Page 75 of The Beat Match

“How?”

DLP could cause an accident. Cancer could steal her away. A stray bullet could rip through her chest. “Life is unpredictable. The possibility of losing her has been messing with my mind, and I’ve been pulling away from her because of it.”

Duncan considered him. “As in nuclear war and climate change could end the planet so we should all quit our jobs, liquidate our assets, and sip margaritas in Bali?”

“Not the same.”

“Exactly the same. You’re playing hypothetical roulette. It’s like you want to pull the trigger before someone else does.”

The chicken marsala he’d eaten churned in his gut. It was exactly the same. His father’s call had set him back. He knew it. That man’s harsh bitterness was a byproduct of love: losing it had twisted him. Now Weston could barely blink without picturing Annie harmed, leaving him miserable and alone, more devastated than he’d been after losing Leo and his mother.

If they quit dating, reverted to friends, spent less time together, she’d have less of a hold on his heart. He’d stop having nightmares. He’d return to his simple life where work was enough to fulfill him. All possibilities he’d entertained during his sleepless nights. Then he’d picture breaking up with her, and pain would slice through his chest. All he’d want to do was wake her up and confess how much he loved her.

He had to get out of his head and over this hump. Annie was too important. And he had no clue why he was confiding his distress to Duncan. “I shouldn’t take advice from a man who considers monogamy an airborne disease.”

“Yet I’m the one who’s smiling.”

Weston shook his head. “I buy her all these gifts, for her scrapbooking, a dress I knew she’d love, all to show how I feel, but I haven’t told her I love her. I physically can’t force out the words, even though I love her so much it hurts. I’m terrified about getting in deeper.”

“There’s nothing wrong with waiting. As much as I’ve gotten to know Annie this year, I’d guess she doesn’t give up on people easily. Tell her when you’re ready, but keep doing the gifts. Women love that shit.”

He hadn’t been around Annie when she’d found her presents, but he’d heard the pleasure in her voice when she’d censured him for the excess. He had no intention of curbing his gift giving. The rest he’d have to figure out, sooner rather than later.

They paid their bill and were out the door when Weston’s phone rang. His spare phone. Falcon’s burner phone. Piss poor timing.

He’d been carrying it on purpose. With his final DJ performance in a week, e-mailing his electrical and staging needs for the video feeds had proven challenging, and playing phone tag with the club owner, Mick, had been even worse. Weston shouldn’t answer the call, not near somebody he knew, Duncan included. With the time crunch, he had no choice.

“Go ahead while I take this.”

Duncan nodded. When he was safely swallowed by pedestrians, Weston dodged bodies and nestled by a liquor store window. “Falcon here.”

“You’re harder to reach than Elvis Presley.”

And as dead if Duncan caught a whiff of this call. Or not. Duncan was his right hand. He was becoming an actual friend. One Weston should hang out with more often. “I’m in demand.”

“You’re something, man. What are those shirts the kids are wearing at your shows? All splattered with your name on ’em?”

A horn blasted. Weston plugged his free ear and tucked closer to the window he was facing. “Freed by the Falcon. Not my doing.”

“I could sell some merch. Take charge of printing for a cut.”

Not the worst idea. He could put his earnings toward more gun-control lobbying. Or a homeless shelter, if Annie liked that idea. He thought ahead to future shows, how much they could earn, then remembered this was his last show. He wasn’t sure why the thought made him antsy. “Go for it,” he told Mick.

“You want in on the design work?”

“I’m a DJ, not a graphic designer. Just send me proofs.”

“Done. As for your stage requirements, they’re gonna be tricky.”

Five minutes later, Weston hung up, pleased to have those details sorted.

The rush of pedestrians paid him no mind as he pocketed his phone. Duncan was long gone. He’d dodged a bullet answering the call in public, but this would be the end of it, at least. He’d quit performing after this show. Work behind the scenes. Keep Leo’s memory alive by talking about him and raising funds in his honor. Not playing would feel odd at first, but this unsettled void would disappear over time. The merger would soon be finalized, all his hard work coming to fruition.

If he could figure out how to quit worrying he’d lose Annie and end up like his glacial father, life would be looking pretty damn good.

* * *

Annie was on a mission. She would not be deterred, even by a Dolce & Gabbana-wearing man, whose extensive wardrobe made her closet look like a thumbnail in one of those eco-chic tiny homes. Weston was a mess. She’d known him long enough to see the signs. Sullen silences. Distracted wall-gazing. If he wasn’t all over her at night, or quick to apologize for his preoccupation, she’d worry he was second-guessing their relationship.