Page 36 of For Wrath and Redemption
She waves her hand in the air. “It’s not a perfect analogy, Hendrix, but you get the point. You let me get you across the board, and then you can take over the game. I hand you the crown.”
I bite my cheek to keep from letting my smile free and look right at her face. I can’t tell if she looks back, but I think she does. “Are you saying you’re my queen, then?”
“Your words. Not mine.”
“The queen’s the most important piece on the board, Davis. Sounds to me like that’s you.”
There’s a charged pause that stretches between us. I can feel her eyes on me, and I keep mine pointed in her direction. When her voice breaks through the silence, it’s a challenge.
“Think you can handle that?”
I can’t fight it anymore. I smile. “For now.”
She hums. There’s another moment of tension, and then after a few breaths, it disappears. Business again. Full speed ahead.
“Okay, so only your torso is in frame,” she tells me. “Shoulders to knees. The camera is focused on the guitar. On your hands.”
I nod. “Cool. Now what?”
“When I say go, you play.”
“Play what?”
“Whatever. Something you like, but not The Hometown Heartless. SomethingJonah Hendrix.”
I think about it while I flip on my amp and tune the guitar. Then when Claire says go, I start to play. I’ve barely begun when she interrupts.
“Wait,” Claire says, her voice cracking slightly. “Stop.”
I stop. “What?”
“Is that... Are you playing Fleetwood Mac?”
“Yeah. ‘Landslide.’ Why?” I furrow my brow at her tone. It’s confusing. It almost sounds sad. I wish I could see her face.
“Nothing. I just...” She forces a laugh. “I thought you’d play something more, I don’t know, rock and roll, I guess.”
I raise my eyebrows. “There are few things more rock and roll than Stevie Nicks, Davis.”
“Right.” Another awkward, breathy laugh, followed by a sniffle. “Of course. No, this is perfect, actually. Your fans will love it. Um, it’s a, it’s a nice surprise.”
She almost sounds like she’s crying, but then she clears her throat, and her next words are steady. Like I imagined the emotion seconds earlier.
“Sorry for interrupting. You can start whenever you’re ready.”
I don’t question her. I just start over, and she doesn’t interrupt meagain. When I finish the song and the final notes fade out, Claire clicks something on the phone, then takes it off the tripod. She doesn’t turn off the ring light. I know it’s because she doesn’t want me to see her.
“Great,” she chirps. “I’ll cut this down and post it. I’ll...I’ll be right back, though. I have to make a phone call.”
She turns on her heel and leaves the bedroom. Seconds later, I hear the doors to the balcony open and shut, but I don’t move. I just sit there, my eyes fixed on the floor behind the tripod where she was standing. I’m rarely stumped by people, but Claire Davis...
The woman has given me nothing but questions.
I don’t like it.
She doesn’t speak to me for the rest of the afternoon. We ride to the stadium separately, and she doesn’t watch the show from the VIP tent. She’s not in the dressing room after the concert, either. But when I pull up my new social media account later, I’m met with thousands of notifications.
Claire posted the video of me playing “Landslide.”
