I finally look up at Frisco. "Please don't say anything. No one needs to know. It's not a big deal."
His thumb skims along the lip of his pint glass, wiping away the condensation as I wait impatiently for him to say something, preferably that he'll keep his trap shut. What he says instead sends ice through my veins.
"If you think that someone in here didn't record at least part of that and post it on YouTube already, then you're more naive than I realized."
My gaze cuts away from Frisco and darts from person to person in the bar, as if a sign might pop up above someone's head saying I did it. My ass is the one you need to kick. Obviously, that doesn't happen.
As an alternative, I decide to go with denial. "No one would do that. It was . . . nothing."
Frisco huffs out a mocking laugh. "Sure thing, Rip. We'll just call it nothing." His eyes lift to meet mine. "It's better than calling it bullshit."
"Wait, what?" The accusation has me jerking back.
Frisco's easy demeanor dissipates. "Bullshit," he repeats. "Because you've been hiding the fact that you could be opening concerts and working your way up to stadium shows right alongside me and the other assholes in this town trying to make it, and you're over here pretending it's nothing. You know how many people would kill to have that talent? Hundreds. Fuck, thousands." His hands curl into fists on the bar on either side of his drink. "Instead, you're spending your best years buried behind a bar. What a fucking waste."
The anger in his voice hits me hard in the chest, and I shoot back in kind.
"You don't get to decide what's a waste and what's not. There are probably thousands of people out there with more natural talent than me who aren't using it, so why don't you go feed them this line of crap? You've got no say on how I live my life, Frisco, so don't even start."
His voice drops, going low and rough. "You know why I'm here, Ripley? You think this was my dream? Hustling my way through Nashville, trying to make it? No. It was my sister's dream, and she wanted it more than anything. More ambition than talent and common sense combined. She bought into some asshole's line about how they could make her famous, and the next thing I know, she's not singing for her supper, she's fucking for it." His furious gaze tears into me. "I came here to find her. Ready to tear this city apart, if that's what it took to bring her home. But it was too fucking late. She was gone. My twin. Twenty-two and dead."
The ferocity in his voice is only outweighed by the pain.
"I stayed because music was the only outlet I had. I threw myself into it, and somehow I got the lucky break she didn't. Now I live with the guilt every damn day."
"I'm so sorry, Frisco. I had no idea."
He lifts his pint glass to his lips and chugs the beer, smacking the bottom against the wood when he finishes.
"Yeah, well, shit happens. But you got talent, and the fact that you're wasting it slinging drinks pisses me the fuck off. Now I'm gonna stay perched on this fucking stool all night and get hammered. My babysittin' abilities are gonna be impaired, but if shit goes down, I'll definitely be ready to throw some punches."
I'm still absorbing all his words, and one stands out at me. Babysitting?
Boone.
"He asked you to come keep an eye on me?"
I don't even have to say his name for Frisco to nod. We both know exactly who I'm talking about. But why? A rush of confusion blows through me, and I have to ask it aloud.
"Why?" My question produces an are you frigging stupid look from Frisco, but no response. There's another subject I need to bring up, but right now isn't exactly the best time. Then again, I can't let it lie any longer. "You know it wasn't personal, me turning you down when you'd come into the Fishbowl, right?"
Frisco's grip on his drink tightens. "Yeah, your rule lasted about thirty seconds after you met Boone, but I'm a big enough man not to hold it against you."
"I know I owe you an explanation, but I really can't-"
He holds up his other hand, and I go silent. "You don't have to explain shit to me, Rip. You win some, you lose some. That's how the game goes. Now, I'm ready for another beer."
He shoves his empty glass toward me, and I can't bring myself to keep pushing. He's already torn up and raw from his confession about his sister, and I'm just adding insult to injury.
I retrieve the pint. "Your usual?"
"Yeah."
"I'll get you another."
"Much appreciated."
I flip the tap and let the glass fill with Bud before sliding it back in front of him, keeping my fingers wrapped around it when he tries to take it from me. After a beat, Frisco meets my gaze.