Hidden Talent

Blake closed the door of his car, the cool autumn air hitting his skin.

He entered his house, the smell of food entering his nostrils.

The aroma of roasting chicken and the pattern of sizzling vegetables grew stronger as he approached the kitchen. His mother moved with a dance-like grace between the stove and the counter, her apron fluttering around her like a chef's cape. She had a way of making even the most mundane task look like a performance, her eyes sparkling with the secret ingredient that made her meals legendary in the Hartley household.

"Hey, Mom," Blake greeted, leaning against the doorframe.

"Blake, darling!" His mother, Elise, swiveled with a spatula in hand, her eyes lighting up. "Just in time for lunch!"

Blake **** a smile, his muscles aching from his intense gym session. "What's on the menu?"

Elise waved the spatula at him. "Roast chicken with rosemary potatoes and a side of steamed veggies."

Blake nodded, his stomach rumbling in anticipation. "It smells amazing." He rubbed his eyes, trying to shake off the fatigue from his workout. "I'm wiped out."

Elise chuckled, setting a plate of steaming chicken and veggies. "You're always wiped out after the gym," she teased, her voice light. "But you're always ready to eat."

"It's like my body knows it needs fuel," Blake said with a smirk, digging into his meal. The flavors danced on his tongue, a symphony of home-cooked comfort that seemed to melt away the last of his exhaustion. He chewed thoughtfully for a moment before his mother spoke, her voice tinged with curiosity.

"How's the group project with Vivi going? Both still alive?"

"Very funny," Blake said, rolling his eyes. "But actually, we're surprisingly getting along."

"Is that so?" his mother asked raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah, I don't think we'll be friends after this, but she finds things in the project that I missed." he explained, taking a deep breath.

The conversation drifted to other topics as Blake finished his lunch, his mother's eyes never leaving him for too long. The warmth of the kitchen and the aroma of the food wrapped around him like a blanket, and he couldn't help but feel a sense of peace that had been missing lately.

After washing up, he headed to his room to grab his guitar. The instrument was a well-loved companion, the strings a bit too tight from neglect, the body scuffed with the marks of countless jam sessions. He slung the strap over his shoulder and checked his phone. A message from Ethan confirmed the time: 3 PM sharp.

The drive to Ethan’s was a familiar one—past the old oaks that lined Mariner’s Hollow, the leaves whispering secrets in the autumn breeze. His car, an old Volkswagen that had seen better days, rumbled to life with a comforting purr.

Blake rolled down the windows, letting the chilly air wash over him, carrying with it the scent of burning leaves and distant BBQs. It was a smell that spoke of weekends and freedom, a stark contrast to the tension that had become a constant companion since last week's loss.

He pulled into Ethan’s driveway, the gravel crunching under his tires as he parked beside the nondescript garage. The side door was ajar, revealing the sanctum where Ethan’s true passion lived — a place where the steady rhythm of a guitar could drown out the whispers of the past. Blake grabbed his guitar from the back seat, the instrument feeling like a comforting extension of himself, and approached the open doorway.

As he stepped inside, the sound of a drumstick tapping a beat greeted him. Nick was already there, sitting on a stool with a drum pad set in front of him, lost in his own rhythm. He looked up and grinned, the kind of smile that was all teeth and mischief.

"Hey, cuz," he said.

“Hey Blake” Ethan greeted, “wait a minute, I’m going to go get something and I’ll be back.”

“Alright Schwarzenegger.” Nick replied.

“Oh shut up.” Ethan chuckled.

Blake plugged his guitar to the amp, tuning it so it sounds good.

When he was done, Ethan returned with a box.

“What's this?” Blake asked.

“Got it for last christmas, haven't used it that much” Ethan said pulling out a mixer.

“Is that what I think it is?” Nick asked.

“Yep, a mixer.” Ethan responded proudly.

“Also,” he added, reaching for something on the top shelf, “we can finally use the synth.”

“Damn, you’re prepared to make a song, aren’t you?” Blake noted.

“With this equipment we could make a band!” Nick exclaimed.

“True, but let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” Blake said.

“Yeah, we said we wanted to compose a few songs. If we like it, then maybe in the future…” Ethan left the sentence unfinished, the silence finishing for him.

“Yeah, for now let’s practice,” Blake said, grabbing his guitar, Ethan did the same with his bass.

“Alright,” Nick said, “improv?” After getting nods from both teens he counted them in, “One, two, three, four.”

The garage filled with the sound of their instruments, the rhythm pulsing through the cold afternoon air. Blake’s fingers danced over the guitar strings, crafting melodies that wove in and out of the bass line Ethan laid down. Nick’s drumming grew more complex, a steady heartbeat that pushed them to keep up.

“Alright, I think we warmed up,” Nick said stopping the drums.

"Can we play one more song?" Ethan asked, "I still miss some notes"

"Sure," Blake nodded, "But you better not rickroll us."

"How about the one?" Nick asked.

Blake raised an eyebrow at Ethan, who nodded. "Back in Black it is," he said with a smirk, and they all laughed. It was a classic, the first song they ever played together.

The opening riff echoed through the garage, a familiar anthem that brought a surge of energy. The three of them locked into the rhythm, each playing their part with a practiced ease that belied the months since they'd last jammed out like this. The walls vibrated with the sound of the bass, the guitar wailing above it like a siren's call. Nick's drumming was tight, his grin widening as he watched his friends come alive with the music.

Blake's fingers danced over the strings, the music speaking for him in a way words never quite could. His eyes met Ethan's, a silent conversation passing between them—a nod here, a smirk there. It was as if they shared a secret language, one that didn't need words to express the joy of creating something together.

Blake stopped mid riff, "What if I try singing?" he proposed.

"We've never tried, but it could be cool. You know the lyrics right?" Ethan said as he mused the question.

"Yeah I do. Nick count us in" Blake said.

"One, two, three, four" Nick said, and Blake launched into the iconic opening of "Back in Black," his voice a surprise—raspy and soulful, a stark contrast to the polished tones of the guitar.

At first, the words were tentative, as if feeling their way through the music, but as the song picked up pace, so did Blake's confidence. His voice grew stronger, filling the garage with a sound that was both rough and velvety.

As the song reached its end Nick exclaimed. "God damn where were you hiding this talent, Blake?"

Ethan nodded, his eyes wide in shock, "Seriously, dude, that was..."

"...unexpected," Nick finished for him, setting down his drumsticks with a clatter. "But in the best way possible."

Blake himself was surprised by the sound of his own voice, raw and powerful in a way he had never allowed it to be before. It was as if he had unlocked a hidden compartment inside himself that he didn't know he had.