The Ruins (The Union #2) by T. H. Hernandez (Blog Tour)

          Colin nudges me and points to the back wall where a small stage sits with an old upright piano and an acoustic guitar.

          “No way,” I hiss. “What part of ‘don’t draw attention to ourselves’ didn’t you understand?”

          I glance at Rainey across the bar, watching us with interest. She makes her way over to us. “What’s going on guys?” she asks.

          “I’m itching to get my fingers on that guitar,” Colin says.

          Rainey glances around. “Hang on a minute. I think it’s okay, but let me check it out a little more.”

          She heads over to chat with the bartender, then does a quick lap around the room, talking to a handful of people, mostly guys who flirt with the pit bull disguised as a harmless pixie.
          When she returns to our table, a smile lifts the corner of her mouth. “Seems we’re a lot closer to the border than I thought.”

          “Border?” Colin asks.

          “Yeah. The Northern Territories are only about two miles north of here. They’ve got a steady influx of migrants trying to stay a step ahead of the Uprising. New people are a dime a dozen. We’re not likely to draw much attention, at least no more than anyone else, so if you want to play music, go for it.”
          “Come on, Ev, it’ll be fun,” Colin says. “Just like in my bedroom back home.”

          I haven’t played in a long time, but after finishing my second beer, I’m feeling more adventurous. Colin exchanges a few words with the bartender. The cute brunette has been eyeing Colin since we got here, so I’m not surprised when she tells him to go for it.

          He heads to the stage and picks up the guitar, tuning it. I sit at the piano, and play a few notes. It hasn’t been tuned in ages. The white keys are chipped on the edges, and the black ones are rubbed smooth. I’ve never played a stringed piano, and the action is sluggish. After fingering the scales once or twice, I get a sense of which notes are the most out of tune so I can avoid them if possible.

          There’s something almost liberating about playing again. My fingers know what to do, the muscle memory returning with glee. Colin strums a slow, gentle melody I don’t recognize at first. By the time he hits the chorus, I smile, realizing it’s one of Eddie’s, although Colin’s slowed it down, turning it into a ballad.

          Applause erupts when the song is over, reminding me we’re not sitting in Colin’s apartment. Most of the girls in the bar are openly staring at Colin with admiration, including one in particular. Standing near the door, holding an empty tray against her hip, is a small blonde with big blue eyes locked on Colin. Ally.