In A Perfect World

Chapter Twelve

The next day, after a tiresome shift at work, I found myself at the exact same bar where I'd seen Liam for the first time. Slouched next to me was Miles, looking equally as exhausted as I felt. "I need something stronger than this," he grumbled, flicking his glass of beer with his finger.

I couldn't agree more. "Would a punch in the face help?"

A tiny but weary smile twitched at the corners of his lips. His eyes stared at the bar ahead of him. "You offering, sweetheart?"

"Only if you do me first. I need about twenty straight to the noggin."

"And why would that be?"

I shrugged as a million different reasons came to mind. But instead, I settled with something that had been tugging at my brain since I'd left Marie's house. "I need to know how to contact Liam's parents," I confessed, waving at the bartender for another drink.

Miles had gone still. "And why would that be?"

"I need to know what exactly happened with his accident. I just...I need to talk to them."

Miles let out a long sigh, either too exhausted to comprehend what I'd told him or simply not caring at all. "I don't know, Viv," he said, hesitant. "Things get messy when you start digging. I think it would be best if you just told him."

A flash of anger stabbed me in the stomach. "You were the one who told me to keep it a secret."

"I said to keep it a secret if you could handle it." He raised a single, unusually perfect eyebrow. I wanted to burn it off right then and there. "But clearly, you can't. Loverboy is already racking his brains to figure out where he saw that guitar."

An all-too-familiar feeling pricked at my skin; guilt. "I'm sorry, I didn't know-"

"Don't apologize," he interjected, before finishing off his beer. When the bartender slid me mine, Miles nodded for another. Maybe we were both trying to get absolutely shit-faced that night.

"So what's up with you, anyway? You don't exactly look cheery."

His eyes fell to the wooden counter-top. "Battle of the Bands is quite a few months away but it's suddenly become a lot more important for us to win."

Well, that certainly wasn't what I'd expected to hear. "And why is that?"

"My mom's sick." Miles' dark blue eyes began to fill with tears and my heart ached for him. 'Sick' certainly didn't mean 'the flu.' "She needs money for her...treatment. We're not a rich bunch."

I looked down at his shaking hands. No, apparently not. "We'll rehearse," I promised him, resisting the urge to place my hands over his. I didn't know whether it would be too creepy or not, although I had a feeling Miles wouldn't exactly complain. "We'll whoop the asses of all the shitty Nirvana try-hard bands and we'll win, Miles. It's not just important to you; it's important to all of us."

Miles nodded and some of the tension rolled off of his shoulders, but there was still something bothering him. "We're good," he admitted, "and bloody amazing with you in it. But I don't want this to be...pressure on you to stay. You know, with the whole Liam thing."

Ah, I see. "Miles," I sighed, leaning closer to him. "Liam is more the reason for me to stay. But it's not just for him; it's for all of you. And me."

Miles nodded and, noticing my palm, reached over and squeezed my hand gently. I couldn't help but stare at his hands; they were scarred and calloused but they were the reason why we were together at that very moment. His hands created music and our hands would be our way out of this town and towards something bigger and better.