Christopher stretched out on top of his blankets, eyes closed, lost in the music playing from his phone on the nightstand. It was the recording he’d made of Gage’s set that night, the one he couldn’t resist getting when Gage started in on the very first number. The quality was terrible, and there was a ton of noise from the bar, chairs scraping, people talking, glasses clinking, but Gage’s voice still came through often enough to make it worth it, often enough to transport him back to the Red Fin so all he had to do was watch the memories flicker on the inside of his eyelids.
He’d have to delete it in the morning. He couldn’t let Gage know what a fan he was turning into. Their budding friendship had already taken some weird turns not to throw obsessive stalker into the mix, too.
The ring
