Starting From Here (Starting From #3) - Lane Hayes Page 0,54

We could grab burritos from La Mesa and hang out at the beach till traffic clears. Unless you’re in a hurry to get back.”

“That sounds good.” He held the door open for me and inclined his head politely.

I made my way along the cement path to the house in front of Tegan. I didn’t meander or stop to catalog changes or reminisce about the good old days. I didn’t even sneak a peek at the yellow house next door. I walked with purpose…the way I imagine anyone did when they decided it was time to leave ghosts behind and move on.

Tegan

Thirty minutes later, we commandeered a bench facing the ocean, unwrapped our burritos, and…talked. It was surprisingly easy to find common ground without bringing up the past, our bands, or anything potentially caustic.

Declan reminded me of a hummingbird. He flitted from topic to topic, yet still managed to seem genuinely interested in everything from the picante sauce in his burrito to the oil rigs dotting the horizon in the distance.

“Do you miss living in Long Beach?” he asked in between bites.

“No. I visit my folks often enough, so I don’t really have a chance to miss it. And I like living in West Hollywood.”

“Me too. I’ve lived in LA for a while though. When I dropped out of USC and moved to—”

“You dropped out? Why?”

He gave a self-deprecating shrug. “I’d like to say it was because I was ready to take my music to the next level…and I was…but I also did a few too many drugs. I couldn’t keep my grade point average up. I just wanted to get high and play guitar.”

“I didn’t know you had an issue with drugs.”

“It’s not really something I advertise, but yeah…I did anything I could to quiet my thoughts and regulate my brainpower.”

“Huh?” I shifted to face him on the bench. “Are you an evil genius or something?”

I was kidding, of course. I figured he’d roll his eyes and maybe launch into a tale from his misspent youth. He didn’t.

He stared out to sea and nodded. “Yes.”

My chuckle morphed into a full belly laugh when he joined in. “You’re funny. Genius, my ass.”

“I aim to entertain. Truthfully, I had issues with depression. I still do, but I manage it better now.”

“Oh. I didn’t know that,” I said lamely.

“It didn’t really hit until I was in my teens. The doctors said hormones were a factor. Makes sense. I’d never had issues with anxiety until then. I’d never felt blue either. Suddenly, I had days where all I wanted to do was play video games or sleep. Music changed that.

“My stepbrothers had guitars, but they didn’t know how to play. Listening to them was torture until Sam sprang for lessons. Then right before the famous holiday party, Aiden showed me what he learned. I asked if I could try and…let’s just say, I didn’t suck. I didn’t turn into Jimi Hendrix overnight, but it felt like a light went on. Two weeks later, I went to your party, saw a garage full of instruments, kissed a guy, and opened my entire universe. Whoosh! Mind blown.”

I snickered at his animated expression. “You’re a quick study.”

“More like obsessed. I picked up a guitar and I could…hear the notes form, like some kind of magic thread weaving a tapestry. Like I was a conduit to something bigger than me. I couldn’t not play. All day, all night. It’s all I wanted. I picked up other instruments too. I’m great on the bass and the piano and—”

“And you’re so humble too.”

“I’m not bragging. In a way, I’m…confessing. It’s not normal. I know it. And in the beginning, it was a lot of noise I couldn’t control. It was hard to hold conversations with music buzzing in my brain.”

“So you did drugs?”

“Yep. Lots of ’em. Until I woke up in an alley in a puddle of vomit with no wallet, and no memory of how I got there.”

I crumbled the foil wrapper as I studied his handsome profile. I had a hard time imagining Dec struggling with anything. He was so naturally gifted and self-possessed. Knowing he fought demons like everyone else made him seem more relatable. For some reason, I hated knowing he’d been in pain. I pushed the errant thought away.

“How are you now?”

“Great,” he replied glibly. “If you think about it, my job is my medicine. It literally keeps me sane. Music makes it possible for me to communicate rationally and organize my thoughts in lyrics