Chapter 10 Zack
ZACK
The crash cymbal rang out sharp and bright, followed by the solid thud of my kick drum. Noah’s last chord echoed a beat later through Griffin’s empty bar as I lifted my sticks and let it fade.
Then a stray, ugly note from the bass cut through the silence.
Noah and I both turned at the same time.
Ethan winced. “Sorry.”
“It’s fine, no worries,” Noah said with a shrug. “I was a little off too.”
I leaned back in my stool and reached for my water bottle.
We’d been at it for a while. Long enough that my fingers ached and my patience had thinned.
Long enough that I’d started drinking more water than usual just to keep my mouth occupied, because if I let myself talk, I might comment on how sloppy the timing had gotten, or how I seemed to be the only one who’d actually come prepared this week.
Ethan shifted his bass strap and sighed. “Sorry,” he said again. “I haven’t really had time to practice lately. The clinic’s been busier than usual.”
I twisted the cap back onto my bottle and nodded.
“That’s kind of why we have these sessions, right?” I said, keeping my tone light. “To work the rust off.”
And I meant it. Mostly.
I understood. I really did. Ethan had more responsibilities now, and Noah had the bar, Jackson, and a dozen other things pulling at him.
But understanding didn’t erase the sting entirely. It still hurt, knowing music had slipped lower on their list, even if they had more important commitments.
I’d seen it coming for a while anyway.
I’d been in enough bands to recognize the signs: missed practices, shorter sets, more covers, fewer originals.
The moment Noah suggested more request nights instead of us writing and rehearsing our own stuff, something in my chest had gone tight.
I just hadn’t wanted to admit what it meant.
Maybe, somewhere deep down, I’d thought the Winter Festival would be our last big thing together. One good show. Something to look back on without any bitterness.
Instead, everything shifted. And surprisingly, that wasn’t a bad thing.
The bright side, the part I hadn’t expected, was Mark.
Meeting him again. Auditioning together and actually making it onto the main stage for New Year’s Eve.
If I’d gone in with Noah and Ethan the way things were now, we probably would’ve ended up with a different slot. But with Mark, this felt right.
More importantly, I finally got to use my dad’s guitar again. I hadn’t touched it in years, not since I quit the band I had with Theo and switched to the drums.
Every time I looked at my dad’s guitar, I felt the weight of that promise I hadn’t kept. Dad had wanted to see me play on a big stage just once. And he never got the chance.
For the longest time, I’d been ashamed, letting it gather dust while pretending I didn’t miss it.
But the other week, before my first practice session with Mark, I picked it up without thinking.
It felt right, like something I’d lost and was finally allowed to have back.
Still, I had no idea what came after New Year’s Eve. The performance was locked in, but after that, what then?
Could I imagine not being in a band, not chasing the next set, the next show?
I’d always been performing. Always part of something bigger.
Stopping felt wrong in a way I couldn’t name. Like a limb I’d had my whole life suddenly going numb.
And then, a thought suddenly slipped in: Theo.
Just for a moment, a brief, traitorous moment, I wondered what it would be like to hear him out.
Not to say yes, just to understand. To ask questions, get details, see if there was anything real there.
Of course, I didn’t trust him. I didn’t know if the offer was even real or just a lure back into something I’d already walked away from.
It made me uneasy, that pull of possibility. I knew better than to let myself get caught up in it.
I looked up to see Noah leaning over Ethan’s shoulder, both of them focused on Ethan’s phone.
Faint, tinny music drifted from it across the empty bar, familiar enough that my heart gave an odd little jolt.
I stood, curiosity pulling me closer. “What’re you watching?”
Noah glanced up, grinning. “Maurice’s band,” he said. “From the audition. They’re better than I expected.”
I blinked. “How did you even get that?”
Ethan hesitated, then lifted the phone slightly, almost apologetic. “Uh, on the audition day, I passed by the park on my way to work. I was going to wish you luck before you went on, but you guys were already playing.”
“I didn’t want to interrupt,” he continued. “But I figured you might want to see it later. So I took a video. I hope that’s okay.”
For a moment, I just stared. The fact that he’d shown up hit me harder than I expected.
“That’s… yeah,” I said finally. “That’s more than okay.”
