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Ruby found that feeling without being there.

My attention stays on the cover a second longer before the drummer counts us back in.

I turn toward my mic and play.

A few hours later, I pull into Hale Marine Repair instead of going home.

Dad’s truck is parked beside the shop, and the big bay door is still open even though the front office is dark. I can hear something metallic hit the floor before I make it inside.

“Everything okay?” I call.

“It didn’t land on my foot, so that’s good.”

I find Dad crouched beside an outboard motor with a ratchet in one hand and several tools spread across the concrete around him.

“That sounds like a low bar.”

“At my age, you take the wins where you can get them.”

I drag the stool over and sit while he goes back to whatever he’s doing. For a minute, I just watch him work.

Dad has always been good at this. Not only fixing things but also knowing what the problem is before anybody else does. He can listen to an engine for ten seconds and tell you which part is making a sound it shouldn’t.

It would be useful if people worked the same way.

“How was rehearsal?” he asks.

“Good. I signed the tour paperwork today.”

Dad looks up from the motor, and his smile is immediate. “You did? Congratulations. Your mother’s going to be thrilled.”

“I haven’t told her yet.”

“Then you’d better do it soon, because I’m not promising I can keep that to myself all night.”

I laugh. “I will.”

He goes back to the motor for a minute, but I don’t say anything else. I lean forward with my forearms on my knees, staring at the concrete between my boots while he works.

Eventually he glances over again. “You signed the tour you’ve been working toward for years, but you don’t exactly look like someone celebrating. So, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong with the tour.”

“That wasn’t what I asked.”

A few days have passed since Ruby asked for space. Not a dramatic breakup. No slammed doors. No screaming. Somehow that might have been easier.

She told me she needed me to figure things out without looking at her for the answer.

Then she went quiet.

So did I. Now every time I pick up my guitar, I think about the wall between us and put it back down.

“I screwed things up with Ruby.”

Dad leans one hip against the workbench. “How badly?”

“I don’t know yet.”