Page 95

Leaf nodded and pointed at Tristan’s beer. For a moment, time stood still. They waited until Cindy set the glass down and returned to the end of the bar to cut limes.

Why have we kept this a secret until now?

All Tristan wanted was to take Leaf in his arms.

Damn, man! He almost died last night. And now he’s standing in front of me.

He grabbed Leaf’s wrist, drew him in, and wrapped his arms around his back. As Leaf hugged him, Tristan let out a sigh.

“Don’t ever do that again,” Tristan murmured into his neck. “Never. Again. Got it?”

“I’m sorry.”

Tristan absorbed everything he could from Leaf: his warmth, his earthy scent, his reassuring softness as he held him close, unwilling to let him go. Leaf was his comfort, his family, his one great love, and Tristan couldn’t fathom a life without him.

To remind Leaf of this, he moved back slightly, cupping his cheek before kissing him gently on the lips. Overcome with emotion, he pulled away, struggling to hold back tears. His body trembled as Leaf placed a hand on the back of his head and continued to kiss him, offering comfort that conveyed the depth of his longing.

“We have so much to catch up on,” Leaf whispered against Tristan’s lips.

Tristan laughed and rested his forehead against Leaf’s. He didn’t want to let go. He cherished this closeness, despite the unresolved issues looming ahead. A wave of happiness washed over him, a feeling he hadn't experienced in weeks. Leaf’s presence here meant he was on the right track, and Tristan was determined to support him every step of the way.

“Okay! Andrej! You’re up!” Chris called from the mixing console.

Tristan almost forgot where they were; he straightened up again and flashed a sheepish smile. Leaf held his hand and grinned. With his other hand, he grabbed his glass and took a sip.

José was still behind the drums, spinning his sticks and winking at Tristan. Andrej jumped onto the stage, slung the bass over his shoulder, and started playing. It didn’t take long for Chris to give him the okay.

“Good! Now the guitars! Leaf! Tristan! Where are you?”

They unclasped their hands as if they had done something forbidden. Tristan picked up his glass and notebook and followed Leaf onto the stage—though he longed for more touches and wanted to snuggle back up to him. The closeness had felt so good, but Tristan set his beer down next to the speakers and placed the Schecter around his neck. The spotlights blinded him, making it impossible to see Chris at the mixing console.

“Okay! Go ahead, Tris!” a voice called from the darkness.

Tristan began with a chord progression, moved on to some power chords, and then launched into a solo. Playing a solo next to Leaf always felt humbling. No matter how hard he tried, his skill never matched Leaf’s.

It was Leaf’s turn next. As always, he went through each effect individually and in combination. He tweaked them until everything was perfect. This could take a while, so Tristan took his beer glass and turned to José.

“Hey,” the drummer said with a mischievous smile.

Nothing gets past him, Tristan thought, nodding and taking a sip. “Everything okay?” he asked, glancing briefly at Leaf.

“Well … considering the circumstances,” José replied with a shrug. “You know how it is.”

“Did you tell him anything?” Tristan had hoped José would pave the way after he told him about his conversation with Carol. But the drummer shook his head.

“I’ll leave that to you.”

Thanks a lot.

“Good! Tris! Vocals! Say something!” Chris instructed.

Tristan set the beer glass on the floor beside the mic stand and stared at the silver ball. Say something. The phrase that always stole his words. And yet he was the poet. The lyricist. All of America celebrated him for that.

Pull yourself together.

Tristan cleared his throat and stepped closer to the microphone.

“There’s a garden