Chapter 10 Annalise
Annalise
“Are you out of your mind?” Tag paces around the coffee table in the finished basement, one hand curled around his hip, the other palming his nape. “Alex is going to lose his shit.”
“Why?” I prop my feet up on the hand-me-down ottoman and cross them at the ankles. “He knows I’m here. Midnight is my thing.”
“With me. It’s our thing.”
“Who cares if we bring someone else into the fold?”
My brother stops short, pivots to face me. “Christ, Annalise. This is next-level absurdity. Are you hearing yourself?”
My defenses activate. “It’s not a big deal. We’re just going to work on music together. He could be talented.”
“Yeah, he’s wildly skilled at committing felonies and terrorizing unsuspecting drunk girls.”
“He didn’t intend to terrorize me. We’ve been over this.”
“Intention is irrelevant. The fallout is what matters.”
I sigh with exasperation, sinking deeper into the muted beige couch cushions. “Something tells me he’s been through a lot. I just want to help.”
“Not everyone has a tragic backstory. Some people just have every intention of fucking up their life left and right, digging themselves deeper, until some poor sucker swoops in to temporarily save the day. It never lasts.” He pauses for effect. “Spoiler alert: you’re the sucker.”
“Fascinating how you seem to know his entire biography.” I reach for the bag of puffy Cheetos and make myself more comfortable. “Besides, I thought intention was irrelevant.”
This earns me a glare. “I’m just saying, it’s not your responsibility to fix everything. Like that sad little bird you tried to smuggle.”
He gestures to the corner of the room where a thin-wire cage sits perched on a side table, now empty. Sadly, I was forced to relinquish Haiku over to the vet. Apparently, keeping a wild bird without a license violates about seven wildlife regulations.
I miss her.
Broken bird buckles
Moonlight catches trembling wings
Stars mourn in silence
“She looked at me like I was her last hope,” I say. “What was I supposed to do?”
“Maybe not adopt every broken thing you come across?”
I pop a cheesy puff into my mouth. “I guess it worked out. Alex doesn’t like birds. Says their twitchy heads are creepy.”
“That’s called projection.” He flicks me a look. “Also, Mom and Dad said they texted you. They want to come out and visit next month.”
My heart twists. “Oh. Yeah. I’ve been meaning to text them back,” I murmur. “Alex says it’ll be too hectic at the restaurant. Springtime is our busiest season.”
“Seriously? Jesus, he—”
The doorbell chimes from above.
My stomach does a gymnast vault into my ribcage.
Tag stares at me, annoyance glittering in his dark-blue eyes like a dusky, pissed-off sky. He rubs his forehead with two fingers. “Are you going to get that?”
I leap from the couch, tucking my floral-print shirt blouse into the waistline of my lavender capris. “On it.”
“Let it be known, this is by far the most ridiculous idea you’ve ever had, and I assure you, that list is twenty-one years long. Kudos on the accomplishment.”
Ignoring him, I bound up the carpeted steps and wind toward the front door. The silhouette of a guitar case greets me through the vertical glass panels, zapping a tickle in my chest. My throat closes, a bundle of nerves catching in my windpipe.
Maybe Tag is right—I’m being ridiculous.
But I’ve always trusted my instincts, and right now they’re telling me that Chase is supposed to be here. We were meant to meet that night.
When I open the door, I’m met with two honey-colored eyes, a blank stare, and tangible waves of apprehension rolling off the brick wall of a man standing on my brother’s front stoop.
So, I do what I always do in awkward situations: I overcompensate.
“So glad you made it!” My voice bleeds exclamation points, my arms extending at my sides with gusto. “I mean, yay. I wasn’t expecting you to show.”
The blank stare continues for a few beats before he tears his eyes away, glancing down at the guitar case clutched in a tight grip. “Uh, yeah. Yay.”
“Sorry this is super unconventional. At the very least, it’ll make a good story one day. Maybe even a song.” I realize I’m babbling while failing to invite him into the house. “Oh, sorry. Come in. We usually hang out in the basement, so we can convene down there.”
I don’t know why I said convene. I sound like I’m about to lead a board meeting. Maybe I’ll offer him a PowerPoint presentation on why this whole thing isn’t the worst idea ever.
“Thanks.” Chase shuffles inside, scuffing his boots on the welcome mat. Tugging off his beanie until a mop of dark-caramel hair emerges, he runs his fingers through the mess and glances around. “Your boyfriend is cool with this?”
My heart teeters. “What?”
“The guy from the restaurant. He’s okay with you spending time with me? Alone?”
