Chapter 9: The Morning After

I had read the text before I could stop myself, and Abel woke up while I was still holding his phone.

He saw it in my hand.

He sat up slowly, with the sheet around his waist and his hair on end.

"I didn't mean to read it," I said.

"It's face up on purpose."

He rubbed his eyes.

"I leave it that way so I never forget what he is."

"What does 'at the mic' mean?"

"Gil wants me tracking Dax's live vocal for the Honors broadcast. They run it through a house feed. I mix the feed."

"Then why does he need you to promise?"

"Because I haven't said yes."

It sounded true.

It also sounded like a door he had shut a quarter inch short of latching.

I put his phone down on the nightstand and picked up the cassette instead.

"Who sings on this?"

He looked at it for a while.

"A session player I knew when I first came to town. He cut a few demos in Ohio before he quit music."

"He's a better singer than Dax."

"He was never a singer. He just meant it."

Abel took the tape out of my hand and set it on the worktable.

"He's gone, Linnea."

"Gone where?"

"Gone from music."

I studied his face.

Nothing in it moved.

He looked at the soldering iron on the worktable.

I let it go.

It was one night, and I had made the rules myself.

I got up and found my jeans, and my blouse, which had landed on the Martin.

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