Page 11 of Tracing Holland (The Hold Me NSB #2)

She rolls her eyes. “Oh, come on. I’m fine, but everyone knows very few can touch you on that thing. Please, Luke! When will I ever have a chance to watch Luke Craven play a 1943 Gibson J45 two feet away? Don’t make me beg, because I will, then hate you for it.”

I can’t stop the shy smile and shake my head. “Ok, ok. Fine. Geez.”

She actually does look relieved when we switch spots so I can sit this time.

I’m still hesitant, but starting to feel more comfortable now that I have a guitar in my hands.

As I search my head for what to play, I can suddenly think of only one song.

I haven’t played it in ages, but it was one of the first I’d mastered.

I’d learned it as a child, then embellished on it over the years, almost turning it into a different piece.

My father used to play it all the time, and to this day, I don’t know if he wrote it, or it was just a lesser-known favorite in his repertoire.

Either way, it always held a special place in my heart.

I start picking out the elaborate intro, almost classical in its styling, and let my fingers and instinct takeover.

Nothing else matters when I play, and I forget all about the awkwardness of the close quarters, even the beautiful woman staring at me in awe a few feet away.

It’s just the music and I, my father, memories of the few brief moments of happiness sprinkled throughout my painful life.

I wonder if my face looks like Holland’s had a few minutes ago.

I don’t dare to look at her to find out.

I sing a few verses of the song, adding to the turns like I always do, playing with each chord, each note, like it might be possible to discover a new one this time.

I never do, but I’ve combined enough existing ones in unique ways to at least create new experiences, new progressions that still give me chills when I find that perfect combination.

This is my home, these moments, and the only time I feel safe, like I’m actually ok.

The shyness returns as the song comes to an end, and I clear my throat with an awkward smile.

I realize I’d gotten wrapped up in the moment and wonder what she must think of me.

I rise from the bench without a word and return the guitar to its case so I don’t have to look at her and confront her reaction.

“That was beautiful, Luke,” she says quietly behind me. “What was it?”

I swallow and snap the latches on the case. “I don’t know exactly. Something my father used to play all the time. He called it the ‘Sorrow Song’ but I’m not sure why.”

“It’s amazing. You’re freaking amazing,” she adds, and I have no choice but to look at her now. I almost wish I’d risked rudeness at the expression in her eyes.

“Thanks. I’ve spent a lot of hours fooling around on a guitar.”

“That’s pretty obvious. You’re mind-blowing when you play. Like, seriously, remarkable. I guess the rumors aren’t exaggerated.”

I feel the heat start to rise in me and have to look away again. “Well, let’s hope some of the others are,” I joke, trying to deflect the attention and lighten the mood.

I’m pretty sure she knows what I’m doing, but lets me go with a grin. “I guess we’ll have to see.”

“Luke.”

“Callie.”

We exchange a smile at our signature greeting.

“Is this seat taken?” she asks, setting her plate across from me.

I smile. “Does it even matter?”

She grins back. “Nope.”

I shake my head and motion for her to sit.

“Where’s Case?” I ask, and snicker at her annoyed grunt.

“Who knows. He was in the back working on Penchant stuff when I left the bus, so I doubt we’ll see him until call-time. I just hope he at least takes a shower and eats something,” she mutters.

I laugh. “Bring something back for him. He can clean up in the sink on the bus.”

She gives me a look. “Not a chance. There’s no way I’m rewarding this behavior.”

“Ok, sorry! It was just a suggestion,” I smirk, holding up my hands in surrender.

I focus back on my lunch, relieved it’s just us and a few crewmembers at the moment.

I miss my conversations with Callie. She has this way of looking inside you when she’s there, turning the conversation into more than just words.

Those first few days at Jemma’s...she rewired my life with her piercing engagement.

I love spending time with her, being in her calming presence, and we haven’t had many opportunities for that these last couple weeks.

So yeah, I’m annoyed when she ruins our rare moment alone by bringing up the one topic that can unhinge me.

“How are things with Holland?”

I stare over at her in surprise, maybe irritation. “Huh?”

She rolls her eyes. “Come on. She’s like the one person in the universe who can understand every aspect of your being. The spotlight, the pressure, the music, everything. You two must be hitting it off. If you haven’t yet, you need to get on that, like, yesterday.”

I shake my head in disbelief. “None of your damn business,” I return lightly.

She rolls her eyes with a smile. “Whatever. She’s hot, too. Like, smokin’. You can’t do any better, Luke.”

My eyes widen, and she only shrugs.

“What? She is! She’s sweet, and smart, and talented, and…”

“Callie, please. It’s not happening, ok?”

“What’s not?”

“Whatever it is you’re trying to make happen. It’s not going to happen.”

She huffs and glares at her plate. “I’m not trying to make anything happen. You know I wouldn’t rush you. I just…” She stops and glances back up at me, all the humor gone from her face. “I just hope you’re going to be fair to yourself, that’s all.”

Her words hit me hard. “Fair? What are you talking about?”

She leans forward and gazes straight into me. “You deserve to be loved. You deserve friends. You deserve to let someone in. I’m not saying it has to be Holland, but if it is, you need to let it happen.”

I laugh then. I know it’s just a defensive reaction, but it’s so absurd. Talking about love after all this time. Talking about loving Holland Drake of all people. And I thought Callie understood me. Crap, if she doesn’t, I’m completely screwed.

“Thanks, Cal, but seriously, you can’t worry about that.”

She looks hurt. “Worry about what?”

“You know what I mean. Me. Love. Dating. All that shit. It’s…” I stop. It’s what? I don’t know. It just feels wrong, pointless.

