Starting From Here (Starting From #3) - Lane Hayes Page 0,53

my own writing.

But this was a musical freefall…exhilarating and life-affirming. I chased the beat he set, adding swelling riffs and nuance. It didn’t take long to get lost in the music. I forgot where we were and why we were there as the notes wove a pattern, then fell apart. Tegan leaned into his kit, raising his arms theatrically, sprinting ahead of me. I took my fingers off the strings, content to watch him let loose. He finished with a flourish, tossing his sticks in the air before giving me another show-stopping ear-to-ear grin.

“That was awesome,” I exclaimed, putting my hand up for a high five.

Tegan smacked his palm against mine and stood to gather his sticks. “You’ve gotten really good.”

I gaped with my mouth in a perfect O until he huffed good-naturedly. “Whoa. Was that another compliment?”

“Nope. I rescind it.”

“It’s too late. Tegan Monroe likes me,” I gushed, altering my voice to sound like a starstruck fanboy, chuckling when he rolled his eyes. I returned the guitar to the stand, then turned on my heels with my arms wide. “Everything looks the same.”

Tegan cocked his head curiously. “You keep saying that. What were you expecting?”

“I don’t know. Just being in the neighborhood is a blast from the past. Is my old house really yellow now?”

“Yeah. An unfortunate shade, too. There have been a few owners since you lived there, but these people are the first ones to paint the exterior. My parents weren’t happy. Could have been worse, though.”

“Could have been purple.”

“What’s wrong with a purple house?”

“Well…nothing, I guess. It would definitely be a conversation starter,” I said. “I see you as more of a neutral on the outside, purple on the inside kind of guy.”

T squinted so hard I was sure he gave himself a couple of new creases on his forehead. “You’re weirder than you used to be. Is this an ‘almost thirty’ condition?”

I snort-laughed. “Maybe, but you’re older than me. You’d know better.”

“Only by nine months. Doesn’t really count.” He leaned against the worktable and inclined his head. “What kind of house are you? No, let me guess. You’re one of those fancy gated ones on a hill with a tennis court, a pool, and maybe stables too.”

My smile didn’t quite meet my eyes, but I tried to keep my tone light. “Wrong. I’m still the yellow house next door.”

“Puh-lease. Are you saying you didn’t like living in a fancy house?”

“That wasn’t my house. It was my mom’s. It still is. She likes shiny new surfaces and I like places with stories. Like this.” I made a circular hand motion. “So many memories. And almost all of them are good.”

Tegan smiled. “You’re a sentimental sap. I mean that in the nicest way possible.”

“Thanks.” I chuckled. “It’s kind of surreal to walk into rooms you haven’t seen in years. I feel like a ghost. I want to dissect the smells and textures like that might pull me back in time and let me relive my favorite parts.”

“What was your favorite part?”

“You,” I replied automatically. “I’m more about people than places or things. You were my favorite person. Mmm. Nah, your mom was first, but you were a close second.”

Tegan’s lips twitched in amusement. “Good to know. You were mine too.”

I smiled, then to my utter horror, blurted, “She’s gonna be okay, right?”

“Yes.” His tone was sharp and strong. “It’s been really tough, but she’s a fighter. She’s not going anywhere…” He trailed off when his voice hitched before continuing, “We’re going to take good care of her and do whatever we can to help her beat this.”

“If you need anything, let me know.”

“Thanks. She’s doing—”

“No, I mean…you. If you need something, tell me.”

“Me?” He pointed at his chest with a confused expression.

“Yeah, you. If you want someone to talk to, I’m a good listener. If you want someone to play music with, I’m great on bass…and amazing on guitar. If you just want quiet, I can do that too.”

“Why?”

I closed the distance between us, so we stood toe-to-toe. “ ’Cause we’re friends, remember?”

“Yeah, but…are we really? I’m not trying to be a dick here—”

“But you can’t help yourself,” I finished. “Look, life might be a little weird now, but if you strip away the layers, we’re still ‘us,’ and I still care about you. Not the drummer, not the guy in my rival band…you.”

Tegan stared at me for a long moment, then stuffed his hands into his pockets. “Thanks.”

I inclined my head. “You’re welcome. Are you hungry?