The sight of the video pulled me back, memories surfacing. We used to do this when we first started out, filming our practices and shows on shitty phones.
Then we’d huddle around the screens, critique ourselves, laugh at every mistake, and still marvel at how much better we were getting.
I gestured at the phone. “Can I?”
Ethan handed it over.
I’d always felt a little uncomfortable watching myself perform, but this time, what made me wince wasn’t my playing. It was how my eyes kept slipping to Mark, no matter how hard I tried not to look.
And then I noticed something else: Mark looked back just as often.
The realization sent a slow warmth spreading through my chest. I swallowed, missing him suddenly, with an intensity that caught me off guard. I shook my head, trying to blink it away.
Noah snorted beside me. “Wow. Is that what you two are planning to wear?” he asked. “Black puffy jackets? Bold choice.”
I elbowed him without looking. “It was just an audition,” I said. “And it was freezing that day.”
Ethan smiled. “You sound good together.”
Noah nodded, more serious now. “Yeah. You really do.”
“Thanks,” I said, and I meant more than just the compliment. More than just for today.
The next day in the studio, Mark and I stood shoulder to shoulder in front of my laptop, Ethan’s video paused mid-frame.
“Okay,” Mark said, scrubbing back a few seconds. “Right here. When we come out of the chorus, do you want to drop the volume a bit before the bridge? Give it some space?”
I nodded. “Yeah. Pull it back, then build again.”
He smiled, quick and easy. “Thought so.”
We worked like that for a while, replaying sections, tweaking transitions, talking through the set like it was something we’d been doing together for years instead of weeks.
“This part,” Mark said, pointing at the screen. “Your guitar tone here? It’s warmer than the rest. I like it.”
I nodded, but my mind drifted briefly back to the thought I’d wrestled with at Griffin’s: Theo.
Just for a second, the idea flickered, then I shook it away. No. I couldn’t.
I tightened my fingers around the guitar neck, letting the weight of that decision ground me. I wouldn’t let myself go there again.
Touring with him, reopening something that had already hurt me, leaving Pecan Pines, leaving this.
Leaving him.
I glanced at Mark, bent over the laptop, completely focused. There was something about the way he fit here so naturally, the way it felt right.
It made my chest ache and reminded me why leaving didn’t even feel like an option.
My thumb brushed over a familiar nick in the guitar’s neck.
I’m sorry, I thought. I might not give you everything I promised.
Dad had wanted to see me make it big so badly. But maybe the New Year’s Eve performance, the crowd, the sound of his guitar ringing out under the winter lights, was enough.
Mark straightened suddenly and bumped his shoulder gently against mine. “You’re thinking too hard again.”
I blinked. “Am I?”
“Yeah.” His mouth curved into a knowing smile. “Which means it’s time for a distraction. And I have just the thing.”
I raised a brow. “That’s not ominous at all.”
He laughed and nodded toward the corner of the room. “I brought some things we could try out for the festival.”
I frowned. “Were we supposed to talk about our outfits today?”
“Not exactly,” he said, eyes glinting. “But you did say you wanted to see me in it.”
I opened my mouth. Closed it again. “I did?”
Mark just grinned and disappeared into the small side room, leaving me staring after him. A moment later, he stepped back out.
He was wearing a silver jacket over his white shirt, the fabric catching the light in a way that made him look almost unreal.
It wasn’t flashy, not exactly. It was bright. Painfully bright.
The jacket caught the studio lights and threw them back at me.
“Okay, take it off,” I said, laughing, lifting a hand to shield my eyes. “Before you blind us both.”
Mark barked out a laugh. “Oh, come on.”
“I’m serious,” I said, still grinning. “Is it even safe to stare at that for too long?”
I dropped my hand just long enough to peek at him again and immediately winced.
“You know,” I went on thoughtfully, “maybe that’s why most wedding receptions use subdued lighting. As a safety precaution. Can’t have guests losing their eyesight before they cut the cake.”
“Hey,” Mark protested.
“Or,” I continued, “it could save couples money. No need for those spinny mirror-ball things. They could just put you in the middle of the room and call it a day. Instant lighting.” I snorted at myself, shoulders shaking.
Mark huffed, hand pressed dramatically to his chest. “Wow. I can’t believe you’d mock me like this.”