Now, she’s annoyed. “I’m not worried about anything, Luke.

I would never rush you or pressure you into a relationship!

I just know you. I know how you punish yourself and deny yourself anything that could remotely lead to happiness.

I’m calling you out on your self-denial because I’m afraid that’s what I’m seeing here. This is a ‘get real’ moment.”

I laugh when the grin spreads across her lips.

“Oh, yeah? Is this Callie Roland Straight Talk?”

She leans back and crosses her arms. “Yep, exactly. Callie Roland Straight Talk time. Just promise me you’re not going to push Holland away if she starts to get close.

That’s all I’m asking. You don’t have to date her.

You don’t have to fall in love with her.

Just don’t push her away if there’s a connection, that’s all. You deserve to be understood.”

I chuckle at that, I can’t help it. I know I’m pissing her off, but she has no clue how ridiculous this whole conversation is.

“Callie, I love you, you know that. And I love that you care so much, but please, you’re way off on this.

Holland is great, I totally agree with you, but there’s nothing for me to push away, ok?

We’ve had a couple conversations and might be friends one day, I don’t know, but she’s not into rockers, and I totally respect that.

It’s a wise move on her part. She faces enough of a stigma as a woman in this business.

She doesn’t need that kind of drama or gossip in her life.

And let’s face it, it doesn’t get any more dramatic than hooking up with Luke Craven while on tour. ”

Callie is actually glaring at me now, and I have no idea how to explain this any better.

“She told you that? She actually said she wasn’t into rockers,” she challenges, and I laugh.

“Honestly, yes. She did.”

“I don’t believe you. When?”

“Yesterday.”

“What? She just looked you in the face and said, ‘nope, not a chance’?”

I shrug. “Sorry to disappoint you, but yeah. Pretty much exactly that, actually. Complete with all the awkwardness and uncomfortable silence you’d expect. Although it was actually kind of sweet in a way. Still, trying to figure that one out.”

Her eyes widen. “Holy crap. You’re serious!”

I shrug again and nod. “Yep.”

“Are you freaking kidding me? Unbelievable.” She actually curses this time and grips her fork in a violent fist.

“I’m sure she just doesn’t want distractions in her life. I don’t blame her.”

Callie rolls her eyes and shakes her head. “Yeah, but still. To come out and actually say it? I will never understand you musicians,” she mutters. “Seriously! You create so much drama trying to avoid drama!”

I laugh and pity her lasagna as she stabs it in frustration.

“It’s fine, really. I’m not looking for a relationship, you know that.”

She meets my eyes, and I know I’ve said the wrong thing.

“I know you’re not. And it’s ok not to look, as long as you’re not closing yourself off from one finding you.”

“You mean like a wall painting?” I ask just to test her reaction. She looks appropriately confused, and I find some comfort in that. So Holland had been telling the truth. The whole painting metaphor was original Holland Drake intuition.

“Huh?”

I shake my head. “Never mind. Someone told me once that I’m like a painting. People like to look but no one dares to come near it. That I wouldn’t let them even if they wanted to.”

Callie’s expression changes. I shouldn’t have said that. I’ve just invited a conversation I don’t want to have anywhere, let alone at a folding table in catering with crewmembers a few feet away.

“Who said that to you?”

I stare at my plate. “It doesn’t matter. Do you think it’s true?” I ask, daring to meet her gaze again. It’s too late to go back now.

Her eyes search me, the compassion I so admire filling my soul with that strange warmth that’s been creeping in lately.

“Yeah, actually, I do think it’s true. It’s a great metaphor for you, but it’s their loss, Luke. It is, for sure, but it’s also not fair of you to keep denying the rest of the world the beauty inside you. You’re just as much to blame.”

My stomach drops. There should be a defensive quip rising to my tongue right about now, but instead I’m locked in stunned silence. I don’t know how to respond. Nothing seems to fit.

“Luke, I’m serious. You’re ready. I know you’re ready.”

I suck in my breath. “I am? Ready for what?”

She smiles as she shrugs. “I don’t know. For whatever’s next.”

“ Hello. Hello. Greetings from the inside. Hello. Hello. Framed in all your lies… ”

The crowd is screaming along with me, twenty-thousand backup singers belting out the now famous chorus as I lean into the mic, emptying my lungs of the music exploding in my chest. I can’t actually hear their cries as the click track and mix pour into my ears from my IEMs, but it doesn’t matter.

It doesn’t stop the adrenaline, the rush of being on stage.

Of being transported to that one place where everything makes sense.

The only place I don’t feel like a stranger.

My muscles tense with each lyric, each strain toward the mic, each violent assault on my guitar.

“ Hello! Hello! How you love to see me cry, always so… ”

Sweeny kills his riff on the outro and I jump back to give him the spotlight, letting my body take complete control from my head.

It’s just raw instinct now. A visceral heat driving me as I dominate the stage, my tiny kingdom.

Lights flashing, haze swirling around us.

I’m exhausted after the long set, but I don’t want it to end.

No matter how many times I do this, no matter how many shows, songs, hours of pouring out my soul, I never want to say goodbye.

This is my home, my giant family I will never know.

Sweeny nods after a couple progressions, signaling the end of his solo, and I pass it along to Casey who leads us out with a huge fill. Sweeny, Eli, and I join in, hammering the last chord for a full seven seconds as we let our bodies match the intensity of our sound.

It’s finally time, the end, and I let go of my guitar to hop back on the mic, grabbing it with both hands.

“We love you!” I cry into the final barrage of music still swelling around us. I pull out my in-ears so I can hear the roar, the deafening air. I raise my hand in salute. “Thank you, Atlanta! Good night!”