WTF…just a few little bits won’t hurt. Just don’t overdo it, he told himself. Restraint…something he never lacked.

If anything, he needed to infuse his music with as much feeling as technical prowess. That’s what Lettech used to tell him.

An ear worm was coursing through his brain, a song they’d heard on the radio. “Crossfire”—a blues song made immortal by Stevie Ray Vaughan. He liked Stevie Ray. Not only was he a great guitarist technically, he was incredibly tasteful and could milk a note like no man. He loved the way Vaughan used his guitar as a response to his singing, as if he were having a conversation with the instrument.

He had jacked up the amp. The instrument was a piece of crap, but the amp was decent quality and somewhat compensated for the tinny electronics of the guitar. As the song repeated in his head, he began to copy Stevie Ray note by note until he had the fills to the vocals down pat. Now it was just a matter of the solo. He was so absorbed in his music that he didn’t hear the door open. When he did look up, two guys in their twenties were staring at him. He didn’t know who the sandy-haired one was, but the dude with the black hair and blue eyes was the image of Rina.

Dude said, “Do I know you?”

Sandy Hair gave Dude a look. “I’m Sam, he’s Jake—”

“Yeah, we live here,” Jake said.

Sam said, “And you are…”

“Gabe Whitman.” He knew he was blushing. He stood up, turned off the amp, and put the instrument on the bed. “Sorry about messing with your stuff.”

Jake said, “Are you kidding? My guitar never sounded so good. Certainly not when I played it. You rock, kid.”

“Especially compared to us,” Sam added. “This family doesn’t have a musical bone in its body.”

Jake threw his duffel on his bed and opened the closet. “Clean and organized.” He looked at Gabe’s clothes and held up a pair of cargo pants. “Definitely not my size.”

The boy was still red. “I’ll move my stuff.”

“Nah, you don’t have to do that,” Jake said. “The question is, what’s your stuff doing here in the first place?”

“It’s a long story. The short version is your parents have been nice enough to let me stay here.”

“How long have you been here?” Jake asked.

“About five days.”

“And how long are you staying?”

“That remains to be seen.”

Sammy said, “We’re just in and out for the weekend. Just keep your stuff where it is and we’ll work around you.”

“Uh, last time I counted, there were only two beds,” Jake said.

“I can sleep on the couch,” Gabe told him.

“Yonkel, you know that there’s a trundle,” Sam said. “We can squeeze in for a couple of days.”