Page 31 of Deliverance

“Essentially. Yes.”

“Thank you.”

“Music is meant to be heard.”

I couldn’t agree more. “Is this how your process usually works?” I jut my chin at the foam boards and brushes.”

Drew smiles. “It depends on the subject.”

“And how do you pick your subject?”

“By studying it.” Drew walks back to the table and grabs her glass. “But I also listen to my muse.”

“And what does your muse tell you about your next collection?”

“I don’t know yet. I have to take breaks in between.”

Awkward silence blooms between us suddenly. Too many questions swarm in my head, yet none seem like the right one to ask at the moment, so instead, I let the emotions swell and grow, I let this odd new feeling swallow me and twist me up. Perhaps because I’m a masochist. Or perhaps because I didn’t expect for someone like Drew to enter my life.

We stare at each other through a haze of wine for what seems like endless minutes.

“Can you help me with the curtains?” she asks quietly.

“Of course.”

It hits me like a kick in the stomach when I’m on the ladder, pulling down the heavy fabric. The sight of the darkness that has blanketed the city, turning it into an obsidian canvas littered with shimmering lights reminds me that I promised Fernando I’d be back by seven.

“Shit,” I curse under my breath, handing Drew the curtain.

“What’s wrong?” She stares up at me, her forehead creasing.

“I forgot I parked my car across the street.”

“Oh no!” She clutches the curtain to her chest as if it’s some kind of treasure. “You think it’s still there?” Genuine concern creeps into her expression.

“There’s only one way to find out.”

“Okay, let’s go then.”

6 Drew

I’m still buzzedfrom all the wine I consumed earlier, but the chilly air that caresses my cheeks as we step outside sobers me up a little.

“Are you good?” Zander asks, turning his head. He’s hugging the Zero Ecstasy vinyl to his broad chest like some prized possession. His sky blue gaze roams my face, and he’s close enough for me to catch his light scent—wood, leather, and ocean—in the wind.

Lingering warmth fills my stomach and I nod slowly as my lips spread into a silly grin, which he returns. The yellow pole light cresting over his head plays with the golds in his hair and the smooth topaz of his skin, and he looks nothing like what I remember from the few music videos I saw of his band years ago.

He looks radiant.

“Was it difficult”—I stare back boldly—“to be something else on stage?”

He takes a moment to mull over my question. “Not at first.”

“What changed?”

“All of us did.”

Although I’m curious, I don’t pursue the topic further. The middle of the street doesn’t seem like an appropriate place to talk about serious things, and I know firsthand that losing someone close is one of the most devastating events a person will go through during his or her life.

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