Heartstrings by Sierra Riley Read Free Book Online

damn good pop songs. Blake couldn’t argue with the results.
    But just because he didn’t argue didn’t mean that style of songwriting felt right. Sometimes, it rang pretty hollow.
    Overall, though, the show was an upbeat affair. They played a couple drum-thumping hoedown songs, a sea shanty, and assorted other bits. The audience loved it. Blake loved it, too. He left a mental note to have Rich, his publicist, look into talk-show appearances or other gigs where he could play solo or just with Carlo. He needed it.
    Throughout the hour-long set, he stole glances toward the bar. Cal looked so overworked that he scarcely glanced up. So overworked that at one point, Blake actually felt kind of bad.
    Watching Cal in his natural habitat was an intriguing thing. For starters, he moved so differently now. His every step was possessed of the quiet confidence and sure-footedness of a man who knew his capabilities and wasn’t afraid of anything. He handled rowdy drunks with the same finesse as chatty customers. He wasn’t Cal the New Kid anymore, not by a long stretch.
    Admiring that capable body language resulted in the inevitable study of Cal’s body itself, which Blake observed unabashedly. Cal was built like a truck these days, his figure cut with the muscle of a man who worked for it out in the real world rather than in a gym. He wasn’t sculpted like a bodybuilder, he was sculpted like a man who kicked asses for a living.
    That combined with his scruffier hair, the tan he’d since acquired...
    If Cal wasn’t attached to Yanmei in the romantic sense, he probably had to beat the would-be suitors off with a baseball bat.

    * * *
    A fter his set , Blake mingled with the crowd. He shook hands, took a few selfies, bought beers for strangers, drank beers that strangers bought for him, and generally let his hair down. His management team had condoned the show, but none of them had turned up for the actual gig, so he relaxed a little.
    Before he knew it, Cal was shouting from the bar that it was last call. That meant... shit, was it two in the morning?
    Blake hadn’t put much thought into the gift he’d retrieved from his childhood home, but now it weighed heavy on his conscience. He’d lugged it all the way out here. But now that he had, the idea of actually approaching Cal and giving it to him seemed far-fetched. In fact, Blake couldn’t convince himself that Cal was even worth it.
    He thought maybe the years would have softened his anger, but they hadn’t. Cal had walked out on him. And the band. He’d turned his back on all of them.
    Blake’s original idea of giving him the guitar hadn’t even been for forgiveness’ sake. It was more so he didn’t feel like throwing up in anger every time he opened his closet door. Now, faced with the task of delivering it, he wasn’t sure he could follow through.
    Yet the more he thought about it, the more he realized that giving the guitar away was the best course of action. If he couldn’t summon the guts, he’d feel like a wuss for the rest of his life. He’d look back on this moment any time he was doubting himself. He’d use it as ammunition against himself.
    Blake stretched and set his glass aside, heading out through a side door to where the truck was parked. The case was right where he’d left it, standing up against the wall of the trailer.
    If Blake had to stand out there in the brisk night air, summoning up the courage to approach his old friend, nobody had to know.

10
Cal
    C al knew a moment of confrontation was brewing. He could feel it in his bones, like an old sailor could predict a storm. He knew Blake would have to have the last word, would have to show off his newfound status and wealth and success. Blake couldn’t just let things lie. Not then, not now, not ever.
    So when Blake swaggered up to the bar after last call, Cal braced himself for a fight. He shifted his boots on the sticky bar floor, eyeballed the shorter man with a bouncer’s stare. He tried to