Thousands of years ago, human beings should have spent every ounce of their precious time finding food or shelter or safety. Havingsex.
Not singing songs and creatinginstruments.
We did it anyway. Maybe we knew then what we seem to have forgotten since: life isn’t about money or winning or even surviving. It’s about finding meaning in the time wehave.
When I peek around the corner, Uncle Ryan is laughing from a chair at the table and Tyler’s playing on a stool at theisland.
He’s a magician. There’s no other word for the way that instrument sings under hishands.
I don’t believe in gods, but if they everexisted…
Their ashes stir each time that boy lifts aguitar.
I swallow my envy and enter the kitchen. “Morning.”
“It’s afternoon,” Ryan pointsout.
“Like you and Dad ever got up before noon on tour.” I head for the coffee maker without making eye contact and pick out a pod. Haley found this killer Columbian blend I could live on. “Dad call you thismorning?”
“Not yet. But far as I know, everything went fine. Now is when you bribe me,” he adds with a wink as I set my mug under the stainless nozzle and hitStart.
Uncle Ryan’s attention shifts to Tyler. “You play like a prodigy, kid, but that guitar is a piece of shit. Get Jax to give you a newone.”
Ryan’s phone erupts into a rendition of my dad’s band laughing their way through a cover of Johnny Cash, and I glance over myshoulder.
“Tell my dad no Jamieson belongings were harmed in the making of last night’s gathering,” I call as Ryan heads down the hallway toanswer.
The coffee finishes brewing, and as I go to retrieve it, I sneak a look atTyler.
His presence shouldn't suck the air out of the kitchen, but once Ryan’s gone, all I see is the guy who lives in the pool house. Gray sweatpants cling to his hips, and the white T-shirt outlines every plane of his torso, leaving his arms deliciouslybare.
I remember that chest bare last night, too close toignore.
His body’s beautiful, but it’s the way he uses it that’s impossible to forget. The control in everything hedoes.
Tyler uses that body like he’s had it before, like it’s his favorite suit of armor and they’ve been through countless battlestogether.
His hair isn’t falling across his forehead like it was when I left his bed hours ago, but standing up as if he woke the moment I walked out the door and has been running his hands through itsince.
Which isimpossible.
I clear my throat. “Why did I wake up in bed withyou?”
Tyler lifts his chin, assessing. “Why did I wake up in bedwithoutyou?”
The way he says it sends shivers up myspine.
“You passed out,” he goes on, setting the guitar against the wall before rising and crossing to the counter next to me. “I didn’t want you to wake up somewhere unfamiliaralone.”
I shift a few inches, giving him access to the coffee maker and cupboard overhead. “I would’ve figured itout.”
“But the seconds before that are theworst.”
I take a sip of my coffee, burning my tongue. “What do youmean?”
He reaches over me for a mug and to change the coffee pod. I don’t think he’s going to answer, but finally, hedoes.
“My dad used to padlock the door if he was drunk or in a mood. Never knew until I got home from the label or school or hanging out if it was one of those nights. The worst part wasn’t finding a place to crash. It was waking up and not knowing where I was.” He grimaces. “Especially somewherecold.”