“It’d be the beginning of Armageddon,” I mutter.
“Exactly.”
The waitress appears, hands us menus, fills our glasses, asks if we’re ready to order.I don’t tell her that we just got the menus.Roderick just asks for a few minutes.
“How’s Julian doing?”I ask while browsing my menu.
“He’s better,” Roderick says.“Living with Rhodes isn’t easy.We hang out now and then.It’s ...we’ve got more in common than we thought.Mostly we love to hate on our big brother.He’s too fucking annoying when he’s trying to impart wisdom.”
“I’m glad,” I say honestly.“Cleo’s been a little absent.I’m barely getting any updates about Julian’s recovery or anything, really.I’d be concerned, but I think she’s dating again.”
He groans.“I fucking hope she’s not.”
That catches me.
“Because ...?”I narrow my eyes.“What do you know that makes you worry about her?Is it her poor choice in men?”
“The guys she attracts ...”He nods.“Like moth-to-a-lighter-fluid bad.”
“She calls them daddy issues.”I sip my water, watching him carefully.“Your dad never paid much attention to her.”
His lips press into a flat line.There’s something about the way he goes quiet.A little too quiet.Like there’s a thought hovering behind his eyes he doesn’t want to say out loud.
“What is it?”
“Nothing.”
“Roderick Wilder.”I shift toward him, trying to sound firm and demanding.“What are you hiding from me?”
His shoulders drop.Not in defeat, but in admission.
“We learned a few things after Julian’s accident,” he says softly.“It’s her story to tell, Kit.I can’t ...I’m sorry.”
“And since then she’s dating some loser?”
“Or two ...”He trails off, gaze lowering to the table like maybe it’s easier to lie to his water glass.“I don’t know.But I’ve got a bad feeling.”
“You want to share the bad feeling?”
“Nope,” he says, then turns toward me, his gaze catching mine again.“I’m hoping that she’s not interested in my former bandmate—or sleeping with my sponsor.Let’s talk about something else, Kit.You said you wanted to get reacquainted, right?”
I’m now intrigued about what he said.Is she dating Barret?Or sleeping with ...who is his sponsor?It doesn’t matter.I follow his lead.The conversation shifts.Lightens.
He talks about starting a nonprofit.He’s not sure if he’ll do it with Eddie or Julian.He’s taking classes, trying to learn how to be useful in the world again and build something that matters not only to those around him but also to him.
Music bleeds through every word even if he’s not the frontman anymore.It’s in his hands when he gestures.In his voice, when he talks about helping kids get access to instruments, or helping others like him with their recovery.
He’s still every bit the artist—just one learning how to live without self-destruction as his muse.
Then it’s my turn.
I tell him about Barrett and the album we’re producing for a new artist.About how being a music producer feels like breathing—natural, necessary.About how I’m practicing cello daily again.That I want to audition for the Philharmonic someday.
“I probably won’t make it,” I say with a shrug.“But I want to try.It’s something my father used to call frivolous.Said my talent shouldn’t be wasted like that.Which makes me want it more.”
Roderick leans in, his eyes warm.“He was an asshole.”
I swallow hard.
