Chapter 2 #2
I stood from the drum seat and started breaking down my kit, forcing a smile into place.
“Don’t worry about it,” I said. “Really.”
They watched me for a second.
“But you wouldn’t mind if I still go through with the audition,” I added. “Right?”
Noah reached out. “Zack—”
I waved him off and focused on loosening a stand. “It’s fine.”
I caught them exchanging looks in the corner of my eye, mouths moving like they were silently arguing over what to say next. I didn’t look up.
I could just back out. Tell Cathy or Cooper we’d changed our minds. No one would think twice about it.
But the stubborn part of me refused to let go.
I’d figure something out. Maybe I could rope Maurice into a collaboration. Or do something solo.
I hadn’t seriously played guitar in years, but my fingers still remembered the chord shapes. Probably.
When I finally finished packing, I looked up.
Both of them were still watching me, concern clear on their faces. Neither said a word.
After a beat, Noah cleared his throat. “So… next week for practice?”
“Yeah,” I said quickly. “Next week.”
They didn’t ask if I was okay. Didn’t push. And I was grateful for that.
Ethan clapped a hand on my shoulder. “I’ll message you,” he said, still looking worried. “Make sure you reply. Don’t ghost me, alright?”
I cracked a small smile. “I won’t.”
They headed out together, and I waited until the backdoor swung shut behind them before carrying my drums off to the side of the stage. Only then did I head for the bar.
I slid onto a barstool and ordered a beer. Griffin set it down in front of me a moment later, and I took a long pull without thinking, draining nearly half the bottle in one go.
“Rough night?”
“If you can magically make another two pairs of hands appear,” I said, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, “or figure out how to clone me in the next few weeks so I can be my own band, that’d be great.”
Griffin snorted. “I’ll see what I can do.”
I was about to take another drink when someone sat down beside me.
“Not sure that’d be such a good idea.”
The voice was warm. Amused.
I stilled.
There was a scent, subtle but unmistakable once I noticed it. Clean. Familiar. Like mountain air after a rain, with something earthy and grounding underneath.
My wolf stirred instantly, pacing in my chest, alert and restless in a way I hadn’t felt in a long time.
There.
My fingers tightened around the glass as my wolf surged forward. It wasn’t aggression or caution. It was pure, certain recognition.
I turned my head slowly.
He was watching me, mouth tipped into a half-smile. Strong jaw. Short, dark brown hair, neatly cropped. His eyes caught the light as he tilted his head, a deep, warm green.
My wolf practically bounced. It’s him!
I stared a little too long.
“Do you remember me?” he asked.
The man’s smile widened, and my wolf surged again, tail practically wagging. I dragged in a breath, trying to calm the sudden rush of energy humming through my veins.
I knew that face. I did.
No. Not green, my mind supplied absently. Hazel. You just forgot.
I searched my memory, images blurring: hotel lighting, laughter, warmth, hands, a night that had ended far differently than I’d expected.
Before I could say anything, Griffin leaned forward, towel over his shoulder. “What’ll you have, Mark?”
Mark winced. Just slightly. But enough.
His gaze flicked to me, something wary slipping into his expression.
I raised a brow. “Mark?”
The name hit like a delayed echo.
Griffin grinned, oblivious. “Devon’s brother. Didn’t you hear? His whole family moved here recently.”
I blinked. Oh.
Oh.
I hadn’t connected it. Somehow hadn’t put the pieces together. Of all the ways to run into him again, I hadn’t expected this.
Another bar. Another night. Both of us alone.
“Mark,” I said again, quieter this time.
And suddenly, the noise of the bar faded into the background. My wolf pressed closer, satisfied and purring, like it had been waiting patiently all this time for this.
Mark slid onto the empty stool beside me once Griffin moved off.
“So,” he said lightly, “why exactly are you trying to clone yourself?”
I huffed a quiet laugh and took another sip of my beer. “Long story.”
“I’ve got time.”
Something in the easy way he said it made my shoulders loosen before I could stop myself.
“My, uh, band might not be able to do the Winter Festival,” I admitted. “I already signed us up for the audition, assuming they’d be free. Turns out they won’t be.”
Mark hummed, listening.
“I feel kind of stupid for assuming,” I went on. “Like, of course people have other plans. It’s the holidays. But I didn’t even think to ask first.”
I stared at the condensation sliding down the side of my bottle.
“I don’t want to back out,” I said quietly. Part of it was pride, but I didn’t voice that. “I just… really want to play that night.”
The words sat between us.
I frowned faintly at myself, realizing I’d basically just unloaded everything on someone I barely knew. I wasn’t usually like this.
I didn’t even talk to Noah and Ethan like this, not really.
And yet, every time I met Mark, it felt like I was already halfway there. It was like something about him made it easier to say the things I usually swallowed down.
The first time we’d met, I’d been nursing a breakup. Complaining into my drink. Now here I was again, two years later in a different bar, in the same mood.
I picked at the edge of the label on my bottle.
“Anyway,” I said, forcing a lighter tone, “I’ll figure something out. I have to.”
I could even hear myself thinking through options I’d laughed off earlier. Calling Maurice. Asking for a collaboration. Going solo. That thought alone made my stomach flip.
I shook my head and looked up. “Sorry. Forget I said anything.”
Mark hadn’t said anything yet. He was just watching me with a thoughtful expression.
I almost asked him something then, what he thought I should do, but stopped myself.
Instead, I tried to change the subject. “You said earlier that cloning myself would be a bad idea.”
A corner of his mouth curved. “Yeah.”
“Why?”
“Well,” he said, meeting my eyes, “one of you seems like more than enough.”
I snorted. “You don’t even know me.”
His gaze held mine, steady and warm. “I know enough.”
Something in my chest eased, just a little. My wolf settled, content, like it agreed.
And for the first time that night, I didn’t feel quite so alone.