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Cooper
“Are you sure you want to go in by yourself?” Sloane asks.
We’re sitting in the parking lot of the behavioral treatment center in San Diego, where Ethan is currently staying. It’s the third one in as many months and the second one I’m paying for. This one focuses on music therapy for people with emotional disorders, and according to his doctors, is actually working.
“Yeah,” I say, kissing the back of her hand. “I don’t have a lot of time, so I need to make the most of it. Plus, him seeing you and all your beauty might not be the greatest idea. I’m not sure where he is with all that yet.”
Murderous Crows start a West Coast tour tomorrow, and I’ve been so busy with rehearsals I haven’t had time to come down to visit until now.
“Okay. I’ll be here waiting for you.” She waves a paperback novel she brought to pass the time.
“You better be.”
I hurry up the steps and into the building. Everything is bright and cheerful, with calming pastels in the abstract art on the walls. Exactly what you’d expect from a place like this, I guess.
When I check in to get a visitor badge, the receptionist gives me an odd look, like she thinks she might know who I am but isn’t sure.
Yup. That’s my level of fame. I look vaguely familiar to everyone.
“Aren’t you that guy…?” she starts to ask.
“No. I’m not,” I say swiftly. I want to get to Ethan and not play twenty questions with this lady. “Which way do I go?”
She’s momentarily offended, but I flash an irresistible smile, and she relents.
“The common room is through those doors, Mr. Davies.”
Great. I’m back to being Mr. Davies. Full circle moment.
I nod my thanks and push through the doors into the common room, where I find Ethan sitting by the window with his guitar. But he’s not alone.
He’s teaching someone else how to play. Another guy about his age.
Holy fucking shit.
I freeze in place, trying not to be noticed now that I want to see what he’s doing. The last time I talked to him on the phone, he sounded great, but he didn’t mention anything about teaching guitar to anyone.
“Use your wrist, or else you’re going to have one huge bicep and look fucking dumb,” he says, repositioning the other guy’s arm for him. “Yeah, like that. Now try it.”
No fucking way.
There’s a weird stinging behind my eyes as I watch, and I have to blink it away.
This kid. I swear to God.
Shaking it off, I approach. I don’t have a lot of time.
“Don’t listen to this guy,” I say, slapping Ethan playfully on the back. “He doesn’t know shit about playing guitar.”
Ethan glances up at me and smiles, ready with a comeback. “Only because you’re a horrible teacher, dickhead.”
“Hey, aren’t you--” the other kid starts.
“Nope,” Ethan and I say in unison as I grab a nearby chair. The other guy takes the hint and leaves us alone to talk. That was easy.
“How’s the food here?” I ask, glancing around the room, keeping it light.
Ethan shrugs as he starts plucking out a random melody on his guitar. “Not bad.”
