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He seems to sense it too. How big of a deal it is. But rather than draw attention to it, and try to get me to explain why I’m suddenly okay with this—music, playing again…
He takes the guitar, and throws the red strap around his neck.
Nodding his head, he places his fingers to the fretboard. “You did get better,” he murmurs, closing his eyes.
“I know,” I tell him.
“More confident too.”
“Yeah, I guess.”
His lip ticks up at that, revealing a single dimple.
I gesture for Shawn to keep going when the song draws to a close, and he immediately starts from the top again.
Slowly, Waylon starts plucking, then strumming along, figuring it out by ear…
Using some unexplainable gift inside him, a gift he acts like he couldn’t care less about.
It used to drive me fucking crazy.
Now though…
Now, I can’t help but feel like I understand.
He was terrified he’d lose it before he even had it. I’m terrified to lose it again now that I’ve finally got it back.
Music fills the small space, and the acoustics are far from ideal…
Nothing like the studio in the Montgomerys’ basement.
Has anyone been down there since?
Shoving the thought away, I focus on Waylon’s fingers. His hands plucking and strumming along. The easy roll of his shoulder, and bob of his dark head.
Hazel eyes meet mine, and I don’t miss the wariness shining back. The fear that I might rip this away from him. Rip this away from us…
He slides his fingers up a couple frets, shifting pitches, and I grin.
Shawn stops playing. “What was that?”
Waylon stops and turns his head, studying him for a beat. Then he turns fully to face him, and positions his fingers. “It felt right. Play it your way again.”
So Shawn does.
He’s harmonizing, I realize.
He’d do this sometimes when he and Izzy would play piano together.
Shawn’s brow furrows as he keeps playing, but his gaze is honed in on Waylon’s fingers. He switches to a different song, then another, and another…
It starts off with Waylon recreating the melody, then drifting into a harmony.
A seamless sort of give and take, as they work off each other.
They jam for a bit, and I find myself stepping back, just watching them as they find their groove. Communicating in the only way they seem capable of.
After a while, Shawn draws to a close, and Waylon follows suit, the final notes ringing out in the air.
