“That’s admirable. I can’t even play one let alone three. I mean, what are those things that kids take home in grade school that parents despise?”

“A recorder?”

“Yeah. That.” My smile is automatic at the thought of how hard I tried to play that damn thing. “I think my mom may have ‘accidentally’ thrown it away.” I glance his way. He’s standing on the opposite side of the room, arms crossed over his chest, watching me as I move around the space.

“No doubt you drove her up a wall playing it.”

“Definitely. Did you drive your parents crazy practicing the drums?”

His smile is quick but strained. “Something like that.”

It’s a non-answer but I don’t push. He’s uncomfortable talking about his family—that’s obvious—and if he wants to tell me, he’ll tell me.

“Your dad?” he asks.

I shrug. “Never knew him. From what I’ve heard about him, don’t think I want to.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be. You can’t miss what you never had, right?” I say the words, the ones I tell everyone, but it doesn’t lessen that small pang I get. It doesn’t ease that curiosity over why he didn’t want me.

“Doesn’t make it any easier,” he says softly.

“Perhaps.” I run my finger across several keys of the keyboard, the sound harsh despite the beauty of the individual notes. “I don’t mean to bug you.”

He moves to the opposite side of the room now, almost like he’s purposely keeping distance between us, before taking a seat on the stool behind his drum set. “Didn’t bug me. I could probably use the break.”

“Writing some of the new stuff?”

He nods. “Yeah. It’s just a song.”

“I like it.” I wave at the doorway. “I mean from what I heard, anyway.”

“It’s shit.”

“I have a feeling you’d say that about any song regardless of how good it is. You’re hard on yourself.”

“Someone has to be.”

“Can we talk about before? Earlier?” I ask.

“It’s over. I don’t hold grudges over petty shit,” he says and then hangs his head for a beat before looking back up at me. “I know. I get it. It wasn’t petty to you. But grudges aren’t my style.”

“That doesn’t mean I shouldn’t apologize about my freak-out earlier. I know you’re used to your privacy being invaded, but clearly I’m not. It was hard finding out that you’re the one who orchestrated it. You’re right with what you said though—that I signed up for this—but I was too blindsided to see it. It’s apparent that I need to get thicker skin or stop—”

“Worrying about what everyone thinks and own everything you are?” He lifts his eyebrows. “Pretty much.”