Page 89 of The Drummer

I shrug and offer a quick smile before facing Luke. “I’m having trouble with the hook into the chorus, though.”

I wince at my stumble into our old routine. The words came out before I could stop them. It’s Callie’s fault. She’s swept away so many of the eggshells, my brain forgot they were there.

I wait for Luke to seize up and run. Instead, he says, “Let’s hear it.”

I go still, like my head and limbs don’t know what to do with that.

He lifts a brow, and I haul my brain back into gear.

“Okay, yeah, sure,” I stutter as I get up from the table.

I grab the guitar from the living room, certain when I turn around he’ll be gone. Or I’ll find myself on the couch sleeping because this is a dream.

But there’s no corporeal body on the couch and Luke is stillat his seat when I return. His eyes track me with casual interest, like we’re backstage or on the bus, messing around with new ideas.

I’m not sure I’ve ever been as nervous as I am when I pluck a few test chords. My hands are shaking as I clear my throat and launch into the verse and chorus of what we have of the mirror song. My fingers struggle with the pick, my voice strained like I’m back in kindergarten at my first violin recital.

Except it’s not a strict violin instructor and overbearing father sitting in the audience judging me. It’s my entire past, present, and future on the line. Everything I am and want to be.

If Luke hates it, I’ll be heartbroken.

If he runs away again, I’ll be crushed.

Either way, this ends with me in pieces.

I almost play through the song a second time, just to avoid the moment when the music stops and I have to face the pain of the inevitable. I can’t even look at Luke while I wind down the final chorus. I know it will rattle me, and I’m not going to let nerves ruin this chance to have him back into the music with me, as brief as it might be.

Too soon, the song comes to an end. It has to. It’s not formed enough to be the barrier I need. That’s the whole point.

When the final chord rings out, I dampen the strings to cut it off in a silent confession that I know it’s not finished. I still can’t look at him. It will be even harder to see his disapproval or hasty retreat.

So instead, I find an invisible scratch in the table to examine, while he examines me.

The silence that follows is brutal, but I expected nothing less. It’s the next part I don’t know what to do with.

When I hear his inhale like he’s going to speak, my own breath freezes in my lungs.

“It’s good, Case. Really good. I see what you mean about thehook, though. Try throwing the F-sharp minor in after the A and add an extra two beats to the break.”

…

What?

It takes a moment for the words to register. When they do, a burst of warm excitement floods through me.

“You mean, bring the chorus back in late on the offbeat?” I say.

I finally dare to check his face.

For the first time since Elena’s death, he looks like my co-writer. My best friend and brother.

Emotion burns behind my eyes, and I blink it back.

“Exactly,” he says. “Plus, the minor at the end of the bridge will give it a bigger cut. Hanging on the four was fine, but I think the two will give you more depth.”

His eyes lock on mine to speak the real conversation. Our mouths are talking about music, but our hearts are somewhere far beyond that.

“Case, the chorus is killer.” His eyes flash like he knows the magnitude of what those words mean to me, and loves me enough to give me this gift. “Really, really good.”

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