Page 83

The sincerity in it catches me more than I expect. “I haven’t done anything yet.”

“You’re considering it. That counts.”

Then he heads toward the front, stopping long enough to say something to Nell before leaving. The bell jingles behind him, and a few seconds later I see him pass the window.

Nell looks over at me, and I lift my eyebrows. “What?”

She only shakes her head and goes back to the computer, which is probably the smartest choice she could make.

My last client leaves a little after six, and by six-thirty Nell is gone too. I lock the front door, dim the overhead lights, and spread Zander’s folder across the worktable. I could take everything home, and I probably should, but instead I put my earbuds in and open the link he sent me.

The first demo starts with guitar, rough enough that I can hear fingers shifting on the strings before the rest of the band comes in. I like hearing Hollow North this way. No crowd, no stage lights, no Zander standing twenty feet away making it impossible not to watch him. Just the music.

By the second listen, I’m making notes in the margins. Distance. Cold light. Movement. Coming home changed. A few obvious images occur to me: coastline, fog, redwoods, but I cross them out almost as quickly. I don’t want to make a Northern California postcard.

I start sketching while the next demos play, letting the music push the pencil instead of trying to force an idea. Broken lines begin to take shape across the page, something that could suggest a road or a soundwave depending on how you look at it. Darker shapes gather around them, with open space cutting through the center.

It’s nowhere close to finished, but I can see the beginning of something. The same tension keeps showing up in the songs: leaving and returning, noise and quiet, wanting to keep moving while still being pulled toward home.

I sit back and study the page. This is going to take more than making something attractive. I need to understand the album first, and I’m already beginning to hear which parts belong to Hollow North and which ones are unmistakably Zander.

Chapter sixteen

ZANDER

Mom’s casserole is still warm when I carry it up Lachlin and Briar’s front steps, which means she probably took it out of the oven five minutes before handing it to me with strict instructions not to tilt it, drop it, or eat half of it on the drive over.

Lachlin opens the door as soon as I knock. He’s barefoot, wearing sweats and a T-shirt that looks like he slept in it, which is enough to tell me the first few weeks of fatherhood haven’t improved his relationship with sleep.

I hold up the covered dish. “Delivery from Mom.”

His eyes go straight to it. “What is it?”

“I was specifically instructed not to remove the foil, so I have no idea.”

He steps aside to let me in. “Briar’s going to be happy. We’ve been living on frozen meals and things I can make while holding a baby.”

“So, sandwiches.”

“Mostly.”

I follow Lachlin into the kitchen and set the casserole on the counter. Bottles are drying beside the sink, a burp cloth hangs over the back of a chair, and somebody has left a half-finished cup of coffee next to a stack of unopened mail. Before Jack, I’m pretty sure Lachlin would’ve noticed all of that within thirty seconds and started putting things away.

Now he barely looks at it.

“Where’s Briar?”

“Trying to take a shower before Jack needs to eat again.”

“She’s recovering well, then?”

Lachlin gives me a look, but there’s a tired smile underneath it. “She’s good. Tired. Sore. Sick of me.”

“I can only imagine.”

A small sound comes from the living room, somewhere between a complaint and a warning. Lachlin glances that direction automatically.

“You want to hold him?”