Sweet Forty-Two(31)

“Play.” In my head it sounded louder, but it came out as a whisper.

Watching Regan walk away from me, and to the parking lot to, presumably, get his violin, I couldn’t help but stare at the way his clothes regarded his body as a perfect rack. One for which they alone were designed. Nothing was too tight, or too loose. He didn’t belittle those around him with flashy brand names. Though he could have paid a little more attention to his hair, I found my fingers tingling to feel it.

“Don’t do it.” CJ had switched to bottled beer, and brought the opening to his mouth as he spoke, holding the neck with his thumb and first two fingers.

“Don’t do what, exactly?” I leaned my elbows onto the bar in front of him.

“Regan.”

I searched CJ’s eyes and face for signs of humor, an indication that he was teasing. All I found was an uncomfortable severity.

“W ... why?” I hadn’t planned on doing anything with Regan, but CJ’s caution had me curious. And, curiosity was a force all its own.

CJ set the bottle down and stared at it for a minute. When he’d gotten all he needed from it, he looked to me. “Just ... come on. Argh!” CJ ran a hand over his hair and it was clear.

Secrets.

Despite every shortcoming one could easily find with my promiscuous friend, gossiping wasn’t on the menu.

“I got it,” I said, placing my hand on his. “And, thank you. You’re an awesome friend.”

He looked up at me from under his unfairly long eyelashes. “Don’t go spreading that shit around. I’m only in town for a few more days.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” Just then, Regan returned with his violin and headed for the stage. “Get up there, teddy bear. Rock it.”

CJ leaned over the bar and kissed me on the cheek. “You got it, gorgeous.”

After Regan tuned and CJ settled behind the set, I started for the stage to announce them. Applause from the crowd in front of the stage told me that wouldn’t be necessary, however. And, even if I’d wanted to announce them, they took off in song before I could even reach the stage. And I was nearly knocked on my ass.

CJ struck the drums with vicious force as Regan ripped the bow across his strings. It was a full Irish jig, each Kane boy relentless in their pursuit of excellence from their instruments. I’d heard a song like this before. Celtic Cross did a cover of David Garrett’s “Celtic Rondo” here a few weeks ago.

The duo I was staring at tonight blew that entire band out of the water.

Every once in a while, CJ would pull back, and Regan would play a complicated solo. The fingers on his left hand moved just as fast as the bow in his right. When I closed my eyes, it sounded like there were two fiddles battling it out—that’s the skill he beckoned from his fingers. It made me want to dance. And, I don’t dance.

As soon as CJ entered the song again, the crowd cheered, and Regan turned to face his talented cousin. With hands moving independently from the rest of their bodies, Regan and CJ’s smiles invited the audience into their shared history. Their family.

“Let’s go!” Lissa grabbed my hand and gave it a tug.

“Where?” I squealed as she dragged me to the front of the stage.

“Dance!”

I shook my head and shouted over the crowd, “I don’t know how! Not to this!”

Lissa lifted her arms overhead and began jumping to CJ’s off-beats. “Just ... move!”

“Ahh!” I threw my head back, rolling my eyes for effect.

Then, I closed my eyes. And, I danced.

I was free.

Whirling with Lissa through the notes springing from Regan’s bow, and jumping to the precise beats of CJ’s bass drum, I was free-falling up. Up, not down. Falling up is a much grander experience when one can find the let-go-ness to do so. I’d feared I’d misplaced my let-go, but there I was, sweat splashed across my chest and dancing.

“Woohoo!” Lissa lifted her hands in praise as the boys finished.

I pressed my thumb and forefinger into the sides of my mouth and whistled, catching Regan’s attention. When his sea-glass eyes found me, I caught the vision of his tongue darting quickly across his lips before he smiled. I gave him a single thumbs-up before CJ hollered the name of a song I didn’t recognize and counted off with his sticks.

And away they went...

Though it’d only been a couple of minutes, my crash-landing back to reality felt a bit harsh. While the guys continued playing, customers continued ordering beer and food, and they required someone to deliver it to them. I’d have much preferred to stand in front of that stage all night. They were each lost in the notes, but still able to communicate with the crowd. I couldn’t take my eyes off of them.

It wasn’t just that CJ and Regan were both good-looking—okay, hot—in their own ways. But, I’d known CJ for a long time, and even when he was starting to really excel at the drums, I’d never seen him look like that on stage.

The way music can turn a person’s hidden emotions inside out was fascinating to me. And, exactly why I stayed away from musical instruments.

Over the course of the next half hour, through songs fast and slow, modern and historic, CJ and Regan transformed Monday Night Football into something tolerable.

“I’m sticking my tongue down CJ’s throat tonight, whether he likes it or not.” Lissa spoke over her applause as the guys wrapped up their impromptu set. Savage determination marched through her eyes.