““It’s been what – eleven years?” he says, his voice quieter now. “Twelve.” I swallow. “Twelve. Christ, yeah, right.” He runs his hand through his hair. “You look different ... but the same – you know,” he shrugs. “I know,” I smile. “You look different too.” I gesture to the tattoos on his arms. He grins down at them, then back at me. “But still the same.” I point my finger to the freckles on his nose. Surprised by how much my fingers are itching to touch him, I draw my hand back. He rubs his hand over his nose. “Yeah, no getting rid of them.” “I always liked them.” “Yeah, but you liked the Care Bears, Tru.” I flush. I can’t believe he remembers that. It’s crazy that he, Jake Wethers, rock god extraordinaire, remembers that I liked the Care Bears when I was little.””
