“Sure.”
“Welcome back to the States. And Kingstree.”
“Thanks.”
We hung up, and I looked around the living room. The soft white and green muslin curtains. The worn but comfortable fabric sofa with the sage and gold floral pattern Grandma had loved so much. Purple and pink butterflies fluttering away as a black cat chased them—all carefully and lovingly stenciled on white walls.
I should change things up at some point, I thought. This was all Grandma, not me. But right now, I didn’t want to touch anything. This place looked and felt more like home than any of the swanky hotels I’d stayed in.
I went back to the drums and start banging away at Axelrod’s top hits, while praying something new would pop up and inspire me.
Chapter Six
Killian
The next three days passed peacefully. The loony ice cream and beer bandit next door didn’t bother me again, and I drummed away to my heart’s co
ntent, even though it didn’t do a thing to get my creative juices flowing again. I didn’t understand how that could be. When the stunning vistas of Bora Bora had failed, I chalked it up to not having my instruments. Wouldn’t I be more inspired with some well-worn drumsticks in my hands?
Of course, I didn’t just drum. I was Axelrod’s lead vocalist and guitarist, as well as occasional keyboardist when our songs called for it. So I also played electric guitar and Grandma’s old piano, just for variety. And to keep my skills up.
But I always went back to the drums. I loved drumming. If Dev wasn’t better at it than me, I would’ve been the band’s drummer. There was an explosive, physical satisfaction to percussion I couldn’t get from other instruments.
Unfortunately, Bouncing Cows and Hop Hop Hooray didn’t produce any more ice cream and beer during those three days. Not even Sunny Zimmerman, the owner of Sunny’s Mart, knew when there would be more.
“Sorry, Killian, I wish I did. You aren’t the only one asking,” Sunny said, her slight drawl a vestige of her Houston roots.
“Can you call me when they get here?” I gave her my best sad, needy puppy face.
She let out a sound that was halfway between sigh and laugh. “No can do. I’m not calling anybody because I don’t have the time to make over a hundred calls.”
“That’s fair.” I nodded, although I was slightly disappointed that she wouldn’t make an exception for me. Wasn’t I her favorite rocker? “Thanks anyway.”
At least the store had wine and whiskey. But it wasn’t the same. I could drink regular wine and whiskey anywhere. I could only have Bouncing Cows and Hop Hop Hooray in Kingstree.
Fortunately, I’d run into Jenny at the cash register again. She offered to make an exception and call or text me, while looking around to make sure nobody else would catch her doing me this illicit favor. So I gave her my public number, the one that I gave out to people who weren’t in my closest circle of friends and family. Now all I had to do was wait.
But I should’ve known that three days of peace was all I would get. The trouble started on the fourth day.
I rolled out of bed at six. Went out to run for an hour, since the town didn’t have a gym and I’d go stir crazy if I didn’t exercise several times a week. It was peaceful outside, and the sky was beautiful as the sun rose and changed it from black to deep navy to the gold-infused blue of early morning.
I went home, chugged a cup of black coffee—real men didn’t do cream and sugar—and ate a bowl of cereal. Then I dragged myself into the shower, luxuriating under the hot water spewing out of the faucet with the perfect pressure. Aaaah. Heaven. I considered myself a tough guy, but I’d also accepted a long time ago that I’d prefer to die if there was some dystopian apocalypse. Not because I couldn’t hunt or cook or fix cars. But because I couldn’t stand a cold shower. Cold showers were right up there with sociopathic groupies and fame-hungry exes.
I shampooed my hair, lathering it until there was a huge mushroom of suds. I moved, positioning myself under the shower head.
Was it me…or did the water actually feel a little cool?
I moved away from the spray and stuck my hand out. Shit. Now it was outright cold. I twisted the faucet to the point where the cold-water tap was cut off. But it remained frigid.
Fuck.
Me.
I stepped out, suds still clinging to my hair. Some were sliding down my body, making a mess. After wrapping a towel around my waist, I went over to the bedroom, grabbed my phone and strode to the kitchen. Grandma’s emergency phone number list was on the fridge.
“Come on. Water heater… Water heater…” I muttered, going down the list.
There. Billy’s Plumbing and All Things Water.