Hearts, Lies, and Friends: Chapter II

Chapter II

“We could always just rework one of yours. I mean, just as sort of a jumping off point instead of starting from scratch.”

Patrick deliberated a minute and then agreed. He was a little bit possessive when it came to his material, but he’d never heard any of his own stuff played on anything but his computer, and he was genuinely curious. They were still short a drummer, but it’d be as good a way as any to see how they worked together. “Anything in particular?” he asked Pete.

“The second one you played us. I forget what it was called; the one with the bridge that was just bass and vocals.”

Patrick knew immediately which one Pete meant. “You want to try that one?” he asked Joe, who was splayed out in one corner of the sofa.

“Sure. Is it just one guitar part or two?”

“Two, but I can play a bit. I mean, I’m not great or anything. I don’t know if I can play and sing live, but if we’re just fucking around I can probably manage it.”

The trio returned to Patrick’s computer to give the song a second listen, followed by a third.

“I think I’m good with the bass part,” announced Pete.

“You want to go try it out?” asked Patrick, with growing enthusiasm.

“You guys go ahead,” muttered Joe, frowning at the computer screen. “There’s one part I’m not getting. I just want to hear it one more time.”

“Alright,” agreed Pete, tugging Patrick’s arm and pulling him into the rec room. “Let’s go fuck around.” Again Patrick hoped Joe wasn’t good at reading smiles.

*     *     *

Patrick crouched on the floor with his guitar, watching the tiny electronic tuner as it guided him to the perfect pitch. Even before Pete touched him he could feel the body heat behind him. When nimble fingers began to creep under the edge of his shirt, he stiffened. “Pete, Joe’s twenty feet away.”

“I can be quiet.”

“He could come out here any minute.”

“He’s caught me before. He won’t be weird about it.”

Patrick stood up abruptly and walked to the far end of the room. “I just don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“But Joe won’t…”

“At all,” amended Patrick, trying to make his meaning clearer. “I don’t just mean now, I mean at all.”

The hurt was as obvious in Pete’s eyes as the discomfort had been the week before. “You… I thought you had fun.”

“I…” Patrick debated his answer. “I did. I just…” He sighed heavily. “I think it was… a mistake.”

“Oh.”

Oblivious as ever, Joe chose that moment to saunter into the room. “Okay, I’ve got it. The suspension was throwing me off. Let’s try it out.”

Pete and Patrick let their conversation die as Joe double-checked his tuning and they started the song. As if Patrick weren’t nervous enough about his premier attempt at singing in a band, his most recent conversation was enough to kill his voice completely. The moment he opened his mouth, not only did he not hit the note he was looking for, he replaced it with a high-pitched squeak that cracked into a cough.

“Sorry,” he hacked, trying to catch his breath. “I’m just nervous.”

“Don’t worry about it,” reassured Joe. “Just try it again.”

Pete remained silent but came in on cue. Patrick’s face was flushed with embarrassment, but he was able to get the words out and stay pretty well on pitch. They muddled their way through the song. Patrick didn’t even realize he had closed his eyes, but when he opened them, Pete’s mood seemed to have improved, and Joe was damn-near giddy.

“That was awesome!” Joe enthused.

“You’re definitely a singer,” agreed Pete. “You shouldn’t have been hiding that behind drums all these years.

Patrick’s blush blushed at the compliments. “So… you want to try it again?”

The boys nodded and played it again. And again. Then they covered some old Green Day and a few scattered underground hits from the local scene. Two hours later they were back on the sofa clicking their way through a list of obscure oldies Patrick had downloaded.

“Shit!” exclaimed Joe, suddenly jumping up from his casual sprawl.

“What?”

“I was supposed to pick up my brother twenty minutes ago. Oh shit, my mom’s going to fucking…”

Pete and Patrick could only assume the sentence ended in something along the lines of ‘kill me’ because Joe was already gone from the room, though a moment later his feet thundered back to the door.

“Pete, I’ll be back to pick you up, I’ve just got to go.”

“Sure,” replied Pete, but Joe was already gone. The front door slammed and Joe’s car peeled out as Pete and Patrick just sat on the sofa, listening to him leave.

“So…” began Patrick, drumming his fingers on his knees in place of an actual sentence.

“So,” agreed Pete, not even pretending to have a follow-up.

“Look, Pete, it’s not like I didn’t…”

“It’s cool,” said Pete, though his inability to meet Patrick’s eyes made it obvious it wasn’t. “Don’t worry about it.”

Patrick scowled at his jeans. He pulled at some of the loose threads fringing what used to be the knees and searched for diplomacy. “Do you… I mean, I’m not trying to say anything here but I was wondering if…” Patrick huffed at his own uncertainty and dove straight in. “Do you do that a lot?”

Pete paused a moment, genuinely surprised, before he glanced over and cooled his gaze. “All the fucking time, man.”