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spotted someone walking across the parking lot.
    The Texan kid. Calvin.
    Cal had stayed late to spend some time in the gym with the rest of the wrestling team. And as it just so happened, he also had his permit. And even more amazingly, he’d had jumper cables in his truck.
    Blake had to admit, while hopping back and forth from one foot to the other in the cold, that he’d never jump-started a car before. So Cal had shouldered him out of the way, sat him down in the passenger’s seat, and set the whole thing up. All Blake had to do was turn the key and rev the engine.
    Their friendship blossomed and evolved naturally from there. Blake was determined to pay Cal back, so he invited him out to a hockey game. Cal in turn introduced Blake to the other wrestlers, broadening his social circle from his usual artsy acquaintances. They discovered a shared love of music, and that, as they said, was that.
    Blake realized he was staring off into space and blinked, apologizing to Yanmei.
    “Lost in thought?” Her eyes twinkled in amusement.
    “You could say that,” Blake said.
    “So what are your plans for the rest of your time in Denver?”
    “Probably catch up with family, friends. That sort of stuff. We play another show at the arena tomorrow, then we’re filming at Red Rocks.”
    Yanmei let out a soft, thoughtful hum. She glanced over toward Cal again. Blake could plainly see gears turning in the young woman’s mind, although to what purpose he couldn’t guess. At least until she filled him in on her idea.
    It turned out, Yanmei had a proposition for him.
    A proposition that made Blake’s mouth stretch into a grin so big that his face hurt.
    A proposition that would make Cal so mad.
    He couldn’t wait.

    * * *
    L eaving The Garage with Yanmei’s phone number in his back pocket, Blake caught a cab. He contemplated going straight to the hotel, but there was something he wanted to grab at his old house.
    Blake’s parents had once owned the single-story brick affair on the outskirts of Aurora, but after his first album went big, he had insisted on buying it off them. They’d always wanted to move out to the West Coast to be closer to his other relatives, and buying the house was his way of giving them financial help in a way they’d actually accept.
    The neighborhood wasn’t the greatest anymore, Blake noted, as the cab took him off the interstate. There were broken bottles by the side of the road, other garbage in the gutters. Half the shops in the strip mall down the street were shut. Winchell’s was still selling hot donuts twenty-four-seven, thank God, but the rest of the area was just about unrecognizable.
    Blake paid the driver extra to wait while he strolled up the driveway.
    The house was little more than a brick box, with only five rooms. It had felt bigger when he was growing up. All his old furniture was still there, his old posters still up on his bedroom walls. Only his parents’ stuff had been moved out, and even then they’d left most of the heavy things behind.
    The guitar case was right where Blake had left it, standing upright in his closet.

8
Cal
    C al could tell something was up the second he pulled into the parking lot at work. There was a big, unmarked white truck parked alongside the building. The first—and admittedly crazy—thought Cal had was did I miss a payment? Is someone here to repossess my shit? But the bar had been paid for in full since his dad was forty, so that was ridiculous.
    Equally ridiculous was the number of non-Garage staff wandering in and out before the doors opened.
    What the hell?
    Ready to make a scene, Cal marched into the taproom. But any authority he’d summoned to use on these people died when he saw who else was there.
    Yanmei. And beside her, Blake. Fucking Blake. Why?
    His eyes took in the rest of the scene: the stage, which was typically only used for karaoke, had a few tables cleared away from it. A small drum kit was set up in the back. Two of the black