“Too fuckin’ right,” I grumbled.

An hour and a half later, I found myself setting up two drum kits in the jam-out area with Koko Loco. After we’d found X asleep in his office and fed his soulless ass, he and Jason went to work on some bass lines for the new song, and I was ready to kick the shit out of some drums.

I loved to drum. I didn’t do it often because I’d wrecked too many kits to count. Once I got going, I wouldn’t really check my strength. Flipper had banned me from touching his at all. But it was fuckin’ fun, and I was fuckin’ good at it—but not Flipper good. Not many people were Flipper good. I was just good. Okay, brilliant. Brilliant enough to put Koko Loco in her place, that was for fuckin’ sure.

“What? Flipper couldn’t handle me, so he foisted me onto you?” she sneered, dropping her flat, tiny ass on the stool behind the kit we’d set up for her use.

“Pretty much,” I replied, getting behind my bigger, sturdier kit. I took off my boots and socks, wanting to feel the pedals for the bass drums. “He’s sick of your mouth and shitty attitude.”

Her jaw dropped. “Shitty attitude?”

“Yep. Word to the wise, Koko Loco, don’t fuckin’ piss off the people who want to give you a shot at your dream. Flipper is one of the greatest drummers in the history of ever, and compared to his genius, you’re just a pissant. He took the time to lay it down for you, and you fuckin’ acted like a spoiled little shit. Now, you have to work with me, and I haven’t been in a very good mood lately.”

Flipper had told her what was needed to make the solo credible. I went into it, wailing on my kit, doing everything perfect, just like Flipper had wanted from her. He never expected her to take it to his level. He’d expected her to live up to her own. He had known she could raise the bar on it and make something mediocre into something fantastic.

When I finished the twenty-six seconds it had taken to complete the solo, she had a stunned look on her face.

“Wow.”

“Really? ’Cause I thought it was pretty basic.”

Good. Now, she was insulted.

“Your turn,” I said, smiling all sweet for her.

Chicks dug the dimples.

Kenna

Since the bombing, I hadn’t left the house much, mostly because people would stare at my freakish eyeball. Besides the memorial service, I’d ventured to the organic grocers with Sheri, and my face had made a little kid cry. No point in bothering after that. It would be best for the last speck of my ego if small children didn’t burst into tears at the sight of my busted face.

Sushi with my friends had been nice, but it had been hard, trying to keep up with conversations. I’d strained to read lips and felt bad that I could only get the gist of half of what they were talking about, if that. They had put in a lot of effort though, and that hadn’t gone unappreciated.

Feeling sorry for myself wasn’t helping. I wanted to be thankful that I was alive and healthy enough to have healed as quickly as I had. I wanted to be grateful that my friends were all happy and in love and having awesome sex with their boyfriends. I wished I could see all the good that had continued despite my entire world falling down around me.

One day, I knew I would. I would see it even if I could no longer hear it.

I was jealous of Gavin regaining his hearing. I was depressed that Phil couldn’t stand to be with me for more than a few hours in the middle of the night. It wasn’t like I pranced around naked, trying to entice him or anything.

Sitting me down, Phil had written down all the reasons why he was insisting that we abstain. He was scared of any underlying damage that we didn’t know about, of hurting me with all my bruises and aches. He’d assured me that he loved me though.

I’d gotten it. I really had.

Ceasing all sexual advances, I’d relinquished my right to touch him, kiss him, hold him, and have all those things in return. It had been hell.

Even after I’d promised to be good and keep my hands to myself, he’d stopped spending time with me, deciding to spend long hours at the studio.

Throughout the day, Phil would send me texts, asking if I was feeling okay, telling me he loved me. But…it felt forced, like he was only doing it because he had to. I might’ve been reading into that too much, but I had been spending a lot of time in my head with no distractions, and I’d found myself analyzing things that I never really would’ve given a second thought to when I was normal.

Normal.

Lili had Alys drop her off at Lewis’s place after dinner, and Alys and Sheri went back to the Plantation House. They wanted me to stay and hang out with them, but I told them I needed to rest. I had my checkup and CT scan tomorrow.

I hadn’t mentioned Phil all night, and neither had they. Pity was a bitter pill to swallow.

Fighting tears, I found Connor waiting for me on the back porch. I attempted a smile, but I was afraid I looked like I was trying to hold in a fart.

He smiled back anyway and waved a joint at me.

“Yeah.” Sighing, I sat down in my usual seat.

He sparked it up and passed it to me. Then, he wrote something down on a notepad.

Phil’s still at the studio. He’s working with Koko on her drum solo. She pissed off Flipper.

“Okay,” I replied.

I was thinking we could take a ride over there. He’s fucking awesome on the drums. We could go watch. You could feel the beats even if you can’t hear them.

That made me smile. I’d never seen Phil on drums. I knew that he really liked to play them.

“I’d like that,” I told my brother.

He misses his Baby Girl. He told me today that, if your scan showed anything wrong, you two would figure out something that didn’t involve him avoiding you. He’s not doing it to hurt you. He’s scared, and I think he’s only starting to come to grips with how close he came to losing you.

“Yeah.”

He also said that he’d never fuck around on you. I think he’d castrate himself before he had to sleep with another woman. Just saying.

“Oh, good. Because I’d castrate him if he did.”

Connor cracked up, and seeing that made me crack up, too.

I read his lips as he said, “Come on.”

Phil

For the first time in a long time, I felt good. I was having a fuckin’ blast on my kit, and I had to admit that Koko wasn’t so bad. After a while, we started freestyling off each other, and I was impressed with her all over again.

A couple of hours into it, I got up and grabbed some bottles of water. Sweating up a storm, I took off my shirt and dried my face with it. I had more in my office, so I wouldn’t have to put the gross one on when we were done.

“Again,” I told her. I dug in my cargoes for my cigarette case that held my weed. Fishing out a spliff—there it goes again—I sparked it up and copped a squat on a bench to watch her go for round sixty-three of her solo.

After listening to her play it, I heard what her problem was. She wasn’t confident with the speed at one crucial point, and Flipper—who was the walking, talking Mexican Captain Confident—had no sympathy for those without. He’d lost his patience with her because he hadn’t realized that she didn’t think she could do it. She could now, and for the fourth time running, she’d nailed the fuck out of it.

“I think that’ll do for today,” I told her. “Come have a smoke, and we’ll get the fuck outta here.”

Koko was a tiny little thing, not much taller than Pygmy and a lot less curvy. She looked like a thirteen-year-old dude from the back although she didn’t have that problem in the front. Her boobs bounced right along with her as she bounded over to me in her excitement.