“I don’t think she likes me much,” Eric said as he entered the room. “You two ready to go see Dave?”
“Yeah, we’ll follow you over on the Harley.” Jace stood.
“You guys go,” Aggie said. “I’m going to stay here.”
“Are you okay?” Jace asked. “She begged me to tell you about her getting married, but I thought it was something she should tell you herself. That’s why I asked her to stop by. Are you upset?”
“Not really. I’m glad you had her come over. I just need a little time to adjust to the idea that I used to kick butt plugs up my stepfather’s ass.”
Jace bit his lip and stroked her hair behind her ear. “If you need me to stay home—”
“What’s this?” Eric said, lifting a drumstick off a pair of hangers on the wall. He inspected it closely.
Jace’s eyes widened, and he strode across the room to snatch his treasured drumstick out of Eric’s hand. “It’s nothing.”
“Why do you have an old nicked-up drumstick hanging on your wall?” Eric asked. “Do you play drums too, tripod?”
“No, I don’t play drums. It’s something I caught at a live show.” Jace carefully set the drumstick back on the pegs he’d installed to display his most prized possession.
“Did your favorite drummer throw it to you or something?”
Jace smiled. “Yeah, something like that.”
Aggie could not resist the opportunity to meddle. “That’s your drumstick, Eric.”
Eric glanced at Jace, who was doing his best impression of a cranberry again. “Mine? Why did you steal one of my drumsticks?”
“I didn’t steal it. You threw it at the end of a show, and I caught it.”
Eric’s dark brows drew together. “How did you manage to catch a drumstick while on stage?”
“No, dumb ass. It happened ten years ago. I was in the audience.”
“Oh.” Eric grinned. “So does this mean what I think it means?”
“What do you think it means?” Jace asked.
“That I’m your favorite drummer.” Eric picked up the drumstick again and twirled it in his right hand.
Jace rolled his eyes. “Uh, no. You’re a dipshit.” Jace grabbed the drumstick in mid-twirl and placed it back on the wall.
“You don’t keep a dipshit’s drumstick for ten years and then hang it on your wall like it’s a Grammy award or a platinum record.”
Jace bit his lip.
“Tell him the story, Jace,” Aggie prodded.
After a bit of hesitation, Jace told him. About seeing Sinners for the first time. How he didn’t think Jon was good enough. How he caught the drumstick and knew he was destined to be a part of the band. How he’d become a bassist to join Sinners. Eric’s smile widened with each revelation.
“So I’m responsible for inspiring the creation of the best bassist on the planet,” Eric said. “Is that what you’re telling me?”
“The best bassist on the planet…” Jace mumbled. “Well, I don’t know about that. You inspired me.”
“Yeah, that’s what I said.” Eric beamed with pride. “Holy shit. I can’t wait to tell the guys that you wanted to join Sinners because of me.”
“I didn’t tell you that story so you could get all gloaty.”
“I’ll get all gloaty if I want, tripod. I don’t have much to gloat about, you know.” Eric appraised the empty wall above the drumstick. “You know what you need? You need a giant, autographed poster of me to hang over your drumstick. I’ll sign it, To Tripod, My biggest-slash-shortest, secretly obsessed, mega-fanboy.”
Jace rolled his eyes and shook his head. “You know what you need?”
“A smaller head?”
“No, an embarrassing, smiley-faced daisy tattoo on the top of your foot.”
Eric grinned and nodded. “Only fair.”
Jace smiled and laughed. He gave Eric a one-armed, tough-guy hug and pounded him on the back. He was happy. And well loved. Just how Aggie wanted him. Always.