A breath whooshes out of Mason. “Well, that went well.”

“Better than I expected.”

He gives me a funny look, and I wave him off. “Just...Waylon and I weren’t exactly on good terms when I left. Stupid kid shit, you know?” Lies, lies, lies. “Last I saw him was the day we had that big fight. Never really got a chance to work it out.”

He nods slowly as a lightbulb seems to go off in his head. “Oh, right, I forgot about that. What was that about again? I don’t even remember.”

Of course he doesn’t. It was a lifetime ago. Why would he?

Hell, who knows what Waylon even told him, if he told him anything. I can’t imagine it was the truth, if he did. Not after how he reacted to seeing me again. I know a cornered animal when I see one.

“Just some misunderstanding,” I tell Mason vaguely. “He, uh, thought I told someone something I shouldn’t have.” Not a total lie...“And it kind of just snowballed from there.”

He nods slowly. “Sounds like him. He’s always been kind of a hothead. Shoot first, ask questions later, you know?” His face twists with some weird emotion I can’t place. He almost looks...guilty. “But he’s usually not one to hold a grudge. I’ll talk to him.”

Something about that just doesn’t ring true. The Waylon I remember was nothing if not...difficult. A tough nut to crack, as my grandma used to say. Who fucking knows, though? Maybe I just have a knack for bringing out the worst in him.

Good to know some things don’t change, I grouse to myself.

“Don’t worry about it. Maybe it’s for the best we just...” I wave a hand. “Forget this.”

His face tightens.

“I appreciate it, man, I do. But I really don’t want to cause any problems for anyone.”

He opens his mouth, no doubt to try and sway me to change my mind. But before he gets a chance, I turn away, quickly changing the subject.

“So where’s Izzy? Is she still around too?” My eyes linger over the make-shift stage in the back corner. A drum set sits almost completely in shadow. There’s a keyboard off to the right, and a couple mic stands as well. Amps. Speakers.

More memories pop up then. Ones I’ve all but forgotten about until now.

“Do you still play piano?” I say, trailing a finger over the bar. “I remember you guys were always practicing. Always talking about recitals and shit. Talking about starting your own band one day.”

I chuckle, turning around—

And stop dead in my tracks.

Mason.

What light was shining out of his pale blue eyes only moments before seems to have been completely snuffed out by what can only be described as pure, bone-crushing agony.