More.
Lyrik smirked across at me, glancing up from the notebook he held in his hands. “Since when did you start writing about chicks?”
Since this one decided to invade every last one of my thoughts.
“Not about a chick.”
“Really?” he challenged. He turned back to it, reading some of the shit I’d jotted down aloud.
Open telling eyes
Hide them from me
Don’t want to see
What’s impossible to have
I’ve lost sight
And I’m losing my way
Ignoring the insinuation, I leaned my head against the back of the couch and closed my eyes, picked lightly at the strings, humming softly as Lyrik read the words again and again.
“Sucks, yeah?” I said toward the ceiling.
“Nah, it’s good. Rough, but good. You’ve got something here. We just need to put some balls into it.”
Trust Lyrik to go straight for the balls.
He stood and grabbed his guitar from where it was propped on a stand near the wall, plugged it in, and strummed a few heavy chords. And it was always this way, a rhythm we picked up, music flowing free because it was just what we did.
What we’d always done.
It didn’t take long for Ash and Zee to make their way down to the basement. Neither of them said anything. They just sat down and joined in to bring this bitter, confused song to life. The progression curved and lifted and bent, an arc that became loud and hard and angry, but filled with longing, all the same.
I felt the presence on the stairs, and I glanced to the side and saw where Austin had folded himself up on a step midway. He hugged his knees to his chest, hoodie pulled up to cover his head, but his heart and mind were present, gravitating along the fringes of our little world.
This place that only belonged to us.
My fucked-up family that consisted of a bunch of guys who were just as messed up as me.
The only family I could afford.
Lyrik nodded across at me, encouraging me to dig in, to feel it in my gut as I belted out the words. Satisfaction spread across his face as he jumped in to sing the chorus, adding in his own words. Making it our own. A sound and style that was indisputably Sunder.
But this song?
This song was for her.
And it made me want and wonder and wish for a little more.
To feel something different than this.
But this?
This was the only thing I had.
I was back.
Didn’t mean to be.
Knew I shouldn’t be.
But here I was on a Friday night, climbing into the secluded horse-shoe booth with my knee bouncing a million miles a minute, crammed between my asshole friends who’d insisted I had to get out of the house. Where did they bring me? Here.
Lyrik.
Sneaky bastard.
With a lascivious grin, he adjusted his height in the booth. “Ah,” he drew out, like he was the most comfortable he’d ever been. “Love this place. So glad Anthony happened to mention it.” He elbowed me in the ribs. “Aren’t you, Baz?”
A scowl marched across my face.
He thought he had me all figured out—tapping into the source of my ailment—and he’d resolved that tossing me right back into the middle of it would be the cure. He was the one who’d suggested we come, citing some band, I knew for a fact he’d never heard of before, was supposed to be playing. He’d rallied the boys, the lot of them all too happy to oblige a repeat trip down to the riverfront where we could slip into the rustic bar and disappear into the shadows, no one paying us any mind.