by Amity Cross
The room was dark, but the silver beams of the moon shimmered through the windows and lit everything in an eerie glow. Beyond, I could see the brightest stars peeking through the light pollution of the city. Everything else was silent—apart from the low rumble of Ziggy snoring from his bed on the floor beside me.
Sebastian lay beside me, his arms cradling my tender body. He really was a champ, holding back from sex until my scars had healed enough for them not to hurt. For a guy as active as he was, Sebastian was really taking one for the team. I let out a soft laugh, then thought about the house on the edge of the national park. Like the two were related.
“What?” Sebastian murmured. “Does your head hurt? Do you need to take any tablets?”
“No. I was just thinking.”
“About?”
“Does Damon really live in that house alone?” I asked.
“We’re in bed… and you’re asking me about Damon?” He chuckled and smoothed his fingers up and down my arm.
“Yeah.”
“He does, but he likes it out there. Something about not annoying the neighbours with all his drumming. We told him he could get soundproofing installed, but I guess he likes the country.”
“I mean, it’s so big and lonely out there.”
“God forbid any of us tells Damon what to do.”
“But don’t you think he’s too isolated?”
“No. It’s what he wants, Juni. Besides, he’s too busy cleaning up after his sister to have time to feel lonely. Then there’s his string of girlfriends. And I mean that in the loosest sense of the word since none have ever stuck.”
I turned in Sebastian’s arms so I was laying on my back.
“What happened today? You’ve been quiet since you got back.”
“We talked about a lot of stuff,” I replied. “I think you guys will be all right.”
He snorted. “Tell that to my face.”
“The bruise will go away,” I scolded him.
“Some bruises run deep.” Suddenly, I realised we were talking about more than just Damon punching him in the face.
“Sebastian, you saw me get shot. I was barely a step away from you when that bullet hit me. It’s okay to feel something residual.”
“You think?” His lips brushed the shell of my ear. “I wasn’t the one hurt.”
“I remember the gun going off, then falling… I have this image of you lunging at the woman, and then I woke up in the hospital. You were there for all the traumatic parts when I wasn’t.”
Sebastian was silent. A few moments passed, then his fingers began to trace over the scar on my stomach. He began at my abdomen, then gently travelled upward to where Dr. Lindsey’s incision hooked around my bellybutton.
“Don’t let that moment echo into your happiness,” I whispered. “Music is your lifeblood. Things will work out with the band, you’ll see.”
“How are you so strong?” he whispered as he nestled closer. “When I think about that moment, and that tiny life…” His palm came to rest on my stomach.
“Don’t,” I said, the word spilling from my lips before I could stop it. I turned over so my back was facing him. “I don’t want to talk about that.”
“Juni…”
I knew it was wrong to push it away, but I ignored him. I felt bad enough about my reaction in the hospital without having to dwell on it.
“Juniper, I’m sorry.”
“I’m tired,” I whispered.
Sebastian’s lips pressed against my bare shoulder. “Sleep,” he replied. “Things will be better in the morning.”
I squeezed my eyes shut, but I couldn’t stop the single, solitary tear from escaping. I hoped he was right.
12
Juniper
I stared at the gold and platinum records on the wall and squinted my eyes, counting all the little rings. They rose up and down like the dust particles that surrounded Saturn and contained all of Beneath’s music. Well, for that album anyway.
The music room felt like it was the safest place inside the McMansion.
Curled up on the couch, I sighed. The stories had started up again yesterday. Juniper Rowe on the Brink was the gist of it.
Sources close to the socialite—was that what they were seriously calling me?—stated that she was so distraught over the intimate footage of her and Sebastian leaking, that she contemplated self-harm. They’d even tried drawing comparisons between me and my dad.
I snorted and wondered how I was going to go to the recording studio today with stuff like that circulating the drain. I wasn’t fragile, even though my stomach hurt occasionally and the odd headache, but that was par for the course.
Socialite? Pfft! I’d much rather be called a businesswoman.
My phone began to ring, the sound shrill in the silence. Seeing my best friend’s name on the screen, I snatched it up. “Hey, Ness.”
“Hey,” she said. “How’s things?”
“Ugh,” I replied.
“That good, huh?”
“Have you seen the papers?” I asked.
“Yeah, but don’t worry about that shit. They’re going to say whatever they want regardless, so mute them. You’ll feel better.”
“They called me a socialite,” I said with a moan. “It makes it sound like all I do is dress up, drink tea, and gossip.”
Vanessa laughed and almost choked. “Well, it’s better than being called a gold-digger.”
“Speaking about mining for nuggets… why do they have to keep dragging all this up? It’s old news and irrelevant to what I went through.”
“They haven’t got anything better to do,” she said, “that’s why. They can’t get any pictures or gossip, so they have to make it up to sell more papers.”
“Gotta sell magazines somehow I guess,” I drawled.
“Exactly.”
I squirmed, not wanting to acknowledge my paranoia that all this might be because Mallory was leaking things to the press. Especially since we had parted on a sour note.
“You’re a little quiet there, Juni. What’s up?”
