Free Rock Your Heart Out (Sinful Serenade #3) by Crystal Kaswell Page A

everyone else.
    It's exhausting, never trusting anyone. I wiggle my fingers reaching for Tom's hand. But I can't find it.
    He lets out a heavy sigh but says nothing. For minutes. When I can't take the silence or the wet grass on my back any longer, I get up and finish my grilled vegetable sandwich. I scrunch the wrapper into a tiny ball and toss it into our takeout bag.
    There are a dozen other people in the garden, but there's no one within twenty feet of us.
    A poster on stage announces a Shakespeare in the Park showing of A Midsummer Night's Dream in three weeks.
    What was it Tom did yesterday, when I was obviously about to lose it? He changed the subject and filled me with caffeine. I haven't got any coffee, so I'll have to stick with the former.
    I point at the poster. "You read any Shakespeare in school?"
    "Didn't really do my assignments."
    "Oh."
    He shifts so we're eye to eye, a knowing look on his face. "You told me a secret yesterday. Part of one. I'll tell you a secret in exchange, but you have to promise not to tell a soul."
    I make the my lips are sealed gesture.
    "I would have failed out of school if I hadn't needed to maintain my GPA."
    "Were you on the water polo team or something?"
    "You enjoy thinking about me wet, huh?" He smiles, a hint of sadness falling off his face.
    "Dripping wet preferably," I say.
    He shifts back into his good mood. Mostly. He leans closer, raising an eyebrow suggestively.
    I tease back. "I was on the swim team all through high school and college."
    "If you talk about how wet you were, I'll get ideas."
    I clear my throat. "You promised me a secret."
    "I was in the marching band."
    "You were not."
    He nods. "On drumline."
    I stare at Tom with disbelief. He nods, still the picture of confidence.
    "But you're so cool now," I say.
    "Drumline is the coolest part of band. Who do you think nailed all the girls in Color Guard?"
    "You?"
    He nods. "And half the cheerleaders."
    "Charming."
    He's quiet for a moment. His eyes find mine. He stares at me, picking me apart. Or maybe he's picking himself apart. I can't place his expression.
    A cloud passes over us, turning the bright light to a soft glow.
    Tom moves in closer, and brings his mouth to my ear. "Thanks," he whispers.
    And then he gets up, moves away, and all the pain in his eyes is gone. He's the same bouncy guy, no cracks, no signs anything has ever hurt him.

CHAPTER ELEVEN
    W e arrive at the sound check just in time. Hazel is here.
    She looks just like the picture on her Wikipedia page. Round glasses straight out of the 70s, loose men's clothes, short grey hair. She's shorter than all the guys in the band by at least six inches, but she commands their attention.
    Talking ceases as she makes her way into the room.
    "If you don't get back to making trouble, I won't have anything to photograph." She smiles, friendly but no nonsense, and looks me dead in the eyes. "You must be Willow. What was it, Willow Wayne?"
    I nod.
    "Let's stick with Willow. I'm Hazel Alexander." She offers her hand to shake.
    I take it. "But stick with Hazel?"
    She nods, releasing my hand. She looks back to the band. They're mostly shooting the shit, waiting around as roadies set up instruments. Tom and Drew take turns glancing in our direction.
    Her attention turns to me. The focus in her eyes is overwhelming.
    "Let's see what you've got," she says.
    Here goes nothing. I pull out my cell and show off my edited portraits. Hazel stares at them intently. She looks up to me, back to the portrait, swipes to the next picture, back to me, back to the portrait.
    "These are very nice, sweetheart, but that's all they are. You can make a lot of money shooting nice headshots for actors. You can travel around the country taking simple corporate headshots and make a nice living. There's no shame in a nice living." She hands back my cell phone. "But you're too young to give up on work that interests you."
    I nod, soaking in her advice the best I can. The pictures are nice. Only