His Song-8

2019 Words

Dane rushes in, eager to put some much-needed distance between them. A bedroom, as he expected—a dim lamp casts a golden light onto the bed, a maroon comforter turned down to expose red satin sheets, a heavy oaken dresser beneath a mirror reflecting Dane back to himself. He sees the guitar in the corner, yes, and there’s a stack of papers that might be scribbled down songs, but there’s no sound board or recorder or playback device, nothing to suggest a studio of any kind. “Where…” Then the door closes softly behind him and the question disappears. In the mirror he sees Randy watching him with hooded eyes, one hand on the doorknob, the other fiddling with the buttons on his shirt. The first button pops free, the next, the next, until Dane can see the dark hair covering the older man’s che

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