Page 13 of Every Shattered Note
There’s a beat.
“Seems like a disaster area.Everything okay?”
I groan and let my head fall back against the pillows.“Obviously not.”
“You get robbed?”he asks, casually.“Because all your instruments are gone ...even your drum set.”
I frown and stare at the ceiling looking for patience.“It’s all in storage now.”
“Storage?”His tone goes up a note, like I’ve said something offensive.“You sure you’re not dying?”
I sigh, not remotely in the mood to explain the cherry bomb incident again.“I’m fine.My life’s just taking a short sabbatical from functionality.”
He doesn’t answer, which is fair.There’s nothing to say to that.
I reach across the room service tray, dig through the crumpled napkins, and fish out a cold fry, inspecting it like it might still pass for food.
“When did eating leftovers become disgusting?”I mutter, mostly to myself.
Barret doesn’t miss a beat.“Probably around the time we stopped getting wasted and our taste buds came back to life.”
He’s not wrong.
“Where are you now?”he asks.
“The Merkel Hotel.Moved in yesterday.Might be here for a while.”I shift my torso with a wince, cracking my back in at least four places.The beds aren’t bad, but this isn’t my bed, and I need something with better bedding.“They said weeks, but with how complicated everything is—wiring, water, permits—I don’t know.Months, maybe.I’m not in the mood to rush the rebuild.The insurance can figure it out.”
“You can use my place,” he offers.“Or live with us.”
I snort.“No offense, but that’s a hard pass.”
He laughs.“Still traumatized from the band house?”
“You mean from walking into the kitchen and finding two people having sex on the counter while someone else was passed out in the sink?Yes.Burned into my brain forever.”
“You’re such a diva now.”
“And you’re domesticated,” I fire back.“You, Cleo, and Eddie are still in full honeymoon phase.The last thing I need is to walk in on you three and find someone tied to a bedframe with a guitar strap.”
Barret barks out a laugh.“Can’t say that wouldn’t happen.”
Exactly.
“Wait,” I pause.“You said your place.Do you still have the penthouse?”
“Yeah.I own it and it’s furnished,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.“Didn’t move out until last July.”
“Really, just last July?”I ask, more concerned about the passage of time than him still having the apartment.
I guess I lost track of how long they’ve been together.Barret and Eddie feel permanent, like they’ve been a set almost since the band began.Maybe that’s how it is when people fit—you stop keeping score.
“I haven’t rented it out,” he adds.“It still has all the furniture.Clean sheets.Fridge probably smells like death, though.”
“Let me think about it,” I mumble, chewing on the thought.Then I ask, “So why were you looking for me on a Sunday?”
“The studio’s ready,” he says.“We finally finished the last inspection.”
“Oh, good.”I shift upright, sensing where this is going.“Because I need to ask you for a huge favor.”
