Chapter 4 #2
His confusion shifted into something like realization. “Oh.”
I pressed on before I could lose my nerve. “For what I did. Two years ago. Leaving like that.”
For a heartbeat, he just stared at me. Then he laughed, genuinely surprised, like the idea hadn’t even occurred to him.
“Zack,” he said, shaking his head. “I wasn’t mad.”
I searched his face for signs of humor at my expense and didn’t find any.
“We were strangers,” he went on easily. “We’d just met. It was one night.”
Something tight pulled in my chest at that.
“I mean, it was a little cliché,” he added with a grin. “Waking up alone and all that. But it’s hard to hold someone to anything when there was never an expectation to begin with.”
“Right. Yeah.” I forced a chuckle. “Fair.”
He smiled back, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes, like there were words he chose not to say. After a brief pause, he looked back down at his guitar.
I decided not to push.
“Okay,” I said, feeling lighter than I had in hours. “Good. Then let’s just do this.”
Mark nodded, fingers settling back on the strings. “Sounds good to me.”
We turned back to our instruments, but then Mark cleared his throat, fingers hovering over the strings like he’d forgotten what to do with them.
“Actually,” he said, glancing up at me, “since we’re clearing the air and all… I’ve got to confess something.”
I paused. “What is it?”
“I haven’t really played since that night,” he said. “Barely touched my guitar in the last two years.”
I blinked. “What? Why?”
He smiled softly. “Things got complicated back home. Life happened. I didn’t really make time for it anymore.”
“Oh.”
The word slipped out before I could stop it. I wanted to ask more.
What kind of complicated, how bad, whether music had stopped meaning something to him.
But before I could open my mouth, his expression shifted, lighter now.
“So,” he said, sitting a little straighter, “you’ll have to bear with me. I might be a little slow. Might take some time to get back into it.”
I snorted. “I doubt it’s that bad.”
He raised an eyebrow and held up his fingers. “I don’t even have calluses anymore.”
I leaned forward without thinking and took his hand, turning it palm-up and inspecting it. His skin was warm, and softer than I expected.
“You’re right,” I said solemnly. “This is tragic.”
He laughed and tugged his hand back, and I noticed very clearly the faint flush creeping up his neck.
“It’ll come back,” he said quickly. “It’s just like riding a bike.”
I tilted my head. “Which is it, then? Should I be worried because you haven’t played in forever, or relieved because you’re confident you’ll pick it up fast?”
He laughed, easier this time, like the tension between us had loosened. “Why don’t we play something and find out?”
“Deal,” I said, reaching for my guitar again.
Mark paused. “Oh. I thought you’d be on drums.”
“Usually,” I said, settling the strap over my shoulder. “But for a duo, it works better if we’re both on guitar. Gives it more balance. Better chemistry on stage.”
That, and I didn’t want to hide behind my kit this time.
Mark studied me for a moment, a thoughtful look flickering across his face. Then he nodded. “Yeah. Sounds good.”
I grabbed a folder from the shelf by the amp and flipped it open, pulling out a few sheets. “Let’s start with this one. It’s upbeat, crowd-friendly, easy to latch onto.”
“Alright,” he said, fingers settling on the strings. “Let’s do it.”
I strummed the opening chord, and we fell into it together. His timing was solid, his touch lighter than I remembered.
It wasn’t bad, really, until he stumbled on the transition into the second chorus. His fingers hesitated just long enough to throw him off, and he winced, trying again.
“Hold on,” I said, moving closer. “That chord’s tricky if you don’t set your hand early.”
I leaned in behind him, brushing my shoulder against his back. “Here, like this.”
I placed my fingers over his on the neck of the guitar, guiding the chord into place.
A sharp inhale escaped me without thinking.
He smelled faintly of earth and warmth, like the forest after a fresh rain. My wolf stirred at the closeness, quietly pleased.
“Try it now,” I murmured, aware of how close my mouth was to his ear.
He strummed. The chord rang out clean.
“Oh,” he said softly. “Yeah. Okay, I feel it now.”
I stepped back before thinking better of it. “Why don’t you play your part on your own for a bit. It might be easier if I listen from here and figure out what we can work with.”
He nodded, keeping his fingers moving over the strings.
After a moment, he started humming along under his breath. The sound hit me straight in the chest.
I remembered his voice from that night. It was low and smooth, warm, like it belonged wrapped around you.
The way it had carried across the room at the wedding, easy and confident, like singing was as natural as breathing.
For a second, the studio faded.
Heat. Sheets. The warm weight of him close. The softness that had undone me when I wasn’t prepared for it.
I swallowed hard.
When the song ended, the silence felt louder than the music had.
I cleared my throat. “That… wasn’t too bad.”
Mark grimaced. “I don’t know. I keep catching the wrong string there.” He gestured vaguely. “Maybe we could switch to something a little easier. At least for the audition.”
He shrugged out of his jacket and draped it over the chair. “Sorry, it’s warm in here.”
“Yeah,” I said, a little too quickly. “Studio’s old. Heater’s basically got one setting: hot.”
“Ah.” He laughed and unbuttoned the top few buttons of his shirt, still talking as if nothing had changed. “Anyway, there’s this other song that might—”
I wasn’t listening. My eyes tracked the movement of his hands. His throat. The line of his jaw when he turned back to me.
“Zack?”
I blinked. “Yeah?”
“Everything ok?” he asked. “Or are you already regretting agreeing to do this with me?”
“No,” I said immediately. “No. It’s fine. We can work with it. That was just one song.”
I crossed the room and grabbed a few more sheets from the folder, holding them out to him. “I’ve got a couple others in mind. Different tempos. Different vibes.”
He scanned them. “How many are you thinking?”
“Depends,” I said. “If we’re opening the fest, maybe three or four. But…” I hesitated, then added, “I kind of want to aim for the main night. Headliner slot.”
He looked up at me. “That’s ambitious.”
“I know.” I shrugged. “Which means we should probably prep six or seven, just in case.”
He let out a low whistle. “That’s ambitious,” he repeated.
“Yeah,” I said, suddenly aware of how fast my heart was beating. “It is.”
There was a pause.
I didn’t know what came over me. Maybe it was the heat, or the music.
Or maybe it was the way this suddenly felt like something I didn’t want to rush through.
“Hey,” I said before I could overthink it. “Do you want to grab some food first?”
The words hung between us, heavier than they should’ve been.
I held his gaze, waiting for his answer.