Page 85 of Resonance
I let my fingers run up and down the strings. Sometimes the words came first, sometimes the melody and sometimes they both came twined around each other, and those were the best times.
That wasn’t today, though, and after another fruitless couple of hours I got up, put my guitar in its case, and set it by the back door, running back to retrieve the deposit envelope I’d almost forgotten. In passing, I jiggled the handle to the Hoard for good measure and found, to my surprise, it was unlocked. I searched my memory, trying to recall if we’d let anyone inside today, but the days had started running together lately.
Nudging the door open, I flicked the light switch to the glass cases. A warm yellow glow bathed the memorabilia within. I thought about what Evan had said to me in the studio and wandered deeper inside, running my fingers over the indexed albums in racks, pulling out a sleeve here and there.
I’d always assumed if I was going to write music, I’d be the one singing it, too. Like Bob Dylan and Neil Young. Joni Mitchell. Taylor Swift. It seemed weird now that I’d made that assumption. I hated scrutiny, especially by strangers, and I clearly wasn’t awesome on stage. My voice was pretty good, but nothing incredible like Les or Evan’s. I’d just always hoped the strength of my songs carried me the rest of the way.
I pulled out an Elvis album, eyeing the tracks. Shit, at least half of the bands and musicians who got accolades and awards for their hits hadn’t even written them themselves.
I’d watched a documentary on Max Martin once. Maybe that was more my speed; a behind-the-curtains writer. There was money there, too, though not the same kind of glory that came from being onstage. But that no longer mattered as much to me.
I pulled out the new Jessup album and sank down onto the floor, my back resting against a storage rack while I examined it. There’d been eight in the box individually shrink-wrapped. The sleeves were letterpressed cardboard, and each one appeared unique. I ran my fingers over the tiny indentations from the press and thought about how taken aback Jessup had been on the porch.
I reached into my pocket for my phone, thinking I’d send a picture of the Hoard to Dan. Just in case he was missing it. Or… I could just admit to myself I was reaching out because I hadn’t yet heard from him today. And either way, it didn’t matter because my phone wasn’t in my pocket. I frowned and stood, setting the record aside.
I must have left it on the counter or with my guitar.
I made sure the room looked just like it had when I walked in, then turned off the light and stopped short when I thought I heard the alarm beep. I cocked my head. Odd.
Glass shattered and my heart somersaulted in my chest, my ears straining toward the sound of footsteps. More than one set. Panic froze me in place. It was like one of those nightmares where I opened my mouth to scream and nothing came out.
I told myself to move, to dosomething, but my legs wouldn’t budge, and I wasn’t sure what it was I was supposed to do. All logical thought processes were paralyzed. Oh god, I was totally one of those people on the plane who sat there unmoving while a fire raged and finally consumed them.
A shadowy figure came around the corner from the back room and cursed when he saw me, breaking me from my daze.
I barely registered the ski mask and dark clothing as I darted back into the Hoard and slammed the door, twisting the lock behind me.
My heart tried to burst from my chest, each heaving breath carrying it farther up my throat as I stood there in the darkness with my arms wrapped around myself.
Shit.
Chapter 29
Iwoke with a start and fumbled blindly around the nook above my head for my phone just as the ringtone cut off. When I had it in hand and thumbed the screen to life, it showed 3:30 a.m. and three missed calls from Ru. The fourth came as I was trying to punch the notification to call him back. My gut knotted with dark instinct as I answered.
“There was a break-in at the shop.” The strained calm in Ru’s voice twisted the knot tighter, and I eased up onto an elbow, scrubbing sleep from my eyes. It’d happened one other time, about a decade back. The thieves were never caught, but they hadn’t gotten too much either—mostly vandalized the exterior and broke a few windows. I’d gotten the alarm system after that.
“Nashville or Gatlinburg?”
“Nashville.”
“Did they get—”
“Dan, Owen was inside, but he’s okay. Shaken up and he has a concussion, but the doc says he’ll be fine.”
I bolted upright, slamming my head into the top of the bunk as I tried to scrabble off it. “Jesus. Why didn’t you call me earlier? Where is he?”
“I had to deal with the police, and the paperwork at the hospital, which is where I am now. Quinn’s in the room with him, and they’ll be discharging him soon. He didn’t want to call any of his family, so I was gonna take him back to my place for now. He says he wants to go back to your place. He’s worried because Jez doesn’t have breakfast and Aiden’s gone. But I can send Quinn there, too, or I can go.”
“Yeah, send Quinn. Are you sure he’s all right?”
Ru’s pause made my heart simultaneously sink and pound from within the pit it’d fallen into. “That’s what he keeps insisting.”
“Let me talk to him. Does he have his phone?”
“Nope, it got taken. I’ll let you talk to him in a second. The fuckers wiped out the cash register, and they got some of the rare shit from the Hoard, too. Not a lot of stuff. I don’t think they were professionals or anything, probably just doped-up kids. But they made a fucking mess. I told the cops you were on tour, but they want you to call as soon as you can. Like right after we get off the phone.”
I nodded impatiently, as if he could see me. “Yeah, I got it. I’ll deal with it. Put Owen on the fucking phone. Please,” I added when I realized I was growling. Every muscle in my body was wound tight, and I’d started sweating.