Finding My Way (Beaumont 4)

“You too, Liam, your grandmother has told me so much about you. She’s very happy you’ve decided to stay with her.” I look at my grandma who is smiling from ear to ear.

She pats my arm. “Why don’t you take Harrison out back and show him around?”

“Okay, grandma.” I kiss her on the cheek and signal toward the patio door. Harrison follows, stepping out into the early evening sun. I walk until I’m at the back, where there is a table set up.

“Sorry about my grandmother in there. I think she’s trying to make up for all the years we’ve missed.” I sit down and lean my chair up against the tree.

“It’s okay. I was pretty much forced to come here tonight.” I inspect Harrison. He’s a bit taller than I am and far skinnier. He has a few tattoos on his arms, making wonder if they’re a necessity in the music industry. I quickly look down at my arms, curious as to what they’d look like with inked etched on them. One thing is for certain, my parents would flip and that thought alone makes me want one.

“Because of me?” I ask already knowing the answer but needing the confirmation.

He nods. “Yeah,” he says without making eye contact. “My mom is close to your grandmother so they plotted and here I am.”

“I’m sorry. If you want to leave, I can make up some excuse.” I know what it feels like to be put in awkward situations. My dad has done it to me many times, which only spurred me to withdraw from him more and more.

Harrison shakes his head slightly. “I’m cool.” He looks down at the ground or his feet. It’s not like I want to stare, but I’m trying to figure him out. He runs his hand over his beanie, moving it back and forth before leaving it where it originally was.

“Do you mind if I smoke?” I ask.

He looks up quickly and offers the slightest of smiles. “Hell no, my mom said I couldn’t, but if you are, I’m going to.” We both light up and I don’t know if this is some freaky guy bonding thing, but it definitely takes the edge off any awkwardness we have going on.

“Can I ask you about your gig?”

“I play the drums for the house band at the bar Metro.”

“So you have, like, open mic nights?”

He nods as he takes a drag of his cigarette, exhaling into the night air. “Thursday through Saturday we do. We have some regulars and shit too. You sign up at four and wait your turn. The owner puts you on according to popularity. Usually by ten or eleven there are a few agents lurking around. We’ve had a couple of acts pick up agents and even sign deals from there.”

“You’re not working tonight?”

He looks at his watch and back to me before putting his cigarette out. “I’m doing the last few sets. My mom doesn’t stay out late so I just asked for a few hours off.”

“How do you know what to play? I mean, everyone comes with different music, right?”

“They do, but most of the time they’re songs that we’ve all heard. Every now and again someone will come in with an original piece and once they start, I can usually figure out the beat.”

“Just like that even without hearing it first?”

“Yeah, I have this weird music hearing thing. I don’t know. I can’t explain it,” His brows furrow as he’s telling me this. I wouldn’t call it weird, I’d call it a talent. I had a similar knack with picking apart the defenses that I was facing. “My mom said something about you playing the guitar and wanting to sing?”

“I taught myself last summer and I’ve been playing a few songs. I’m on the list for the Roxy, but that list is freaking long.”

“And they’re hard to get into and you usually need a full band to play there. But that’s how I learned to play the drums so it’s cool that you taught yourself. You should come with me down to the club and check it out.”

I think I like this guy and I want to scream hell yes, but I try to keep my cool. “Want to go now? I have a truck we can take.”

“Sure why not? If we’re supposed to hang so you’re not alone, might as well hang where we can jam. Grab your guitar and we’ll go.”

Harrison doesn’t have to tell me twice. I all but run back to the house and to my room to change out of my clothes and into black jeans and a

t-shirt. I snag my guitar and find my grandma to tell her what we’re doing. Her expression is a mixture of “I wish you wouldn’t leave” and “go have fun”. When I get outside, Harrison is standing by my truck, waiting.

“Stan said this one is yours.”

“Sure is,” I say as I hop in. I can still smell her perfume lingering in the upholstery. Half of me wishes it would dissipate, but the other half, the half that will love her forever, wants it to never leave. All of me wishes she was here, in the middle where she belongs, and going with me to jam because she makes everything better.

Chapter 28