Page 3 of The Drummer

Luke knows I’m coming. The manager in the lobby wouldn’t let me near the elevator without a call to his room to confirm I’m a welcomed guest.

I got the approval to go up, so I know I’m a guest. Whether or not I’m welcomed, remains to be seen. Maybe that’s why I can’t bring myself to knock. Time couldn’t pass quickly enough when TJ called to say they found Luke, but now that I’m here, I can’t move.

No one wants to learn someone they love doesn’t love them back.

With a deep breath, I lift my arm and tap my knuckles against the door.

Memories taunt me while I wait. I haven’t spoken to Luke since the night we almost overdosed at Elena’s burial site. We woke up in separate rooms in the hospital, and by the time I was well enough to visit him, he was gone. Just disappeared, leaving me alone with the fallout and a single handwritten note.

Sixteen words forever burned into my brain.

Casey:

I’m sorry. I love you too much to drag you to hell with me.

Luke

That was it. Our hello, goodbye, and forever.

Until now.

Shuffling at the door has my clammy hands clenching and unclenching at my side. Will he even let me in? Maybe he gave the hotel manager the okay just so he could tell me to fuck off in person.

The door opens…

A silhouette steps into view…

Time stalls.

Luke.

Real.

Alive.

I blink against the burn behind my eyes. Words fail me. Too many years of heartache and joy saturate the thick air between us.

His aqua eyes land on me, red-rimmed and glazed with pain and substances. A brief flash of life gives me hope of something better, but it quickly fades into resignation. He doesn’t even speak before stepping back and motioning for me to enter.

I swear I hear a sigh as I move past him.

The door shuts with a clatter that reverberates throughout my limbs. We hover in the foyer of the suite for several long seconds, neither of us sure what to do next. What words can repair two lives ripped apart by tragedy?

“Want a drink or something?” he asks finally.

His voice is different than I remember. Older, but not from time. His hair is longer as well, but short enough to know he’s had it cut since our last encounter. Same with the scruff on his face. The tattoos on his arms ripple with defined muscle, which means he’s been staying fit at least.

All these things inspire another glimmer of hope, until I see the garden of empty glasses scattered around the large open living space.

He’s been taking care of himself as a distraction, nothing more.

“Sure,” I say to buy time for my visit. If alcohol is the only thing he cares about, I’ll exploit it for all it’s worth.

He nods and saunters toward the minibar with an absent gait that makes it clear this is a practiced part of his day. How long has he been at this hotel?Whyis he here?

When TJ sent me the address, I nearly choked. This city is the last place I expected he’d go. I can’t imagine what force would be strong enough to lure him back to this haunted location, but I guess that’s partly what I’m here to find out.

He hands me a glass without telling me what’s in it, then drops to the end of the L-shaped couch with his own. I don’t know what to do other than take a seat on the opposite side.

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