I dropped my arms and smiled at him. “You’ll recover.”
He rolled his eyes, but the corner of his mouth twitched. “You feeling better now?” he asked.
“Yeah,” I said, laughter fading. “I am. I think I just needed to get out of my own head.”
“Good.”
He leaned in and pressed a quick, warm kiss to my temple, like it was the most natural thing in the world.
I froze for half a second after he pulled back, then realized my fingers had lifted on their own, rubbing absentmindedly at the spot.
“Trust me,” Mark added, voice low and sure. “It’ll look good at night.”
I hummed. “Further proof that darker lighting is essential.”
He laughed. “For the record, I drove past the festival grounds earlier. They’re going heavy on the silver and gold. This jacket might actually fit right in.”
I raised a brow. “Is that all you brought, or are there other options?”
“Well,” he said slowly, then sighed, “fine. I’ll show you.”
His eyes narrowed slightly. “But I’m not putting it on. I’m just showing it to you.”
I crossed my arms, amused. “How bad could it be?”
He grabbed the second garment bag and slowly tugged the zipper down. Halfway through, he paused and shot me a look.
“Don’t laugh,” he said. “I wore this to a themed wedding.”
I leaned back against the table, grinning now. “Mark. Just get on with it.”
He groaned, but finished unzipping the bag.
At first, all I could register was gold. Or maybe white, but heavily embroidered with gold sequins and beads, flecked with hints of green and blue that caught the light when he removed it from the bag.
I stared at it for a second. Then another. “Is that,” I asked carefully, “a tablecloth?”
Mark dragged a hand down his face and muttered something under his breath.
“What was that?” I asked.
He sighed. “It’s not a tablecloth. It’s—” He hesitated, then tried again. “It’s like a wrap. A long skirt. You wear it around your waist, and you can drape part of it over your shoulder.”
I frowned and reached for it, taking the fabric from his hands. It was heavier than I expected, cool and smooth under my fingers.
I unfolded it and held it up against him, trying to picture what he was describing.
“I’m not seeing it,” I admitted. “Do you have a picture or something?”
Mark groaned softly. “Yeah. Yeah, I do.”
He pulled out his phone and started scrolling, his thumb moving slower the longer he went.
How long had it been since he’d last worn whatever this was?
Finally, he handed me the phone. “Just—remember. Themed wedding.”
I grabbed it a little too quickly. Whether it was out of impatience or excitement, I wasn’t sure.
I looked down and froze.
It was exactly as he’d said. It was a long, skirt-like wrap, worn high at the waist, with matching pieces draped over the shoulders.
The whole band in the picture was dressed the same, standing in front of a venue awash in white and gold. I couldn’t quite pinpoint the theme, but one thing was clear.
Gold. So much gold.
What struck me harder, though, was Mark himself.
He looked younger there. Leaner. Still unmistakably him, but different.
His shoulders were broader now, his arms thicker, chest fuller beneath his shirt.
I tried not to imagine how that gold fabric would look on him now. Against his tan skin. The way it would move if he walked toward me, toward the bed. The way he’d untie it, let it fall away—
I coughed loudly and shoved the phone back at him.
“Nope,” I said quickly. “Absolutely not. We are not wearing that. It’s ridiculous.”
Mark burst out laughing. “Relax. I wasn’t seriously considering it.”
“And it’s freezing,” I added. “You’d die.”
“I brought it for laughs,” he said, still smiling.
I laughed too, the last of the tension draining out of me. The fact that he’d gone through the trouble of bringing options, even absurd ones, hit me then.
My gaze drifted back to the silver jacket.
“That one, though,” I said slowly, “I could probably find something similar. Maybe in a thrift store or something.”
Mark tilted his head. “Actually, I might be able to get someone from my old band to send one over.”
I blinked. “Really?”
“Yeah,” he said. “I’ll ask around.”
“If you can do that,” I said, nodding, “then I think we’re set.”
“Then I’ll start asking,” he said easily.
I glanced once more at the gold fabric, cleared my throat, and deliberately shoved any lingering thoughts back where they belonged.
“Okay,” I said. “We’ve wasted enough time.”
I reached for my guitar, fingers settling naturally along the neck. “Let’s practice.”
Mark smiled, bright and steady, and picked up his own.