Page 156 of The Drummer

“Are you kidding?” I laugh out. “To have Luke Craven back on the bus? They’d let him bring an entire psychiatric team if he said that’s what it’d take. One girl from Shelteron, PA is nothing.”

She shifts to face me again, and I hold my breath, trying to read her as she scours my face. But all I’m getting is the typical concern.

“What about you? What doyouthink?” she asks. “I mean, I know this whole thing is strange. Luke and I have a very complicated relationship, but you know I’m crazy about you.”

Hang on. That’s what this is about? Concerns over jealousy?

Maybe a few weeks ago it would have been a passing thought, but seems completely ridiculous now.

“Hey, look, this whole thing is totally screwed up,” I say with a wry smile. “I know that, but I also think I understand it. I really do. What you and Luke have is very different than what you and I have, and I think the two can coexist.”

Iknowit can.

It has to.

Luke is quieterthan before when we return from lunch. The others don’t seem to notice, but I catch the stern look on hisface while he tracks the rhythm guitars. To anyone else, it would look like concentration, but the guy can do this shit in his sleep.

He’s concentrating alright, but not on what he’s playing. It’s the vocal booth beside him that’s haunting his brain.

Mine too.

My fears are confirmed when he doesn’t even wait to listen back after his final take on guitar. He mumbles something about trusting us to choose the comps and takes off “to piss.”

While the others turn their attention to setup for Sweeny, I follow Luke. I’m glad I did when I see him take a hard right instead of left toward the bathrooms.

He hangs another right, and my stomach sinks.

There’s only one thing back there.

As if on cue, I hear the crash of the fire door to the stairwell.

Picking up my pace, I round the corner and spot his silhouette through the window.

Luke jumps when I push through the reinforced steel to join him. He fires a brief look at me, and I secure us inside the makeshift vault.

Resting one hand on the railing, he runs the other over his face.

He’s angled too far for me to see his expression, but I don’t have to. I feel it in the air. The self-doubt, the pain. The fear.

“I don’t think I can do this, Case,” he says quietly without moving.

His hard stare remains locked on something I can’t see. His knuckles turn white around the safety railing.

Forcing in a shaky breath, I shift nervously on my feet. The stale air in this tomb has become almost unbreathable.

“Do you remember the day we met?” I ask, breaking the long silence.

He turns a confused look on me, and I meet his gaze.

“Of course. I’d been sitting by myself at lunch for a week when you invited me to join you.”

I shake my head. “No. That was the first time we spoke. Wemettwo days before when you told Riker McNalley to fuck off and stop being an asshole when he grabbed my backpack and took off with it.”

He tilts his head, squinting at me. “I don’t remember you, just that girl with the curly hair.”

I shrug. “Well, I was there. You took the backpack from Riker and asked Lacey Rourke if she knew who it belonged to. She said yes and you gave it to her to return to the person.” I swallow hard. “And she did. She returned it to me where I was still watching by my locker after Riker attacked me.”

His eyes fill with shock. “What?That wasyou?”

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