OUT OF THE RED ↝ dave grohl

seven.

SHE DIDN'T WANT to do what she was about to do. Reagan would have rather faced fire-breathing dragons and the kind of monsters made from nightmares than go through with the confrontation lingering ahead of her.

She sat in her car, idling outside near the curb of the driveway that was in front of Scott's house. She had not needed to call ahead of time to know that Chris was there. Like telepathy, Reagan already sensed that her friend was at Scott's without a second guess.

As if to further accentuate those telepathic abilities, the front door to Scott's house opened and golden light spilled onto the porch. Chris walked out, peering into the dark where she spotted Reagan's car.

"Damn," Reagan muttered. Chris had of course known she was outside.

Reagan had barely had the time to conclude what she was going to tell Chris about her planned endeavor with Nirvana. She'd counted on being alone in her car for a few moments to collect her thoughts.

But that time had run out more quickly than she'd anticipated.

Chris was going to be livid. She had been begging and pleading with Reagan for what felt like forever to collaborate with Yellow Fellow and Reagan had always declined. It would be an utter betrayal for her to find out that Reagan had agreed to perform with Nirvana.

Reagan guessed that Chris would probably neglect to listen to her insistence that it was a one time thing. She would only latch on to the fact that Reagan had enlisted herself in doing it in the first place.

As Reagan raised her fingers to her mouth, chewing on what was left of her fingernails, Chris approached her down the driveway. Reagan shut her car off and opened the door.

"I didn't think you'd ever show your face around here again," Chris crowed, wearing a carefree smile. Reagan winced.

"I've been really busy with work. Today was my off day."

"I can see that. Get your ass inside. We've got beer and instruments all around."

"Uhm, Chris . . ." Reagan began, drawing further back inside her car. Only her legs stuck out of the driver's side door.

"Hey, don't worry. If you don't want to drum tonight that's cool. Want me to teach you some more tricks on the bass? Are you still down to learn?"

Chris was firing away rapidly, barely allowing for Reagan to speak as she excitedly embraced that her closest friend had finally come to see her.

Reagan felt sick to her stomach as she looked into Chris's face, visibly lit up with jubilation even in the darkness of night.

"Can we talk before we go inside?" Reagan asked, finally managing to cut in.

If you still want me to join you after this, she considered as an afterthought.

"Oh no," Chris said, her expression going slack. "What is it?"

"It's not . . . bad. Or I mean, not terrible. I think."

"Shit. Is it Tommy? Did you say yes to a date? No, wait! Did you fuck him again?"

Reagan raised both of her palms to her face, covering her eyes with a mixture of embarrassment and fear. Hearing any mention of her and Tommy's sexual exploits was the last thing she wanted.

"It doesn't have to do with Tommy."

"Oh?" Chris said, raising her eyebrows. She stuffed both of her hands into her jean pockets.

"It's about . . . me. And a band."

Although she was squinting through the gaps of her fingers, Reagan could see Chris's eyes widen with abrupt rejection.