Five by Night was one of her favourite places to visit alone, nursing a cup of coffee, hidden away in a corner of the establishment, flicking through the pages of the latest book she was devouring for work and savouring the melancholic voices of those who poured their heartache, grief and sadness into their crooning up on the small stage. Saturday nights always seemed to be reserved for the wilder songs, the oneâs that got the crowd stomping their feet, clapping their hands and their hearts racing with excitement.Â
Morgan tried to avoid Five by Night on those nights.
Tonight had been a mixed bag of performers. One girl had sung her rendition of Put Your Records On by Corinne Bailey Rae, a redheaded male who had played an acoustic cover of Sam Smithâs Latch and a couple who couldnât leave the stage quick enough after choking before they even reached the chorus of Lost Stars. Somebody had called for any volunteers after a lull in performers, Morgan had deliberately sunk low into her seat until somebody else had stepped up to the challenge.
There were only two places Morgan was comfortable performing ââ her shower and behind the wheel of her car. Not in a room full of strangers, all eyes focused on her.
With her hands wrapped around the steaming mug of coffee, book upturned on the table, she settled back into her booth as somebody new climbed the stage, a defiant smirk tugging at the brunetteâs lips. Morganâs stomach dropped as the brunette turned around ââ as Calliope Winters turned around ââ anger and betrayal seeping into every word of her chosen song.
Whose bed have your boots been under?Â
Morgan pressed a hand to her throat, a shuddering breath climbing up her throat. She knew whose boots she was singing about, whose betrayal had scorned her. Bowie. For a moment she considered collecting her belongings and sneaking out the backdoor, putting Five by Night and Calliope Winters far behind her but that felt unfair to Calliope. As if Morgan was punishing her for something that was as much her fault as it was her own instead of her brothers.Â
Instead, she sat through Callieâs performance, no matter how awkward and uncomfortable she found it. It was as if she was being made privy to a secret of Callieâs that the dark-haired siren was unaware of. Once she had finished her performance, Morgan slipped out of her booth and tentatively made her way towards the corner of the stage she was dismounting.
âThat was,â Morgan started, searching for the right words. Brave, badass, vulnerable. Was there even a word for what that was? Callie had reminded her of The Erinyes ââ Furies ââ from Greek mythology, deities of vengeance who are sworn to undertake vengeance on men, whosoever hath sworn a false oath. âHonestly? I donât have anything constructive to say, I just wanted to come over and say Hi.â Morgan confessed, an awkward smile tugging at her lips.
Callie had effectively bled out onto the stage, each uncomfortable glance downward coming with the catharsis that it made people uncomfortable. They should be uncomfortable. Cheating was fucking uncomfortable. Lying was fucking uncomfortable. She was uncomfortable. Every minute she walked around before she left, was a broken heart and a barbwire enema. This crowd could take a taste of it for four fucking minutes.Â
And when she stepped off, she smiled at the couple who couldnât meet her eye. Thatâs how she didnât see the small blonde approach. To busy wrapped up in what little satisfaction she could grab to notice her ex-future-sister-in-law.Â
That was, the words start to leave Morganâs lips and Callie readies herself for whatever comes next. Bowie was her brother, even if he was her lying cheatinâ prick of a brother. What was she going to say? Rude? Brash? A bitch move? Unhinged? All applied surely, Callie just couldnât bring herself to feel bad about it when her brother had slipped head first into someoneâs cervix.Â
Honestly, Morgan speaks. And she thinks, come on Morgan. Lay it on me. Show me how the Shores stick together. Show me every ounce of loyalty afforded to everyone else but me.Â
Instead she says hello, and Callieâs heart canât help but unthaw the place his sisters held in it. âHey kiddo.â
âHowâs volleyball been, coach forgive me yet for teaching you how to spike it into someoneâs nose?â