took time to sink into my head. I should have felt excited about the message, Drez was so good at making my knees weak. But I just wanted to scream at him to explain his scar, his name, his past, everything.
I wanted the truth.
Craning my neck, I gazed at the swirling clouds. Their tranquility didn't fit my mood. There is someone who can tell me the truth. In my palm, my phone felt like a weapon. How does Sean know anything personal about Drez?
Looking at my fingers, I studied the hard calluses I'd formed over the years of playing. Drezden was better at guitar than he thought. Or better than he wanted to claim, anyway. The man I knew had only ever sung for his band. This whole time, as talented on guitar as he was, why had it never come up?
I don't know anything about his life before Four and a Half Headstones.
Lifting my phone, I started to dial.
If Drez wouldn't tell me himself...
There was only one way for me to find out.
****
I was still sitting on the pavement when Sean arrived.
Leaning over, he blocked out most of the late-day sun. “Got your call,” he said softly.
“Yeah.” I rested my chin on my knees.
As if I might run, Sean settled across from me in slow motion. There was none of the strange righteousness in his eyes that I'd seen on that rainy morning. Now he just looked sad, maybe even empathetic. “How you doing?”
I pulled my ponytail across my cheek, holding it tight. “Pretty shitty.”
When we were younger, there were times when I would hide away from my parents, especially after a rough day at school. Sean would always find me and, without speaking, offer comfort with just his presence.
Reaching out, I grasped his hand and linked my fingers. “You said you could give me answers.”
His palm was oddly clammy. “Only if you really want them.”
My mouth opened, closed, then opened again. “Drezden refused to talk to me. I feel like I need to know, even if he won't be the one telling me.”
Sean guided me to stand, my muscles aching from sitting so long. “I figured that would happen. Come on, then.” He pulled his phone out, thumb crushing buttons rapidly.
“Where are we going?” I asked, following my brother across the parking lot.
Sean looked at me briefly, then closed his phone. “We're going where the answers are.”
“I thought you knew, that you'd just tell me?” This was getting strange.
“I think,” he said, opening the door of the equipment van for his band, “That it would be better if you heard everything from the source.”
Standing outside the familiar, beaten up vehicle, I sensed my intuition buzzing. Something about this didn't feel right. “Who's the source, Sean?”
Sighing, he climbed into the van, clipping his seat belt down and turning the ignition. The van beeped incessantly, demanding I get in and close the door. “Lola, trust me. Do you, or do you not, want answers?”
Lifting my chin, my gaze shifted from Sean's serious eyes, to the tour bus in the distance. The big, black behemoth reminded me of Drezden. It warned me that if I didn't go now, I was giving up a solid chance at the information I craved.
And if I wanted to stay with Drez... not just as a guitarist, but as so much more...
I needed to know the truth.
Without giving my anxiety any more credit, I slid into the van and shut the door.
****
The drive was brief.
Sean steered us from the highway and into a small plaza full of tiny shops. At his suggestion, we slid on sunglasses, and I pulled my sleeves down to hide my tattoo. I'd had enough drama with the public. I wasn't keen to repeat it.
I could tell this was a very run down section of Seattle. The overhangs sported faded paint and grime, most of them missing letters. There were massage parlors, tattoo shops, drug dens masquerading as pharmacies, and a lone coffee shop in the far plaza corner. Sean led the way towards it.
“Are you going to tell me who we're meeting here?” I whispered. The whole ride I'd run through the possibilities. Would it be Drez's parents, a relative of some kind? Maybe an old music teacher?
The cafe appeared empty, I was surprised the door even opened—I'd thought it must be closed. It was cluttered with tiny, circular tables that had a sticky sheen to them. The floor was covered in the same gunk.