I don’t see surprise. When my gaze slides to Birdie, I don’t see a reaction at all.
I drop my eyes and clear my throat nervously. “How long have you known?”
Birdie sips on her cider, wholly unaffected. “I’ve always known. Being uncomfortably observant is an occupational hazard, I’m afraid.”
Bash pulls his hat off, shamefaced. “I somehow missed it until Jackson said something. I guess I didn’t believe it until now.”
The shame becomes mine at the hurt in Bastien’s eyes. “Why would you fake that? Did you think we_I would reject you for being different? I don’t understand. I mean, it’s just beer, but is it?”
Bash looks down at his lap, and I feel like shit. I never thought my self-preservation would hurt someone else. “I’m sorry, Bash. I_”
My partner’s head whips up suddenly; all the color drained from his face. “Did I do something, say something to hurt you?”
Bash’s reaction makes sense only because I know how his mother died. That makes me feel even worse. “God, Bash. No. I came to Knot Corp. broken. Hell, I went into the Marines broken.”
My eyes flick toward Jackson, knowing all this is coming out because of him. I can’t lay this at his feet or yell at him because he’s even more pale and traumatized than Bastien.
Jackson stammers, “Wait, this wasn’t supposed to… I didn’t mean… Shit.”
Great, Chelsea. Thanks to you, everyone is having a meltdown. Do you leave them to suffer or do you stop hiding? I heave a long sigh. “Knot was right.”
The bar noise fades, and my table goes deathly silent. “I am a chameleon. I’ve been a fake for so long, I don’t even know who I am anymore.”
Birdie stretches her arm across the table to squeeze my hand. “I understand. Believe me. I’ve learned that past traumas may shape who we become, but they don’t define us.”
“What happened to you?” Bastien nearly growls.
That’s the protector in him talking. Birdie places a restraining hand on his arm. “Wait.” Then, to me, she says, “Chelsea. You don’t have to say anything.”
Jackson has been quiet since his outburst, but I look at him now. His face is blank. I get the idea he doesn’t want to push me either way. It’s ironic. I’m here because of him or thanks to him, depending on how you look at it.
Though nervous, my rational brain believes coming clean will release some of this weight off my chest. Jackson dips his chin in encouragement. With a shaky nod, I begin the story. “I’ll spare you the schoolyard bully bullshit. Suffice it to say I allowed a lot of it because of low self-esteem.”
I recite for them about Trace and our brutal end, each word cutting like a razor blade. Doing so leaves me hollowed out, raw. I can’t meet anyone’s eyes despite knowing these people only want to support me, Bash and Birdie at least. However, I suspect the same about Jackson.
Sensing there’s more to be said, the three remain quiet. I begin again reluctantly, giving them the rest of the ugly truth. “As hard as I tried, I was never enough for anyone until the Marines. By then, I’d grown used to pretending. I made myself whatever I needed to be to fit in: tomboy, one of the guys.” I train my gaze on Jackson. “And a comedian, just so no one would see the real me. I figured I might finally be accepted if I became someone else.”
