Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 88586 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 443(@200wpm)___ 354(@250wpm)___ 295(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88586 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 443(@200wpm)___ 354(@250wpm)___ 295(@300wpm)
T squinted so hard I was sure he gave himself a couple of new creases on his forehead. “You’re weirder than you used to be. Is this an ‘almost thirty’ condition?”
I snort-laughed. “Maybe, but you’re older than me. You’d know better.”
“Only by nine months. Doesn’t really count.” He leaned against the worktable and inclined his head. “What kind of house are you? No, let me guess. You’re one of those fancy gated ones on a hill with a tennis court, a pool, and maybe stables too.”
My smile didn’t quite meet my eyes, but I tried to keep my tone light. “Wrong. I’m still the yellow house next door.”
“Puh-lease. Are you saying you didn’t like living in a fancy house?”
“That wasn’t my house. It was my mom’s. It still is. She likes shiny new surfaces and I like places with stories. Like this.” I made a circular hand motion. “So many memories. And almost all of them are good.”
Tegan smiled. “You’re a sentimental sap. I mean that in the nicest way possible.”
“Thanks.” I chuckled. “It’s kind of surreal to walk into rooms you haven’t seen in years. I feel like a ghost. I want to dissect the smells and textures like that might pull me back in time and let me relive my favorite parts.”
“What was your favorite part?”
“You,” I replied automatically. “I’m more about people than places or things. You were my favorite person. Mmm. Nah, your mom was first, but you were a close second.”
Tegan’s lips twitched in amusement. “Good to know. You were mine too.”
I smiled, then to my utter horror, blurted, “She’s gonna be okay, right?”
“Yes.” His tone was sharp and strong. “It’s been really tough, but she’s a fighter. She’s not going anywhere…” He trailed off when his voice hitched before continuing, “We’re going to take good care of her and do whatever we can to help her beat this.”
“If you need anything, let me know.”
“Thanks. She’s doing—”
“No, I mean…you. If you need something, tell me.”
“Me?” He pointed at his chest with a confused expression.
“Yeah, you. If you want someone to talk to, I’m a good listener. If you want someone to play music with, I’m great on bass…and amazing on guitar. If you just want quiet, I can do that too.”
“Why?”
I closed the distance between us, so we stood toe-to-toe. “ ’Cause we’re friends, remember?”
“Yeah, but…are we really? I’m not trying to be a dick here—”
“But you can’t help yourself,” I finished. “Look, life might be a little weird now, but if you strip away the layers, we’re still ‘us,’ and I still care about you. Not the drummer, not the guy in my rival band…you.”
Tegan stared at me for a long moment, then stuffed his hands into his pockets. “Thanks.”
I inclined my head. “You’re welcome. Are you hungry? We could grab burritos from La Mesa and hang out at the beach till traffic clears. Unless you’re in a hurry to get back.”
“That sounds good.” He held the door open for me and inclined his head politely.
I made my way along the cement path to the house in front of Tegan. I didn’t meander or stop to catalog changes or reminisce about the good old days. I didn’t even sneak a peek at the yellow house next door. I walked with purpose…the way I imagine anyone did when they decided it was time to leave ghosts behind and move on.
Tegan
Thirty minutes later, we commandeered a bench facing the ocean, unwrapped our burritos, and…talked. It was surprisingly easy to find common ground without bringing up the past, our bands, or anything potentially caustic.
Declan reminded me of a hummingbird. He flitted from topic to topic, yet still managed to seem genuinely interested in everything from the picante sauce in his burrito to the oil rigs dotting the horizon in the distance.
“Do you miss living in Long Beach?” he asked in between bites.
“No. I visit my folks often enough, so I don’t really have a chance to miss it. And I like living in West Hollywood.”
“Me too. I’ve lived in LA for a while though. When I dropped out of USC and moved to—”
“You dropped out? Why?”
He gave a self-deprecating shrug. “I’d like to say it was because I was ready to take my music to the next level…and I was…but I also did a few too many drugs. I couldn’t keep my grade point average up. I just wanted to get high and play guitar.”
“I didn’t know you had an issue with drugs.”
“It’s not really something I advertise, but yeah…I did anything I could to quiet my thoughts and regulate my brainpower.”
“Huh?” I shifted to face him on the bench. “Are you an evil genius or something?”
I was kidding, of course. I figured he’d roll his eyes and maybe launch into a tale from his misspent youth. He didn’t.