Page 45 of Resonance
“Dan!” Owen hollered as he flung my office door open, startling me so soundly my hand flinched on the computer mouse and the tracking arrow went skittering across the screen. His cheeks were pink, eyes wide, and I started to rise instinctively, thinking there’d been some kind of disaster out on the floor.
“You will not fucking believe who’s out front.” He put his hands up as if he thought I might leap up and try to perform the Heimlich maneuver on him, and then took a long, deep breath. I dropped back into the chair and exhaled a matched sigh. Owen was a gift to celebs everywhere. When he fanned, he did it with absolute dedication. Which meant I was usually treated to a show at least every few weeks, what with the influx of actors and musicians who’d been planting roots at an increasing clip over the past decade. We got some big names wandering into the shop every now and again, sometimes with photographers in tow. There’d been a few documentary filmmakers who’d set their interviews here or filmed it for B-roll footage. Owen flipped his shit in every single instance. I’d found it jarring at first. Now as I folded my arms over the table, I had to bite back a grin.
Owen exhaled slowly and flapped his hand near his cheek. “Fuck, I can’t tell if I’m having a panic attack or about to bust a nut.”
“You bust a nut right here, you get to walk around the rest of the day with it drying in your pants,” I told him, trying to ignore the twinge of heat that slithered through me. “Meanwhile, I’m about to bust your skull if you don’t get on with it.”
“Ryder. Ryder fucking Preston. And I know you two don’t… well, whatever, and god it’s probably going to be awkward as hell, but Jesus, he’s still Ryder fucking Preston. In Grim’s. Like walking through the door in these jeans that… why is it that jeans can be fucking art on certain people? Like on you. Don’t get me started on that, though, because boss-employee line that we’re both pretending we didn’t already cross and all.” He gestured between us. “And he smiled at me, all casual like and friendly. All, no big deal…”
Owen buzzed on like a snapped wire flopping around in a storm. I think I’d known. When I consulted the tightness that had settled across my shoulders, yeah, I’d suspected. My gut put the logical factors together—the show in town, the email, rumors that Ryder had bought a place somewhere downtown—before my conscious mind was ready to acknowledge them. And though it was unexpected, it also felt somehow inevitable. Pops and jolts of emotion rushed through me like fireworks, raising my blood pressure as I stood, then sat, then stood up once more, shaking my head at myself for my own disorder.
Owen tilted his head curiously at me, then sobered as I sat down. Again. I was my own damn version of musical chairs.
“Wow. That was really insensitive of me. Fuck.” He put his hands to his cheeks and dragged them down.
I waved him off. “It’s fine.” He was just being his excitable self, and in a way it was a relief. I didn’t want him to walk on eggshells around me.
Owen ducked his head, then peered at me between the fan of blond that fell around his temples. “His scruffy-jaw game is way weaker than yours, and he looks a little tired. Especially around the eyes. Kinda like fish eyes you see at the grocery store?” He let his jaw go slack and stared dully at me to enhance his description, then grinned when I started to smile. “Okay, that was maybe too far. He doesn’t look like that. The jeans thing is a dead heat, though. Sorry, there’s nothing I can do about that. It’s probably just the pair he’s wearing, honestly. I’ll bet in a pair of off-brands, his butt would look all saggy.”
“Your honesty is refreshing,” I said sardonically, then chuckled in spite of myself. “Send him in. Try not to hyperventilate. Take a couple of deep breaths. Offer him a water.” I narrowed my eyes at him. “Get one for yourself. And stop looking at his ass,” I tacked on.
Owen gave me an eager nod, then took another deep breath that lifted his entire rib cage before he let it out, locking eyes with me as if he wanted to demonstrate he was paying attention. Just before he crossed over the threshold, he slanted a look back at me. “Final footnote: I’ve never seen your butt look saggy. Like, ever.”
And yeah, I might’ve returned the favor and checked out Owen’s ass as he continued on, just to see if there was any truth to his jeans theory. It was irrelevant, though; I’d gripped those cheeks hard enough in Arkansas to experience firsthand just how high and tight they were.
A minute later, Ryder sauntered in larger than life, like he was dragging his stellar career around in his aura.
“Ryder,” I said, as if it hadn’t been years since we’d had any kind of verbal communication. I stood and considered the hand he extended over the top of my desk with a raised brow and a sharp gaze before gripping it. Brief, perfunctory.
“D,” he replied. I didn’t like the familiarity. The only people who called me D these days usually wanted something out of me I no longer had any desire to give. My brother, for instance.
