Mind Games - Page 224

He moved with it, slicing the neck down, swinging it back. His eyes almost burning green as his hair flew.

This, she thought, exactly this, had done her in at sixteen. Not just the look of him—though God, wasn’t that enough—but what he could create, what he had inside him that he could send soaring out into the world.

Ready or not.

She had to admit, it sure as hell hadn’t lost its power.

Then abruptly, he stopped. She clearly saw him mouth: Fuck, no. Again.

He set and ripped out that wild opening riff again.

Sheer admiration made her want to stay, a silent audience of one, but she started to back away.

He caught the movement; his fingers stilled. And he smiled. Guitar still strapped on, he walked to the door and opened it.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry to interrupt. I heard the music and…”

“I guess it was pretty loud.”

“It’s meant to be.”

“Yeah.” He took her hand to draw her in, his fingers still hot from the strings. “And pissed off. Haven’t quite hit that.”

“It sounded pissed off.”

“Not enough.”

“No, don’t stop.” She eased back when he started to take off the guitar. “I was just on my way home.”

“I could use a break, let that simmer till it boils. The boil’s what I’m after.” He set the guitar aside, then scooped his fingers through his hair the way she wanted to. “And I could use some cold caffeine. You want?”

“Actually … Yes. I could use some to cool off after that. I was sixteen again for a minute.”

He shot a finger at her as he walked to the refrigerator. “Then I’m getting there. Pissed-off rock makes teenagers of us all.”

“I don’t suppose you’re writing it for the longed-for Code Red reunion.”

“Maybe.”

“Oh, Ty, really?” And laughing, laid a hand on her heart. “There’s the teenager again.”

“Just some talk about maybe doing a one-shot deal, live streaming it. Maybe next year, maybe in Philadelphia because that’s where we started. Maybe’s the key word.”

“I’m there.”

“A lot of logistics to work out. I’ve got a kid, Scott’s about to have his second, Mac would be coming off tour, Blaze has that TV thing going. It’s more than just walking onstage and cutting loose. There’s those logistics, and rehearsals and production. Anyway.”

He handed her a glass, while he settled for a bottle. “Maybe.”

And he’d told her about the maybe. That was trust, she realized. She lifted her glass. “Here’s to pissed-off rock.”

“It made me what I am.” He watched her as he drank. “You’ve got more than that on your mind.”

“Yes.” She set down her glass, linked her fingers together. “I called a family meeting. I was just coming back from it.”

“A family meeting about?”

“My game plan. I said I’d tell you when I had one. I have one.”