“The band director friend?”
“No time either. One person to teach all the music classes at the high school. Regardless. Neither of us...” He hesitated and cleared his throat. “Have the talent required to help. I’m proficient at percussion, but it’s not my forte.”
Failure. Loser. Loner.
The pent-up energy was officially bursting out of me. I couldn’t sit still, so I stood to pace.
A fat bumblebee swerved drunkenly toward my guests. Devlin’s whole body tensed, and his massive muscled arms wrapped around to cocoon the baby. I gently shooed the bee back in the direction of my honeysuckles. “Bee free,” I whispered, amused at my joke.
Inside my head, I was chanting,Please don’t ask me. Please don’t ask me.
“Will you tutor the kid?” Devlin asked.
Well, shit.
“Look, man...” I tugged my hand through my sweating hair. “I didn’t go to college. I can’t even read sheet music. What the hell do I know about that stuff? I shot out of this town and on tour the second I was eighteen.”
Vander and I, windows down, flipping the bird to Main Street as we drove our falling-apart tour van out of this small town once and for all, never to return.
At least that had been the plan.
“You and I know it’s more than about reading music,” he said.
“You can’t teach passion.”
“You can uncover it.”
You have greatly overestimated me.“Just take him up to Knoxville,” I said instead. “The city probably offers a lot better options.”
“Her,” he said.
“What?”
“The student. Pronouns are she/her.”
“Oh. Okay. Well, same point.”
“Not enough money. No car.”
“Isn’t that where your other friend’s charity could come in?” I asked, feeling desperate.
“It’s a charity, not a bank. All fueled by donations and volunteers,” he said pointedly.
“I don’t think I’m the right person for this.” I rubbed my chest at the thought of leaving the house, being in town, at the high school, beingseen. All the looks of judgment and hatred rolling off the citizens of Green Valley. My own mother didn’t know why I had left The Burnouts, and I wanted to keep it that way. “I have a lot going on,” I said, avoiding his gaze.
Devlin glanced around my idyllic yard.
“Plus, I retired,” I said, dusting off the porch railing. That was what everybody thought, at least. I left the band, took my money, and bought my mom a house in my childhood town. They weren’t entirely wrong. I thought of the drum kit in the basement, covered and untouched since I got back. A cold sensation prickled up the back of my neck as I thought of it in the dark, by itself, after years of rocking out venues filled to the brink with screaming fans.
“Just watch her play,” Devlin said. “You’ll see what I’m talking about.”
“There’s no point.” I sighed, finally meeting his gaze. This kid was auditioning for the big leagues. I was a washed-up rock star with no band. If she wanted a snowball’s chance in hell, she would be better with literally anybody else. “I-I can’t.”I’m not playing, I’m not good enough.“I’m busy.”
“With the Bunco Broads?” he asked.
“Those women take their game very seriously. Janice had to vouch for me to get in, and I’m hanging on by a thread. Plus, I have plans to look into beekeeping and maybe start incorporating local fruit trees. I just don’t have time.”
His dark gaze scrutinized me. I looked away. I remembered this from camp, the way he scared the shit out of us with just one long stare, like he was reading out all our biggest insecurities.
