The guys seem to be well on their way to bonding, which is a weight off my shoulders.
I purposely take a seat in the recliner, giving Chase and Tag the couch.
“The key is too high,” Tag grouses, his voice fracturing as he tries to sing the ultra-high notes. “No way I can sing this song.”
“Annalise and I can take the lead,” Chase says. “We’ll lower the key.”
My nose wrinkles as Tag makes a second attempt to sing “I Believe in a Thing Called Love” by The Darkness.
Growling his frustration, my brother slumps back against the cushions. “My range is shit.” He glances at me. “You try, sis.”
I peer down at my lap, where a gazillion printed-out lyrics sit in a messy pile. I flip through, searching for the song in question. Ink bleeds together. Titles, lyrics, notes.
This is the worst time to get cold feet.
“Something wrong?” Tag plucks at a few strings. “You look wiped.”
“Long day,” I murmur, my mind floating in la-la land. I feel Chase’s eyes on me, probing, digging. “Maybe we can start with something easier. ‘Shut Up and Dance’ by Walk the Moon?”
“Yeah. Sure.” Tag tunes his guitar, clearing his throat.
Chase jumps in, and I join at the chorus. We blend seamlessly.
An hour rolls by in a blur.
Sighing, I toss the stack of papers onto the coffee table. “I think I’m going to head out early. I don’t know why I’m so tired tonight.”
“Probably because you sleep two hours a day, max. You look morgue-bound.” Tag makes a face. “But is this the best time to suddenly catch up on your beauty sleep? Our practice window is bleak.”
“I know. I’m sorry.” Avoiding all eye contact, I jump from the recliner and pull out my phone to order an Uber. “You guys stay and practice. Promise I’ll be one with the living tomorrow.”
Running from the inevitable interrogation, I escape from the basement and haul myself up the stairs, beelining for my shoes and purse. The moment I’m out the door, waiting for my ride and itching for a cigarette, I hear the screen snap closed behind me.
My body tenses; I already know who it is.
“Hey,” Chase calls out, joining me at the edge of the driveway.
Squaring my shoulders, I stare out at the empty street lined with dark houses. Doors locked, blinds drawn shut. Just like me.
“What’s wrong?” He settles in beside me, our fingers brushing.
“Nothing’s wrong.” I fold my arms, tucking my hands underneath my armpits. “I’m just tired.”
“You haven’t said a word to me all night. Hardly looked at me.”
“It’s not intentional.”
False.It’s next-level intentional.
But it’s not because of Chase. It’s because of me.
A sigh escapes as he pivots into my sightline, forcing me to look at him. His expression is weary, pained. “What did I do?” he wonders softly.
My heart pangs.
All I want to do is close my eyes and wash him away. Evict this horrible feeling from my blood, this destructive squatter.
This is a test, Annalise. You can do this. Be strong.
