Page 37 of Torch Songs

“Great. You had better fucking fix your truck,mijo,or he’ll be ticketing you for driving while poor.”

Guthrie shook his head. “So far, he hasn’t said a peep about the truck. I… I think he does bigger things. Investigations and stuff.” He was tucked into a corner of the front of the dealership—the opposite end from where the smokers went to get their fix, but this side was in the wind. He was grateful for Tad’s hoodie but still cold, and he had about three minutes before he’d be officially late. But God, he was glad to talk to Seth and Kelly. Roberta was sweet, but she hadn’t had a big relationship yet. He wasn’t sure if she’d ever had her heart broken—and Neal and Owen weren’t in the market.

Seth and Kelly knew life wasn’t fair. They knew shit got hard. He trusted them with this.

Kelly grunted. “That’s not so bad. You think he’s serious?”

“Hasn’t missed a text in a month,” Guthrie said with an inward shrug. The fuck would he know from serious? Something in his stomach vibrated. “Until today. He called yesterday to say he wouldn’t make it to see me play, and then his phone went offline. I… I guess he’s still up in the mountains with shitty service.”

He’d been planning to be back that evening. Wouldn’t he at least be in Sacramento by now?

With a start, Guthrie realized he trusted Tad would get in touch if he could.

If he could.

Oh God. Would anybody know to tell Guthrie about Tad Hawkins if he got hurt?

“Well I hope he gets back early,” Kelly said. “You sound worried.”

“It’s… well, it’s not like him not to communicate,” Guthrie said, the uneasiness making him shift even more as he stood. With a sigh, he resolved to finish the conversation. “Which is neither here nor there for you guys. Yes, I’d be happy to have Agnes and Lulu stay at my place over the summer. They can have the bed, the couch is plenty comfy. Now I gotta get to—”

“Wait!” Seth said. He’d obviously grabbed the phone from Kelly. “One more thing. The end of August. We’re coming to town to see Agnes’s play, but there’s more. I’ve got a recording gig for you.”

“Me the band, or meme?” Guthrie asked, surprised.

“Youyou,” Seth said. “I want to do a pop album, and you and me do good work. I’ll be texting you songs you can work up on drums or guitar. Your choice, you get dibs, and if you want to do vocals, tell me. I want Vince on trumpet, Amara on winds, and you wherever you want. I’ve got some other people I want to play with, but you, Vince, and Amara get first dibs. I’ll have contracts drawn up so everybody gets paid just for showing up at the practice and recording sessions, but….” His voice dropped wistfully. “I like playing with the people I love,” he said. “And it’s my vacation, and my agent got backing from a label and some streaming services, and that’s what I want to do.”

Guthrie smiled, his eyes burning unexpectedly. Sethneverasked for things for himself. It figured that of all the things in the world his talent and his good heart could bring him, this would be the thing he asked for.

“I can’t think of anything I’d rather do,” he said, his heart in every word.

“Good. It’ll be good money, Guthrie. I mean, I know that’s not what you care about, but it’ll be enough to maybe let you quit your day job. Enough to let you find more gigs and make your living doing what you love. I’d… I’d really like to see you happy.”

“You’re the greatest, Seth. I love you madly. Tell Kelly I love him too. Give Agnes and Lulu my info so we can get together on them moving in, okay?”

“Will do. Hope your ‘company’ is okay. Kelly’s right—you sound worried.”

Guthriewasworried, but that was a whole different subject. “I’ll keep you informed,” he said, not sure if he would. Seth had just promised to make Guthrie’s dreams come true out of nothing more than friendship. Guthrie wouldn’t bother his friend with his love life unless he had to. “But right now, I gotta run.”

“Later, man.”

“Later.”

And with that he shoved his phone in his pocket and walked into the blissful warmth of the dealership, hoping Eugene Calhoun wasn’t around to give him crap, because he sort of wanted to share his excitement with Martin. The last month or so had proven that Martin could be a much nicer guy when he was talking about music, and with a few HR lessons, Guthrie could get him tonotbe a complete dick about women.

But as Guthrie walked in the door, Martin gave him a quick dart of the eyes toward the back where employees were required to clock in. Calhoun was known to get in front of people, monopolize their time, and then dock their pay if they were so much as two minutes late, for spite, and Guthrie figured that was what was going on now.

Guthrie nodded and said loudly, “Hey, Martin, do me a favor and go to the maintenance bay. Tell Tracy about the computer glitch we had yesterday.”

Martin slid out from behind the counter one way, winking, waiting for Calhoun to follow him as he complained loudly about how peoplebrokethe computers because they were stupid, particularly females because they didn’t understand themachines. As Calhoun aimed his irritation at Martin’s back, Guthrie slid around the corner and through the back from the other direction, making it to the time clock and out into the front before Calhoun could figure out he’d been had.

Martin was moving slowly. They’d practiced this maneuver before, mostly for Martin, who took the bus and couldn’t always get there ten minutes early, but sometimes for the other employees because Calhoun was a prick and no amount of health and dental was worth the harassment. He was still there while Guthrie slid right into his seat, booted up his computer, and said, “Wait, Martin, I’m sorry. The glitch has cleared up. My bad.”

Martin barely let a smile quirk at his lips as he said, “No worries. Here, I’ll show you how far I got on the invoices, okay? I picked up from where you left off yesterday.”

Calhoun was left speechless, no openings for discussion, no place to vent his spleen, so he stalked off to micromanage the sales force, and Martin and Guthrie both breathed a sigh of relief.

“Thanks,” Guthrie murmured.

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