Jace rolled his eyes. “Uh, no. You’re a dipshit.” Jace grabbed the drumstick in mid-twirl and placed it back on the wall.

“You don’t keep a dipshit’s drumstick for ten years and then hang it on your wall like it’s a Grammy award or a platinum record.”

Jace bit his lip.

“Tell him the story, Jace,” Aggie prodded.

After a bit of hesitation, Jace told him. About seeing Sinners for the first time. How he didn’t think Jon was good enough. How he caught the drumstick and knew he was destined to be a part of the band. How he’d become a bassist to join Sinners. Eric’s smile widened with each revelation.

“So I’m responsible for inspiring the creation of the best bassist on the planet,” Eric said. “Is that what you’re telling me?”

“The best bassist on the planet…” Jace mumbled. “Well, I don’t know about that. You inspired me.”

“Yeah, that’s what I said.” Eric beamed with pride. “Holy shit. I can’t wait to tell the guys that you wanted to join Sinners because of me.”

“I didn’t tell you that story so you could get all gloaty.”

“I’ll get all gloaty if I want, tripod. I don’t have much to gloat about, you know.” Eric appraised the empty wall above the drumstick. “You know what you need? You need a giant, autographed poster of me to hang over your drumstick. I’ll sign it, To Tripod, My biggest-slash-shortest, secretly obsessed, mega-fanboy.”

Jace rolled his eyes and shook his head. “You know what you need?”

“A smaller head?”

“No, an embarrassing, smiley-faced daisy tattoo on the top of your foot.”

Eric grinned and nodded. “Only fair.”

Jace smiled and laughed. He gave Eric a one-armed, tough-guy hug and pounded him on the back. He was happy. And well loved. Just how Aggie wanted him. Always.