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Instead of talking, I grabbed my guitar and started to strum. “Stop being a dick and just listen.” I hummed along with the melody. “What do you think? Love song? Power ballad? Or full on heavy shit?”
“Play it again.” Carter closed his eyes, tapping out a random drumbeat on the table. “Power ballad,” he said after a minute. “It has that feel. Lemme look at this.” He unfolded the paper and started to read. “Oh, yeah, this is cool… innocent heart, damaging touch… I can hear this in King’s voice. If he gets a little gritty with the ‘need you so much’ part, the ladies’ll all get hot and bothered.”
I nodded. “That was my thought too.”
“This is good, Z.” He got up and disappeared down the hall. He came back a minute later with one of his basses and perched on the arm of the sectional. “Play that chorus again.”
I went back to it, and he thumped out a bass line that felt heavier than I’d originally been thinking but somehow worked. It was a love song, but rough around the edges, which was our signature sound. We were hard rock, with a little metal, a lot of blues, and a touch of soul from Kingston’s voice. This song, that I’d titled “Not Going Away,” had emotion, grit, and the potential to be a single. I’d been doing this long enough to know instinctively what did and didn’t work.
This was going to work.
I knew it with every fiber of my being.
“The boys are going to like this.” Carter was grinning as he played, and the melody just came to me.
“Dude. Your phone is ringing.”
I’d been so into what we were doing, I hadn’t noticed my phone buzzing on the coffee table. I’d turned off the ringer, but it still vibrated and I reached for it, surprised to see Presley’s name on the screen.
“It’s Presley. She’s never called me before.” I answered without waiting for him to respond. “Hello?”
“Zeke!” Her voice was soft but frantic.
“What’s wrong?” I asked automatically. “Is it the baby?”
“N-no. Jeremy is fine.” She sniffled.
Was she crying?
Oh, fuck.
Dread filled me.
“Aunt Meg?” I hated myself for the relief that shot through me when she’d said Jeremy was okay, but it wasn’t because I wanted something to happen to Meg.
“She had a heart attack,” she said, her voice breaking. “And now the insurance won’t cover the surgery she needs. Zeke, I don’t know what to do. Please, you have to help us!”
22
Presley
I’d been frantic since the hospital administrator had come to tell me that Aunt Meg’s insurance wouldn’t cover the procedure Dr. Shanahan wanted to do. Something about her MS and a second opinion and a bunch of other shit I didn’t understand. After calling them myself and getting nowhere, I’d broken down and called Zeke. As much as it pained me to do it, I’d swallow every ounce of pride I’d ever had if it would help Aunt Meg.
Twelve hours later, Zeke walked into Aunt Meg’s hospital room.
“Hi.” I stood up, whispering as I put a finger to my lips. She’d had a rough night and was finally resting, so we walked into the hallway together.
“How are you?” he asked, putting a hand on the side of my shoulder.
“Scared,” I admitted, wrapping my arms around myself.
“Tell me who I have to talk to, and I’ll guarantee payment so they can operate as soon as possible. We can fight with the insurance afterward.”
“Thank you,” I whispered, fighting back tears. “I really appreciate this. I know this has nothing to do with Jeremy, so it’s not your responsibility, but I didn’t know what else to do. She’s all I have, Zeke.”
“It’s okay. I’m glad you called.”
Our eyes met and his were filled with warmth. Concern. Tenderness.
