Induction Day: Book Two in the Butterman Travel Series Read Online Free

homestyle.”
    He gives a little nod. “Yeah, that’s what my mom said too. She had this place decorated like she wanted. Gave her a thrill, you know, getting down with her inner Better Homes and Gardens side.” He chuckles. “Not really my thing, but it reminds me of her.”
    “You say it like she’s dead or something. Doesn’t she still live in L.A.?”
    He turns back to his screen, rubs his neck lightly, obviously uncomfortable with the subject. “San Diego. Don’t see her as much as I used to. Things got … patchy when I was using all the time.”
    “But she knows you’re clean now, right?”
    “Relationships don’t repair themselves over night,” he says quietly. “Learned that in rehab.”
    “Right.” I glance on-screen. “What’re you watching?”
    “Old concerts. Not even holographic they’re so ancient, but you should check some of these out. Sublime stuff.” He minimizes one screen, expands another with a gesture of his hand. “Been watching these 1990s bands perform—how they innovated their own sound of the decade … I’m telling you there’s a hidden magic here that needs revival in today’s pop culture.”
    Guitar music and singing swells from the hidden speakers now, filling the room as Tristan tinkers with the volume. It’s a primitive rock sound symbolic of its pre-millennial era. Heavy on electric guitar and scratchy voices, but different from the retro feel of Woodstock. Relentlessly unforgiving.
    “This show here is live in Seattle. Listen to this guy’s voice …”
    I indulge him for a few minutes, and it’s an interesting voice, but I don’t see the big deal. Tristan’s voice is crisper, more honest, and I’m amazed he doesn’t realize it. I glance at the way he’s nodding his head in time to the music, seemingly experiencing every note as if bathing him in ecstasy. I forgot how wrapped up he gets in music. Okay, so I do too, but I mean Tristan really loses himself in this retro stuff. I have to admit, it makes me smile all over again. There’s an undeniable cuteness to a superstar who gets off on long-dead performers. He becomes an artist in his zone. That’s what attracted me to him in the first place.
    “It’s good,” I say. “So is middle of the night your usual time for concert surfing?”
    His little smile fades, and he leans into his desk til his arms are flush against it. “Only when a deadline is hanging over my head.” He glances at me. “And it’s still tough sometimes, you know? I can’t hide from the cravings. Need something to take my mind off it.”
    “You’re stronger than you give yourself credit.”
    His brows arch, his lids heavy over his now smoldering gaze. “Maybe. Music does squash some urges … but it increases others.” He cocks a half smile that hides nothing of what he’s suggesting.
    My chest gives a little heave and I know my face is blushing. “Well, can’t you … chew gum or something?”
    He ignores my question as if I never said it out loud. “I was weak at Woodstock, but that doesn’t count. You know, when in Rome and all. But it did remind me how fun it is to be high.”
    “Um, Tristan, it does count. Just ‘cause you’re in a different time string doesn’t mean it’s not real. You used. And … so did I. But that won’t happen again.”
    “That’s because you’re a control freak.” He chuckles, casting a sideways glance my way. “But it’s cool. I could use one in my life about now.”
    “Obviously.” I rest my hand on his shoulder in an effort to show him some warmth, and that in a bizarre way, I understand. “If it’s any consolation, you haven’t done any heliox since I’ve known you, and that was your major offender. So in a way, you’re still clean … but weak.”
    He lowers the music to a soft background noise. “I haven’t done heliox in over four months. My rehab counselor would say it doesn’t matter. Substance abuse is substance abuse, and I can’t be around any of it.” His