“My house. My rules.” Tag offers Chase the remaining beer. “Thirsty?”
Chase glances between us, taking in the dynamic, this strange new predicament I’ve yanked him into. “I’m good. Thanks.”
I tromp down the staircase as Chase white-knuckles the guitar case and follows suit. Tag trails behind, his footsteps heavy. A warden making his rounds.
Plopping down on the couch, I abandon the fruity beer and reach for my spiral-bound notebook filled with a torrent of lyrics, notes, and poems. A pen is plunked between my teeth as I flip through pages, landing on one of the remaining blank ones.
“How long have you been playing?” Chase asks my brother, lingering in the center of the room, still prepared to bolt. After several uncertain seconds tick by, he finally sets his guitar beside the coffee table.
Tag collapses in the loveseat, draping an arm over the back. “Forever. Since I knew what music was.”
“I came out of the womb to the sound of a toddler xylophone,” I provide.
“You’re older, then?” He glances at Tag.
“Twenty-three.”
A moment of silence hums between us. I force a smile, bending over to unlatch Chase’s faded guitar case. Inside rests a stunning piece of art, its body painted in a striking black burst with hints of midnight blue gleaming from the gradient. It looks like a dazzling night sky.
I pluck the pen from my mouth, jaw dropping. “Holy crap. Did you build this?”
“My first prototype.” Chase takes a tentative seat beside me, spreading his legs, right knee bouncing up and down. “Built it from a kit I bought off the internet.”
“Is this the one you play on?”
“Yeah. I had a few others, once upon a time. A PRS. I also had a Parker I scored for a good price. Unfortunately, I had to sell them, so this is the only usable one at the moment.”
Tag studies the electric guitar, rubbing his fingers and thumb over his lightly stubbled jaw. He won’t admit it, but he’s impressed.
“And you’re building more?” My eyes are wide and starstruck, transfixed on the instrument as I skim my fingers over the surface.
Chase removes the guitar from the case, angling it just right so the ceiling light catches on the iridescent finish, making it come alive. “That’s the plan. I have a few more in the works, but they’re not ready yet. It’s a process.” He sends me a glance. “But I needed something to shake me up. Get my ass in gear.”
“Nothing like a casual carjacking and kidnapping to help rouse the muse.”
If that was my brother’s idea of a joke, it falls flatter than a wet noodle hitting the floor.
“He’s kidding,” I interject, feigning a laugh while shooting Tag an icy glare.
Chase sets the guitar on his lap and scrubs a hand down his face. “Yeah. That was a catastrophic misfire. I’m sorry. That night was a domino effect of shit luck and bad choices. And I just…” He trails off, looking wrecked, embarrassed. “The details don’t matter. There’s no excuse.”
Tag sips from his beer, studying Chase with equal parts curiosity and distrust. “Can’t say it was all bad luck.”
I stare straight ahead and slouch back, hoping I’m at least partially invisible. A subtle hologram.
“How’s that?” Chase wonders.
“You happened to steal the one car that had my sister in it.”
Another wash of silence blankets the room, making me feel itchy.
I know what my brother is implying; I’m an empath, a forgiver, a believerin human beings and the inherent goodness in them. He knows anyone else would have done things differently. Chase would likely be behind bars right now. Possibly dead.
I think Chase knows that too.
“So,” Tag exhales, straightening like he’s bracing for impact. “Since I’ve been roped into this weird-ass kumbaya session, let’s see if you can actually play.”
“I can play.” Chase’s gaze flicks to me.
