Free Heartstrings by Sierra Riley Page A

truck-stop parking lot holding a burrito bowl.”
    Blake let his shoulders fall. Cal was right.
    “Well,” Blake said as they climbed back into the bus. “That’s Rhett. I guess you two have met now.”

14
Cal
    F rom the moment he was aboard the bus, Cal could sense Blake’s eyes on him. He wasn’t able to ascertain whether it was an unusual amount of staring, or whether it signified anything. Blake was an intense guy. He could be overwhelming at times. Getting used to that again was jarring.
    After a while, Cal needed a break. He thanked Lily for her help, collected the sheaves of sheet music, and retreated back to his bunk, where the quiet rumble of the bus lulled him into relaxation. Through a gap in his curtain, he could see Erica on her bunk, knees drawn up to her chest. She was scribbling in a notebook, her features wrinkled in frustration.
    Cal considered reaching out to her, asking if she was all right. But was that really his place? He hadn’t been the new guy anywhere in so long that he’d forgotten how to properly do it without stepping on any toes.
    In the end, his concerned nature won out.
    “Everything all right?” he asked, pulling his curtain back a few inches. “I couldn’t help but notice Rhett being charming earlier.”
    Erica’s pen stopped scratching. Her hand stilled. She looked over at Cal with a quick smirk and a roll of her narrow shoulders.
    “That’s just him,” she said.
    “What a winner.”
    Cal rolled over onto his back, folding his arms behind his head. He wondered how a guy like Blake ever got mixed up with a guy like Rhett. They didn’t seem to have a thing in common. The rest of the band seemed irritated with him at best.
    “He gets easier to put up with over time. You know, exposure breeds immunity.”
    “Right, so he’s the common cold?”
    Erica laughed.
    “Exactly.”
    Deciding that she didn’t seem too upset, Cal gestured to the notebook in Erica’s hands.
    “Writing new material?”
    “Drawing,” she said. She flipped the notebook around to him, revealing a tangle of twisting vines and roots all sketched out in ballpoint pen. The pattern they wove wasn’t quite recognizable as anything Cal had ever seen, yet he could tell it wasn’t just chaos. The little twirls and twists were pleasing, like something that might make a cool tattoo.
    “I like that,” he said. He wasn’t just being nice; she had talent.
    “Just ideas for a poster,” she said. “Haven’t got it nailed yet, but I’m headed in the right direction.”
    “That’s about all you can ask for sometimes,” Cal said kindly. He’d been there.
    The gentle scratch of pen on paper started up again and Cal took that as his cue to let her be. He shifted onto his side, surprised at how comfortable the bunk was. Within minutes, the motion of the buss and the soft white noise of Erica’s pen had him on the verge of sleep.
    He dozed, dreaming of vines and roots. New growth pushing up through the soil. Sprouts turning their faces toward the sun.

    * * *
    C al was once again amazed by the well-oiled machine that was the Sinsationals upon checking in at their hotel in Salt Lake City. The band’s managers had organized everything. He wouldn’t even have to carry his own pack to his hotel room if he didn’t want to, although he did. He just showed up and collected a key from Palmer and that was all she wrote.
    At least that was all she wrote until Cal showed up at his hotel-room door to find Blake moving his own stuff in.
    “Uh.”
    It wasn’t the most dignified way Cal had ever started a conversation.
    “Hey!”
    Blake held out a hand for Cal’s pack, which Cal surrendered unthinkingly.
    “We’re rooming together?” he asked, trying to sound casual.
    “Short notice change in reservations. They didn’t have another suite available. But fret not, this isn’t some box with two double beds in it.”
    Blake swung the door open and led Cal inside.
    If the bus had seemed opulent, the suites at the