On The Rocks (Fool's Gambit Book 1) by Marja Graham

Author:Marja Graham [Graham, Marja]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: anonymous
Published: 2024-04-16T18:30:00+00:00

I don’t see Drew immediately when I come in or after I go to my room and change out of what I wore to skate in. But a door hangs open in the far corner. I’ve never tried and looked through the rest of the place. I just assumed the other rooms were for guests or storage.

But I know that’s where he must be. His keys are on the hook, and his favorite sneakers are set by the door.

I set my bag down before moving to investigate. When I push through, it reveals a room full of instruments, soundproofing foam lining the walls, and Drew hunched over a drum kit, arms hovering like he’s about to play. His form trembles from the exertion of being stuck in the position. How long has he been like this?

He looks up with a look full of strain. When I meet his eyes, it feels like all the oxygen has been sucked from the room.

I choke out, “I’m sorry, am I interrupting?”

“No, I was just getting started. It’s fine.” His voice is thin and soft. I’m not sure who he’s trying to convince with his words.

“Can I listen?”

He takes a moment before responding. “You don’t have to. I thought you weren’t going to be back until later.” That would be true if I hadn’t asked Tessa to take over today. Something tells me that if I had told him about the change, I wouldn’t be witnessing this moment.

“Yeah, my meeting got canceled, so I got back early,” I dig myself into another lie as his gaze shifts to his hands, a moment of reflection passing over him. Despite my reservations, a persistent voice in my head prompts me to ask again. “So, can I listen while you practice?”

“Drums aren’t anything like guitar or piano. They’re not all that impressive by themselves.”

“Since when were you insecure about anything? I thought the only thing you were a big baby about was sharks,” I try for another tactic. “If you don’t want to play, then at least give me a lesson.”

“How do you know I’m any good?”

“I don’t. This could be some eccentric rich person’s hobby room. But I don’t know shit about music, so even if you aren’t any good, you could at least pretend for me.” I doubt that he’s new to this. It was in the way that he was poised above the drums, the look of someone gearing up to explode. It’s all too similar to players coiled up for the puck to drop at the start of a game.

“Will you let me leave the room if I don’t?”

“Probably not.” I shrug. He has that look on his face, the one that tells me he needs this. And for whatever reason, making a big deal of it feels like a bad idea.

He stands and adjusts the stool, presenting it to me with a flourish once he’s done.

I walk over and sit, feeling small and lost behind the instrument.

“Here.” He hands me a fresh set of drumsticks, and I grasp the pale wood.

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