Page 67 of Please Hate Me

My heart raced at the idea of an instrument, even one I didn’t get to touch. I loved music: the sound of live instruments, the heartfelt lyrics, and the way a good harmony could strike your soul. The rapidly shifting chords drew me like a moth to a flame—and suddenly, I found myself in Lucian’s doorway.

I peered through the cracked door and saw him sitting on a piano bench with a rosewood guitar in hand. Now that I was nearby, I noticed something odd about the sound. Electing to ignore it for the time being, I let my eyes wander around his room. It felt different from the rest of the house. The walls were a deep forest green, and the furniture was mostly dark wood. I slid closer to the slight opening, hoping to catch a better glimpse into Lucian’s sanctuary. Instead, I misjudged the door’s ability to hold my weight and stumbled gracelessly into the room.

I caught myself on the doorknob with aslightlypanicked scream. Once I steadied myself, I noticed Lucian was staring at me. Of course he was, I was acting like an absolute buffoon.

“You good?” he asked, eyebrow raised.

I nodded, catching my breath as the panicked feeling left my system. Lucian put his guitar down and stood, bridging the gap between us.

“I heard you playing.” I breathed, placing a hand on my stomach.

“Okay… and?”

I swallowed hard and did my best to remember the sound. Something had definitely been off about it.

“I think your guitar is out of tune,” I blurted.

“Really now?” It wasn’t hard to see the skepticism in his eyes.

It would have been easy for me to hide from the scrutiny of his gaze, to say I was wrong and apologize. But my pride wouldn’t letme. There wasn’t a lot in this world I was confident in, but music was my domain.

“I can fix it,” I offered, pointing to the recently abandoned instrument.

Lucian muttered something under his breath, grabbed the guitar, and gestured for me to sit next to him on the piano bench. Instead, I sat on his bed. It felt less intimate, somehow. Once again, I let my gaze drift around the space.

His room was decorated with old band posters and photos of his kids, the latter of which made me smile. But the real thrill came from seeing the wall of instruments above his piano. He had another guitar, a tambourine, two pairs of intricately decorated maracas, all sorts of cool stuff—and in the center, a beautiful violin that had me practically buzzing.

Especially because I recognized it.

“Knock yourself out,” Lucian challenged, thrusting his guitar into my hands.

I nodded and settled the instrument into place. My belly pressed against the back of the guitar as I gave all the strings a single strum. There was definitely something off, but I couldn’t figure out what.

Slowly, I plucked the strings one by one. The vibrations echoed in the wooden body, causing a smile to erupt on my face. For the millionth time in Hartwood, I squeaked. But this time, I wasn’t nervous; I was excited. I strummed once again, fighting the urge to clap my hands at the familiar sensation.

I took a deep breath and reminded myself that I was helping Lucian, not stealing his guitar. I slowly plucked each string, carefully listening for the one that was distorting the sound... Ah, there it was. His G sting had been tuned slightly too flat to be correct. I twisted the corresponding peg before testing the string again. Once it was fixed, I passed it back.

Lucian accepted it before fingering the frets; he didn’t play any chords, just fondled the instrument.

“You can try it… it’s better,” I promised, suddenly craving his approval.

“No, I know it is.” Lucian rubbed his jaw, scratching at the threat of stubble on his chin. “You always used to tune my instruments for me.”

He remembered something like that after all these years? I covered my mouth to prevent him from seeing my beaming smile.

Even after admitting I had tuned it correctly, he didn’t play the guitar. Instead, he stood, placing it on the wall mount.

“I have to get to work,” he explained.

My heart fell a little, but I tried to keep my disappointment to myself. He didn’t owe it to me to play his guitar. Lucian didn’t owe meanything; it was better that way.

“Have a good day,” I mumbled as I balled my hands, grabbing his emerald duvet in tight handfuls before releasing it.

I repeated this process until I noticed Lucian staring at me. He was probably waiting for me to leave. It would be weird to just leave me in his room.

So, I forced myself off his bed and gave him an awkward wave as I slunk toward the door.

“Mason.”

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