Page 69 of Down Beat

“Say it again, but try and convince me this time,” she teases as she retakes her seat on the garden edge.

“It was beautiful.” I cringe a little at such a girly affirmation coming from my mouth, but what the fuck else do you call classical music? “One of yours?”

She nods. “One of the first pieces I decided was good enough to play for an audience.”

“When did you start?”

“Playing?” She flicks her hair out of her face after the breeze tangles it across her nose. “When I was seven. Dad thought it would be a good substitute for what I really wanted.”

“Which was?” I frown as the bus pulls up at our digs for the night.

“Football.”

My laugh escapes as a snort. “What?”

She chuckles. “I know, right? I wanted to play in the lingerie bowl, apparently.”

Can’t deny that’d be a sight worth watching. “We’re at our destination now,” I explain. “I better go.”

Her lips turn down as she nods. “It was good to talk to you, Rey.”

“It was good.” I stare at the screen, unable to hang up just yet.

Her lips kick up on one side. “Call me whenever you need to okay? No matter the time.”

Tell her you like her, you idiot. “Sure.”

“Bye, Rey.” Her finger comes toward the screen, and then she’s gone.

“Time to get out of the sardine tin, man,” Emery announces from the front of the bus. “Come stretch your legs and get some fucking sunshine or whatever it takes to cheer you up.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

Ain’t nothing outside this bus going to make me feel any better, though. Not when the weight of the world slammed back down like five hundred pounds straight to the shoulders the minute that screen went black.

I’ve found what it takes to cheer me up, and it’s not on this bus, let alone anywhere on this tour.

It’s a thousand miles away playing for its supper without a single goddamn complaint.