Starting From Here (Starting From #3) - Lane Hayes Page 0,43

left feeling helpless and melancholy, wishing I could do something besides make tea and watch reality TV with her. But when I thought about Declan, I felt…confused. Nothing made sense or seemed safe in my world at the moment.

Thank God for music.

I threw myself into the beat with gusto at practice Monday morning. The guys gave me curious glances but didn’t question my intensity. My frenetic pace left no room for conversation. On purpose. I didn’t want to talk about my mom, and I definitely didn’t want to talk about that fucking party at The London. There was no way I’d share any part of the aftermath with my bandmates. I didn’t want to explain Declan and me to anyone. Geez, I couldn’t explain us to myself.

The key was to put “past Declan” in a neatly labeled box in my head, so I could make room for this present “friend” version. Which meant I had to get Dec’s visit with my mom over with as soon as possible.

Like today or tomorrow, I mused, dropping my sticks and stretching my arms above my head. I’d practiced so hard this morning that my hands actually felt numb. If I were smart, I’d step out of the studio for a while. To do that, I’d have to pass the impromptu jam session taking place in the lounge area. And yeah, talk to Dec. I wasn’t ready for that. See? Total head case.

“Everyone is so…nice. I don’t know if I like it,” Justin commented idly as he tuned his guitar.

“Quit complaining,” I chided, wincing when the string he was tightening broke. “You’re doing that wrong.”

“No shit, Sherlock. You do it.” He thrust his acoustic guitar at me and handed over a packet of strings. He settled on a stool in front of me, bracing his elbows on his knees. “And no, I’m not complaining. I’m observing. We were aiming for a truce and got three new best friends. Weird.”

“It’s not really that weird. Everyone is pretty chill. Ky and Gill get along with everyone, and Bobby J and Johnny bond over guitar licks and metal rock they listened to when they were teenagers. And we have Charlie cheering on the troops. It’s kinda cool.” I wound the string at the base, threaded it over the fret, winding it around the peg, and tightening it. “Here you go.”

Justin thanked me, then tucked the instrument against his chest and began the arduous process of tuning it again. He had a good ear, but he was painfully slow. I pulled my cell from my pocket so I wouldn’t be tempted to do it for him.

“You’re probably right. Seems like everyone bonded at that party the other night. Well…the ones who didn’t drink too much of that pink shit. My head pounded for twenty-four fucking hours,” he lamented.

“Poor baby.”

“Hmph. So…what happened with you and Dec?”

Fuck.

It was a good thing his head was bent over the guitar. I bet I looked guilty as hell.

“What do you mean?” I bluffed, scrolling through messages I read two days ago.

“What happened at the party after my drunken departure? Did you talk to Petra?”

“I spilled a drink on her, then left.”

Justin flattened his hand over his strings and hooted. “Really? What did she ask you? It had to be something juicy or—”

“No, it was an accident. Nothing really happened,” I lied before shamelessly changing the topic. “Hey, I’m going to head out early to visit my mom. Do you want to run through that new song first?”

He looked up from his guitar and gave me a curious look. I expected him to ask what I was hiding any second now. “Um, sure. How is she?”

“She’s nauseous, tired all the time, and she lost her hair. Other than that, she’s doing pretty well.”

“That’s rough. She’s gonna be fine, though. You know that,” he said vehemently.

“Yeah.” I twisted my mouth into a passable version of a smile and kept scrolling until a new message from Charlie lit my screen.

I need to see you in my office STAT.

STAT?

Yes. Hurry. My dad has ten minutes to spare.

I stared at the screen in confusion, then stood abruptly. Maybe the text was meant for someone else.

“Everything okay?” Justin asked.

“Um, yeah. I’ll be back soon.” I slipped my cell into my pocket and moved to the door.

“Since you’re up, will you tell Johnny and Ky to get their asses in here, por favor?”

“Sure.”

I surveyed the lounge area. Everyone was gathered around the coffee table, playing a classic Zeppelin tune. Bobby