“Do you think it’s Mallory?” I asked.
“I wouldn’t put it past her. She better thank her lucky stars she’s never met me in person, otherwise she’d have one extra orifice.”
I snorted. “Is she my arch-nemesis?”
“Yup.” She popped the ‘p’ at the end. “Don’t worry about her, though. Just live your best life and she’ll die of jealousy. You better start posting pictures and all your amazing thoughtful thoughts online so you can rub her nose in it. You don’t have as many followers, but it’s quality over quantity.”
“Substance over style?” I quipped.
“Exactly.”
“I can start with a photo of Ziggy in the pool.” I smiled at the memory of him jumping into the pool the other day. Everyone panicked, thinking he was going to drown, but he just paddled his little paws and did laps until he got too tired and hopped out.
“How is my little Zigger-meister?”
“He’s got the entire house wrapped around his paw. Farmer takes him for walks and everything.”
“Why am I not surprised?”
“He knows the score.” I laughed. It certainly was a dog’s life.
My smile faded as my thoughts went back to Mallory and the sudden resurgence in old news. Could she really be that petty? It was Mallory Grigorio I was talking about. Besides, she’d practically admitted she’d do anything to hold onto her fame, and the night the sex tape leaked she’d told Sebastian that nobody turns her down like it was some kind of threat.
I shook my head. My paranoia was working overtime.
“Any plans for the week?” Vanessa asked. “I don’t have to tell you about mine. I smell like pizza twenty-four-seven, though business is really picking up compared to last year. Hugo thinks it’s to do with my rising fame as Sebastian Hale’s girlfriend’s best friend.”
I groaned and slapped my palm against my forehead. “Don’t go getting a complex no
w, Ness.”
“Who? Me?” she asked innocently. “Never.”
“Well, I’m going to some recording studio in the city in a few,” I went on, changing the subject. “Sebastian set it up for me.”
“A recording studio?”
“Yeah. It’s so I can see how things work. I haven’t the foggiest idea how to run one. If we’re going to go all in on this venture of ours, I want to be hands-on. I don’t want to be the name on the door and never open it, you know.”
“Books to records… seems like an obvious progression.”
“I’m really excited about it. I think this is the thing that I want to do. The charity, raising awareness about bullying and mental illness. Pairing it with music will bring Sebastian and I closer, too.”
“Music does have a way of bringing people together,” Vanessa mused. “It sounds great.” The phone rustled. “Is everything else good?”
I knew what she was getting at and I wished I could shrug, but we were on the phone and she wouldn’t be able to see.
“I’m okay. I’m getting stronger and my scars don’t hurt so much anymore. They’re still tender to the touch, but I can bend over now. I’ll be back taking Ziggy for walks in no time.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“I’m okay,” I complained. “Really.”
“Juniper…”
“Vanessa, I said I’m good.” I didn’t want to snap at her, but I really was okay… even if I sometimes got lost in a flashback or was startled by a shadow. Everyone expected me to be a complete mess and the constant walking on eggshells was doing my head in. I just wanted to move on and put the attack behind me the best I could.
“Whatever. Set a date for the wedding yet?”
“Ness!”
“What? I’ve gotta ask the boss for time off, so give me some notice, okay?”
A soft knock at the door drew my attention and Statfield poked his head into the room. “It’s almost time to go,” he whispered.
“Ness, I’ve got to go.”
“What?” she screeched. “You can’t leave me in the dark! Please tell me it’ll be in the spring!”
Haze Studios in Annandale was where Beneath had recorded two out of their three studio albums.
The unassuming brick building had housed some of the biggest Australian artists in the last ten years, producing a whole stack of number one albums.
When we walked through the front doors, we were greeted by a cheery receptionist. She had two full tattoo sleeves, blue and black hair, and a pierced nose. She’d also donned a Guns ‘n’ Roses T-shirt, leggings, and combat boots. Instantly, I knew this place as going to be cool.
Her gaze flickered to Statfield, and I shrugged. We’d become stuck at the hip in the wake of my return to the McMansion. I got that he still felt guilt over what’d happened, but I told him he didn’t have to carry that burden. Whatever he was fighting internally was his to come to terms with. If making my protection his sole focus was his way of dealing, then I was glad for his presence.
She looked my bodyguard over with interest, then made a call to let the owner know I was here for my appointment.
When Stewart Turner—owner of Haze Studios—appeared from out the back, I was surprised to see he was another tattooed rocker, though he had a bit of a hipster vibe with his deep V-neck T-shirt and skinny jeans. An eagle tattoo blazed across his chest, drawing my eye.
“You must be Stuart?” I was uncertain, since he seemed on the young side. Sebastian said he owned the place, but he looked like he was in his late twenties.
“Call me Stewie,” he said, holding out his hand, “everyone does.”
“Okay.” I shook his hand and smiled. “Thanks for taking the time to show me around.”
“Anything for Sebastian Hale.” He looked me over and his grin widened. “Your pictures don’t do you justice.”
I flushed and glanced at Statfield, who was glowering from across reception.
