Part 59 (1/2)
~ Epilogue ~
Laurel
THREE MONTHS LATER.
”Seriously, man, it's still not centered!” I laughed, waving my hands from side to side. The workers on the scaffolding above the doorway to the Graveyard Club followed my directions with only a little frustration, until I hollered and put up the okay sign with both hands. ”Perfect, there! Perfect. I'll have beers waiting for you boys when you're done.”
The workers made their notes about the location, and then carefully lowered the brand-new, but old school-looking, neon sign for the club that had just been delivered. I wiggled around the scaffolding with care and went back inside.
Things had moved fast after the story hit the presses. It became the best-selling issue of Slipstream in the past fifteen years, and generated a ton of new revenue for the magazine. Noah's reputation had recovered-and then some. Shows and reporters had lined up the first few weeks, trying to get some face time with him, but he turned them all down. He had said everything he wanted to say in my story, and he only wanted to focus on the future.
Domino was upset, but she understood when I stepped down from the magazine. She called it going out on a high note, but the truth was just that I didn't want to sneak around my scene anymore, trying to uncover its dirt-I wanted to get back to helping it thrive, supporting the local acts, and writing culture pieces. Deathshead, one of Seattle's oldest underground magazines, was all too happy to hire me, and I intended to take over as editor one day.
I found a house in Thornwood only a short drive from Noah's, which I only bought after I insisted it was the right thing to do for a lifelong commitment-phobe. He understood my need for freedom; it wasn't like we were apart for long periods, anyway. Noah was spending his time on low-key things after the stress of the festival, and most of his days, he was working the Graveyard Club with Kevin, slowly edging him into the present one upgrade at a time.
Behind the bar, Kevin was drying gla.s.ses. ”Get it all okay?”
”Yeah, it's going to look f.u.c.king amazing,” I told him. ”They should have it finished in an hour or so.”
”Don't forget to ask them to hang up some of the bug zappers we got, too. That neon light is gonna pull all the skeeters to the smokers at night,” he said, gesturing to the lamps gathered under one of the tables.
”Will do,” I promised and took a drink of water from the gla.s.s on the bar.
”Babe,” came Noah's m.u.f.fled voice from the stage. ”Are you busy? Can you help me out here?”
I hurried over to find him trying to hold up one of the overhead PA speakers while he simultaneously tried to maneuver a dolly that had tipped onto its side.
”Geez, tough guy, what gives!” I teased, picking up the dolly and rolling it right underneath him. Noah lowered the speaker carefully onto the platform and stood up with an exhale. He straightened his s.h.i.+rt and pulled me close for a kiss.
”Thanks for helping out today,” he said. ”Are you sure the mag didn't mind?”
”Nah,” I said. ”This new place is way more low-key than Slipstream. Besides, that was the point, remember? That I don't work my a.s.s off all the time anymore?”
”So what do you call helping fix up the Graveyard Club-a vacation?” he laughed, slapping my a.s.s playfully.
”Ooh,” I said. ”We should probably take a real one of those soon. I'm getting a little travel thirsty.”
Noah's eyes lit up. ”You too, huh? I b.i.t.c.hed about every tour, but man... it always gave me something to look forward to.”
”Well... maybe we should plan one,” I said.