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My heart seized up. Jared lived and breathed music and could play just about every instrument, but guitar was his true passion. To not be able to play it the way he once had would kill him. I knew because it would kill me, too, even though I hadn’t touched a bass in months. I couldn’t think of a worse fate, and I ached for him. “That’s terrible,” I said. “I hope his hand heals up soon. But what can I do to help?” “We have a concert in Austin on New Year’s Eve, and we need a bassist.” For a long moment I couldn’t say anything. I simply clutched my stomach and stared at my wall, wondering if I’d heard him correctly. “Just for the one show,” he continued. “We don’t have anything scheduled after that until Valentine’s Day, and we’re hoping he’ll be able to play again by then.” “Why me?” I
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