“I’m sorry about everything that happened to you,” Stewie went on. “I mean, it’s great to see you on your feet again.”
“Thanks.” My hand went unbidden to the side of my head and I rubbed my palm over the stubble.
“The stories in the papers…”
I rolled my eyes. “I wouldn’t believe everything you read. Those things are way more fiction than fact.”
“I know, I hang around a bunch of famous musicians for a living. The stories they tell are wild.”
I smirked, knowing some of the things Sebastian had done over the years would curl his toes. Given Beneath’s reputation, maybe there’d been some crazy things happening here, too. Bands usually took a while to record albums, and I’d always read about the late nights some had trying to get down the perfect track. If walls could talk, huh?
“Come through and I’ll show you one of the studios.”
“How many do you have?” I asked as he held the door open for me.
“Two, but they’re both fully kitted out. We’re looking to expand, but the building permits around here are super restrictive.”
I stepped through to the darkened hallway beyond, leaving Statfield to silently guard the receptionist. The lighting was moody, which was a lot closer to what I’d envisioned when Sebastian told me where he was sending me. The walls were lined with framed signed photographs of all the artists who’d recorded here. Beneath was amongst them, and I smiled at the sight of Sebastian. It was an early picture and he looked so fresh-faced, nothing like the rugged man who’d asked me to share his life.
“Beneath has recorded two albums here,” Stewie said. “Their last one was done in LA, though.”
“Do you record just rock?”
“Nope. All kinds of music—pop, soul, R&B, rap, electronic stuff. A whole mix.” He opened another door. “We have our own producers and session artists, but we also rent out the spaces. It’s entirely flexible for the artists.”
“Session artists?” I asked, following him into one of the studios.
“They’re pro musicians, but they play on recordings mostly and sometimes in live bands when they need the extra back up. They might have a song that has a complex guitar part that needs two players, but the band usually only has one. Or they play the backing tracks for a singer. That kind of thing.”
“So, you don’t have to be in a band to be a pro musician?”
“Nope. It’s a coveted position, would you believe. Not everyone wants to be a rock star out on the road ten months of the year. It’s a good alternative.” He turned to the studio and began to tell me about the equipment and the booths set up around the space.
There was a main room behind a glass wall that had various instruments and microphones set up. A drum kit was at the back, as was a keyboard and a rack of guitars. Black hard cases were set against another wall, and the floor was lined with black carpet that rose and dipped where cables ran underneath. Another small room was to one side—with a giant microphone set up in the middle and all kinds of shielding around it. A set of black headphones was hooked around the stand. That must be where they recorded vocals.
The lighting was dark and sultry in here too, and without any windows to the outside world, it was like a cozy cave. No wonder people got lost in their music in places like this—it felt like a vacuum of space and time. Everything was fitted with impenetrable soundproofing so they could capture crystal-clear audio. Holes were taped and cracks around doors were sealed like the studio was a capsule about to be shot into space. It really was full on and I hadn’t realised just how complex the business was.
“We can record in analogue and digital.” Stewie gestured to the mixing desk. “We have all the latest technology as well.”
I stared at all the knobs and dials, overwhelmed by all the moving parts. “How do you know what everything does?”
“They don’t call it audio engineering for nothing.” He laughed and raked his hand through his hair. “We’ve just finished recording a country album and are breaking everything
down,” Stewie said. “We’re setting up for another band that’s coming in tomorrow.”
“So the spaces are never free for long?”
“Haze is booked solid for the next year, at least” he replied. “When you get a good reputation, people don’t want to go anywhere else.”
He’d just set what felt like an impossibly high benchmark and staring at all the knobs and dials had me fretting. Thank God Sebastian knew about this stuff—he’d studied it before Beneath hit the big time.
“How long does it take to record a song?”
“It depends, but I guess the average is about three to four hours.”
My eyes widened. “That long? For one song?”
“Yeah. We do several takes of each instrument, then vocals. It can add up when you’ve got a complex song. Then all that has to be mixed together, which is the producer’s job.”
“I never realised it was so complicated.” I ran my fingers along the edge of the desk. “I’ve seen sound engineers do their thing at concerts, but this is entirely different.”
The conversation ebbed, and I cast my gaze around the room, overly conscious that Stewie was staring at me a little too hard. Either he was interested in checking out the severity of the scar on my head or…
“So, Seb tells me you’re looking to open your own studio. A boutique kind of thing,” he asked after a while.
“Yeah, but not a full-on business like yours,” I replied. “A small place where we can do some charity work and record some up and coming artists.”
“In Sydney?” He narrowed his eyes, but his smile was unmistakable.
“I don’t know yet,” I replied with a laugh. “That point is still under discussion.”
“Hey, do you want to come and listen to a session?” He nodded towards the other end of the building. “We’ve got a really cool band putting down some tracks for their new EP.”
Excitement bubbled underneath the surface and I nodded. “Yeah! Can I?”
“Of course.” Stewie placed his hand on the small of my back and guided me out of the first studio. “I think you’re really going to like them. They play grungy rock and are keen to be an opener for a certain band we all know and love.”