The silence wasn’t uncomfortable exactly, but it felt like we were avoiding something neither of us wanted to say.
“Alright,” I said finally, grabbing my jacket. “This way.”
I led him past the counter and down the narrow hallway toward the back of the shop where the studio was.
I flicked on the lights. The room came alive in a dull yellow glow, revealing mismatched sound panels, an old couch shoved against the wall, and a couple of mic stands that probably should’ve been replaced years ago.
I cranked the heater on, the unit rattling before it kicked into a low, steady hum.
“You can set up over there,” I said, nodding toward the side wall. “Plug in, get comfortable.”
Mark nodded and shrugged out of his jacket, hanging it over the back of a chair.
He took a seat, resting his guitar on his thigh, and lightly brushed his fingers over the strings, testing them, letting a few quiet chords ring out as he tuned.
I watched him longer than I meant to.
I shook myself and went to grab my own guitar, setting it up across from him. My fingers fumbled a little more than usual as I plugged in.
Before we could start, I cleared my throat.
“Hey. Before we begin.” I hesitated, then forced myself to keep going. “I need to ask you something.”
Mark looked up, brows knitting slightly.
I swallowed. “Why do you really want to do this? Pair up, I mean.”
He blinked, clearly thrown. “You said the rest of your band couldn’t make it.”
“Yeah, but—” I rubbed a hand over the back of my neck. “I just wanted to make sure this isn’t… I don’t know. Some way of getting back at me.”
His confusion shifted into something like realization. “Oh.”
I pressed on before I could lose my nerve. “For what I did. Two years ago. Leaving like that.”
For a heartbeat, he just stared at me. Then he laughed, genuinely surprised, like the idea hadn’t even occurred to him.
“Zack,” he said, shaking his head. “I wasn’t mad.”
I searched his face for signs of humor at my expense and didn’t find any.
“We were strangers,” he went on easily. “We’d just met. It was one night.”
Something tight pulled in my chest at that.
“I mean, it was a little cliché,” he added with a grin. “Waking up alone and all that. But it’s hard to hold someone to anything when there was never an expectation to begin with.”
“Right. Yeah.” I forced a chuckle. “Fair.”
He smiled back, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes, like there were words he chose not to say. After a brief pause, he looked back down at his guitar.
I decided not to push.
“Okay,” I said, feeling lighter than I had in hours. “Good. Then let’s just do this.”
Mark nodded, fingers settling back on the strings. “Sounds good to me.”
We turned back to our instruments, but then Mark cleared his throat, fingers hovering over the strings like he’d forgotten what to do with them.
