Page 102 of From Drummer to Gamer

“Really?” I asked, my voice full of wonderment. “I get my own performance?”

“You’re my girlfriend, of course you do.” His whisper sent a wave of tingles all over me as he walked us, still holding me from behind.

I don’t think I will ever get tired of hearing him call me his girlfriend.

My heart melted like a soft puddle on a rainy day.

“I’m so excited that my inner fangirl is screaming. I’ve never seen you play live before, and that’s on top of my bucket list.”

“You’re going next week,” he mumbled, just as we made it outside his music room.

“Yeah, I can’t wait. I’m going to be wearing a T-shirt with your face on it,” I said, flashing him a wide smile.

A low groan rumbled from his chest, and I could feel the vibrations down my spine. “You’re not allowed to smile like that for anyone else, you hear me?”

I chuckled as he pulled me in.

It felt like I’d entered another planet when I stepped inside.

The room was cast in an amber glow, the walls padded and soft in dark coloring, the floors carpeted in soft beige. Three drum kits stood in a triangle. They were all different, gleaming in shades of gold and silver, and appeared to be too expensive to touch.

Like a state-of-the-art studio.

The far side wall was the same floor-to-ceiling window that carried through the entire apartment, and the wall opposite the drums was dark wooden shelves showcasing random possessions.

My feet ambled past the drumsticks display to the photo frames, and my hand reached the first one that caught my attention.

It was a younger version of him. I would hardly have recognized him if it hadn’t been for those sad green eyes. He was so small and lanky, unlike the larger-than-life presence looming over my shoulder. Another older-looking boy, a few feet taller than him, probably in his late teens, stood next to him, sporting a wide grin.

I didn’t have to ask to know who that was.

“That’s Truman,” I whispered. “I thought he was your age.”

“No,” Matty replied in a deep, solemn tone. “He was ten years older than me.”

“What happened to him? I mean, I know he passed away, but how?”

“He was never going to make it.” Matty inhaled slowly. “He had a genetic disorder, the same as Emmie’s uncle, only his was more aggressive. They went to the same clinic. It was through him, I met Emmie and Mikey. In a way, he led me to my destiny.”

“How did you meet Truman?”

“He was a senior at the high school next door. I used to be a delinquent, a troubled kid who was always angry at the world, so one day my frustrations just got the best of me, and I decided to sneak into the high school building and ended up right outside the music room, and that’s how I met him.” Nostalgia weaved through his voice like a crestfallen whisper.

“I find that hard to believe. You? A naughty child?” I tried to add lightness to my tone because I didn’t like the sadness in his eyes.

“Yeah,” he said, sighing. “But he changed me. Taught me life was so much more than the… defects we had. He put the first pair of drumsticks in my hands. I didn’t listen at first and argued like a brat. But something about the look in his eyes told me to take it. There wasn’t pity in them, just simple interest, and for the next twenty minutes, I played what would probably be the worst off-beat rhythm I’d ever played. But he never judged. For the first time in my life, I felt like I had a purpose. After that, I just wanted to learn everything about the drums and spent every second of the day consumed in it.”

“And now you’re the best drummer in the world,” I said softly, my voice filled with pride.

A faint flush of red swept his cheeks. “No, not the best in the world,” he mumbled.

“I’m going to disagree,” I replied, leaping to my feet as I planted a soft kiss on his cheek. “To me, you are.”

Something unfamiliar crossed his eyes, and his hand shot up to keep me in place while he bent lower and slammed his lips over mine.

Even on the balls of my feet, my head only came up under his chin. I curled my hands over his neck as he deepened his kiss like I was the cure for his starved lungs.

“I really, really like you, Sierra. I have no fucking clue what you’re doing to me, but I like it.”

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