“Um…sure. Why wouldn’t he be okay with it?”
His eyebrows crawl up to his hairline. “Just a hunch.”
Heat skates its way down my neck, dappling my collarbone.
Despite our issues, Alex and I have always been loyal to each other. There’s nothing sneaky or unsavory going on. But I can see it in Chase’s eyes—he’s not convinced.
My mind races back to when Alex made a theatrical show of possession after he overheard Kenna summoning me out to the dining area for a customer. For a man.
He wasn’t subtle about it.
And I guess that’s why I never told him about this get-together, knowing he’d jump to conclusions, fly off the handle, and assume the worst. It wasn’t worth the ensuing damage control when I know this is nothing more than an outlet for me.
A tentative friendship, at most.
“It’s fine.” Lies. “Alex isn’t like that.” More lies. “He’s always encouraging me to make new friends and pursue my passions.” A tangled web of all the lies.
I chomp down on my tongue, forcing it to stop spewing fabrications before they weave themselves into a rope that promptly strangles me.
Chase squints at me. “Right.”
Footsteps thunk up the staircase, amplifying my jitters.
Tag appears behind us.
He wedges his shoulder against the wall and just stands there. Stares. A statue made of scorn.
Chase peers across the room before wheeling his gaze to me. “Your brother is here.”
“Oh. Yep. This is actually his house.”
I must have forgotten to mention that.
His grip tightens on the guitar case, like he’s about to double back through the front door and evaporate into the night.
A disgruntled sigh leaves my brother as he saunters into the kitchen, and I hear the telltale sound of a beer can popping open.
“Don’t worry about him,” I say, waving Chase toward the basement opening before Tag returns with a pointy weapon. “He’ll get over it.”
“Something tells me the permanent bloodstains in his car will be an eternal reminder.”
Tag reappears with two more beers clasped inside his inhumanly large hand, catching us before we disappear down the stairs. “I’ll supervise.” He hands me the grapefruit-flavored beer.
“You say it like you’re my babysitter.”
“Think of me more like a correctional officer here to make sure you don’t commit any more crimes against sound judgment.”
“That is not comforting, or funny, or even remotely necessary.”
“My house. My rules.” Tag offers Chase the remaining beer. “Thirsty?”
Chase glances between us, taking in the dynamic, this strange new predicament I’ve yanked him into. “I’m good. Thanks.”
I tromp down the staircase as Chase white-knuckles the guitar case and follows suit. Tag trails behind, his footsteps heavy. A warden making his rounds.
Plopping down on the couch, I abandon the fruity beer and reach for my spiral-bound notebook filled with a torrent of lyrics, notes, and poems. A pen is plunked between my teeth as I flip through pages, landing on one of the remaining blank ones.
“How long have you been playing?” Chase asks my brother, lingering in the center of the room, still prepared to bolt. After several uncertain seconds tick by, he finally sets his guitar beside the coffee table.
Tag collapses in the loveseat, draping an arm over the back. “Forever. Since I knew what music was.”
“I came out of the womb to the sound of a toddler xylophone,” I provide.
“You’re older, then?” He glances at Tag.
“Twenty-three.”
A moment of silence hums between us. I force a smile, bending over to unlatch Chase’s faded guitar case. Inside rests a stunning piece of art, its body painted in a striking black burst with hints of midnight blue gleaming from the gradient. It looks like a dazzling night sky.
I pluck the pen from my mouth, jaw dropping. “Holy crap. Did you build this?”
“My first prototype.” Chase takes a tentative seat beside me, spreading his legs, right knee bouncing up and down. “Built it from a kit I bought off the internet.”
“Is this the one you play on?”
“Yeah. I had a few others, once upon a time. A PRS. I also had a Parker I scored for a good price. Unfortunately, I had to sell them, so this is the only usable one at the moment.”
Tag studies the electric guitar, rubbing his fingers and thumb over his lightly stubbled jaw. He won’t admit it, but he’s impressed.
“And you’re building more?” My eyes are wide and starstruck, transfixed on the instrument as I skim my fingers over the surface.
Chase removes the guitar from the case, angling it just right so the ceiling light catches on the iridescent finish, making it come alive.
“That’s the plan. I have a few more in the works, but they’re not ready yet.
It’s a process.” He sends me a glance. “But I needed something to shake me up. Get my ass in gear.”
“Nothing like a casual carjacking and kidnapping to help rouse the muse.”
If that was my brother’s idea of a joke, it falls flatter than a wet noodle hitting the floor.
“He’s kidding,” I interject, feigning a laugh while shooting Tag an icy glare.