“I figure you know what I’m here for. No need to beat around the bush, huh?” Ryder parked his ass on my desk as I crossed the office to shut the door and leaned up against it, folding my arms over my chest. Defensive move—everyone knew that bit about body language. But I was feeling a little defensive at the moment. He looked good. Better than I wanted him to. Concert footage was from a distance, magazine articles were airbrushed, and I thought for sure I’d find some goddamn fault, searched his face like there’d be some stain, some birthmark or memento of our history. But all I saw was the same old Ryder. It unnerved the shit out of me.
And I didn’t like the fact that he’d taken over my desk.
I pushed off the door and walked back to the chair behind the desk, forcing him to swivel awkwardly to maintain eye contact. After a moment, he gave up and slid into one of the chairs in front of it.Better. That was an old dance between us I’d always won in the past. Often in more satisfying ways. “You never minded beating around the bushes, that I could recall.”
“Nah, I didn’t. Enjoyed myself back then,” he said blithely. “A lot of them wax nowadays.” He brushed the tops of his thighs and met my gaze. “Recall you enjoying yourself some, too. You want to keep riding down memory lane? I’ve got some other memories we could harp on.” A shadow passed over his expression, and I blinked away from the recognition it stirred in me.
His presence was like the corner of nail dragged along an old scar, the nerve endings mostly numb, mostly dead to all but the most acute contact. This qualified as acute. “I already told your manager I’m not interested in a reunion tour.”
“I heard. Saw the email, too.”
“And?”
“And I’ve gotten worse at taking a hint. More stubborn. Comes with age, I guess. We become more ourselves. Isn’t that what they say?” Ryder thumbed his jaw as he glanced down at my desk. I’d left a folder open there and reached reflexively to snap it shut as he continued. “I think this would be just as good foryouas it would be for me. Maybe better. Maybe you need the income boost more than I do.” The rise of his brows was meant to drive the point home.
His manager could have sniffed it out. Or he could’ve. It wasn’t as if it was a secret the Knoxville store had closed, but it would’ve required some digging to know exactly how much water I was under. Guess he’d been paying more attention to me than I’d figured. “Funny you mention stubbornness. I’ve found the same to be true for me. I’ve gotten better at taking a hint, though. I can probably thank you for that.” A brief, mollifying sting flashed through his eyes before they steeled, still undeniably Ryder. Spitfire and lightning. “I’m starting to think maybe you didn’t know me all that well before, either, because a tactic like this? It’s the wrong move. My answer is no.”
“Too much pride.” Ryder edged off the seat to stand full height, forcing my gaze upward and resuming the unspoken chessboard dance. The long line of his throat stretched as he arched his back lazily, strong jaw peppered always with stubble. An old complaint of his I remembered, that he could never truly get a clean shave, that the hair sprouted back as soon as the razor left the skin. Women had loved it. I had, too. Inexplicably, I thought of Owen, how my rough fingertips had glided over his smooth jaw. How much that had turned me on.
When Ryder spoke again it was low, like he meant to concentrate the intensity of his words in that one tone he knew would hit me square in the chest. “See, I still struggle with that, too, because I want to sit here and spit flames back at you. That’s my gut instinct. Rub your face around in it a little, in how well I did after all that went down. What I made for myself. But that’s low-road shit, Dan. You taught me everything.Everything.” He paused a beat, seeming to reconsider while dangerous nostalgia flushed through my gut, softening the thoughts in my mind that had grown teeth. “Maybe not everything, but a lot. I’ll always be grateful for that. And this gig? I really want it. I really need you to do it with me. A month on the road tops, as many shows as we can get. Label’s on board to remaster and release a greatest hits album right before the tour. We say go and the wheels get set in motion.” He rested his hand on top of the desk and leveled his gaze on me. “I’m between tours, in need of a publicity boost, and your shops are in deep shit. Timing is ideal.”
There was the direct hit I’d been waiting for. I felt the heat in my gaze trying to come out the top of my head.Pride. It’d always been my weakness.
Ryder raked a hand through the honeycomb-brown strands tousled on top of his head. “Flight leaves tomorrow afternoon, but I can fly back anytime. And I would. I’ve got a place downtown now. Bought it after Iona and I split. We can practice any place you choose. Think about it. It could be good.”
It could be good. Same words he’d said to me all those years ago when I’d proposed our partnership. “So this is just some sort of ego thing? Proof you’re still hot shit with all the young bucks coming up now who don’t have to worry about blowing a kneecap or getting enough fiber in their diet, yet?”