Page 90 of The Drummer

I can’t speak. I never in a million years expected this. I was just hoping he wouldn’t run away. Instead, he’s done the opposite.

He’s taken a step back to me.

Still speechless, I’m relieved when he offers a small smile like he understands. He turns to Callie to give me time to process and recover.

“You, too, Callie. I know those are your words,” he says in a gentle voice.

“Mostly. Casey changed them around a bit and added some.”

Although less flustered than I am, she seems affected as well. Of course she would pick up on the significance of what’shappening. She might not know music jargon, but she reads people better than anyone.

“Yeah, but you understand that’s not because there was anything wrong with the original,” Luke continues, sounding more and more like the confident icon I remember. “They just have to flow with the music. It’s all a give and take in the process.”

Her smile finishes the unspoken part of their exchange. “Of course. He made it better, there’s no question.”

I’m still trying to wrap my brain around what’s happening when Luke turns to me.

He motions toward the guitar. “Can I see that?”

I stare at him. At the guitar. My brain short circuits.

I want to give it to him, but it’s like I can’t figure out how.

How do you hand a king his scepter?

I cradle the guitar in both hands and lift it toward him. Even then, part of me thinks he’ll refuse it. That this is all some cruel joke. A punishment for disrupting his despair with my hope.

But Luke pulls it into his arms.

I don’t move, barely breathing as he traces the strings like he’s forgotten what they feel like. As if he’s just recovered a lost limb he never thought he’d get back.

It’s almost easier to believe he’d regrow an arm than what I’m seeing now.

Slowly, his touch transforms from exploratory to determined. There’s purpose in him again as he positions the guitar into the place it’s had in his life for as long as I can remember.

His left hand loops around the frets. His right rests on the strings.

He draws in a deep breath as he braces himself.

We all do. And when the first note comes out, I almost choke on a swallow.

That note leads to another, and a third, and a fourth. Soon, his fingers are dancing on the strings with a confidence thattransports us back to a basement, a tour bus, a stage. I can see the lights, the crowd. Luke at the mic, owning that stage like it’s the only thing that matters. Sweeny beside him, his guitar wailing the melody that’s drifting toward me now.

“Sweeny’s lick,” I breathe out.

Luke’s gaze flickers to mine. A flash of convoluted emotion skims his blue-green irises. Joy, pain, relief, confusion. He doesn’t know what to do with what’s happening any more than I do.

But he’s still here.

He’s still fucking trying.

“For the bridge. I think we just layer rhythm for the chorus. Maybe some killer reverb on the ‘hello’ vocal?” His casual tone betrays the monumental shift that’s happening inside him, inside all of us.

I swallow the rush of emotion exploding through me. “Definitely. I was thinking even a tight band-pass filter on the second line.”

A stuttered breath betrays the internal storm Luke is wrestling with. “Yeah, that could work too. I’m hearing it.”

I feel Callie’s shock and excitement beside me. She remains silent through the entire exchange, as if sensing the words we’re saying isn’t the conversation we’re having.

---