by Bria Quinlan
He motioned for her to follow him back downstairs and then he sat her in a chair at the board.
“How does it feel, Mike?” he asked into the speaker.
“Like I hate myself, Sage,” Mike came back.
Sage grabbed another headset from the cabinet and then sat down beside Emily. He checked the volume on one before handing it her. Then he put his own on. Mike’s beats came through clear and Sage flicked the switches over, getting ready to record.
“Tell me when,” he said to the drummer.
“Crap, already?” Mike came back. “Okay, go ahead, but I make no promises.”
Sage flipped the switch.
Mike played strong for about thirty seconds before a flurry of expletives came through.
“Sorry,” Mike apologized. “Broke a drumstick. I’ll start again.”
He made it to the chorus and then stopped again.
“Wait. Am I supposed to go double on the snare? Or was that something we voted out?”
Sage snickered. “You said you didn’t like that. But we can try it if you want.”
“Argh!” Mike growled. “I am the worst drummer in the world!”
Emily giggled and Sage felt that hit deep in his chest.
“Stop the tape,” Mike said, standing up. “I need to take a walk.”
“You got it,” Sage said, turning everything down and/or off. Emily handed her headset back to him.
“We picked you on purpose, you know,” Harrison said at his shoulder on the other side of him.
Sage rotated his head the other direction and his eyes connected with the guitarist. Of all the guys in the band, Sage related to Harrison the most.
“It wasn’t as unplanned and last minute as it appeared. We wanted to produce this one ourselves because the songs are so personal. You were an obvious choice.”
Sage stared at him. “I don’t get why. You can have your pick of any of the leading producers out there. I'm a...hack.”
Harrison grinned. “Look at Luke’s guitar.”
Sage did. It was the blue, hollow-body with diamond-sound holes Sage had made for him four years ago. He would never forget that day.
Luke Casey had walked into a local music shop while Sage had been in there trying to talk the owner into selling some of his designs on consignment. It hadn’t been going well. Apparently there wasn't a big demand for hollow-body electric guitars. And if someone were looking for one, they’d go with a tried and true brand, like Gibson—not an unknown self-taught luthier.
But Luke Casey had taken the red pearl finish out of Sage’s hands and asked for an amp. Thirty minutes later, Sage had his first commission and a job offer. Changing the course of his life forever.
“That guitar is the sound of Double Blind Study,” Harrison said. “It just is. And since you made it,”—he stuck a finger in Sage's chest as he spoke—“you're a part of our sound, too. We wanted this album to reflect us, as musicians. You have that ear, you know us, we trust you, you don't blow smoke. It's really that simple.”
Sage dipped his chin to his chest, uncomfortable with the praise. “You’re a lot nicer when you’ve eaten,” he said, looking to change the subject and get back to work.
Harrison stepped backward and his eyes flicked over to Emily. “Don’t forget to show her your Thorin Oakenshield tattoo. Fangirls love to share their fandoms.”
And there it was.
Sage closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. He thought it would be Blake that would out him. Not Harrison.
“You have a Thorin Oakenshield tattoo?” Emily asked. He couldn’t tell if she was curious or disgusted. And he wasn’t mentally prepared to look at her to figure it out. “Like, a portrait of Richard Armitage?”
“It’s so awesome,” Harrison went on with a chuckle. “We were in LA and had finally talked him into coming out with us for drinks. But Sage isn’t a big drinker, so it didn’t take much for him to have too much.” Harrison leaned his hip against the console and crossed his arms over his chest.
Sage pulled his hat lower over his eyes.
“He expressed a desire to get a tattoo and Mike and Blake walked him down to a place they had used before.” Harrison smacked his bicep with the back of his hand. “Show her,” he encouraged with a happy grin. “Show her the quote.”
Silently, Sage reached a hand over and pushed the short sleeve of his T-shirt up to his shoulder, revealing the one and only tattoo he had ever gotten. It was a black ink replica of Thorin Oakenshield’s family crest from The Hobbit. It took up the entire head of his shoulder. The artwork was actually very good; it just didn’t belong on Sage. Below the crest, in bold and masculine font it said: Loyalty, Honor, A Willing Heart.
“Isn’t that badass?” Harrison asked with genuine awe. Only another nerd would be able to appreciate and admire a tattoo like that.
Emily glanced at Sage’s resignation and smiled. “It’s something, all right.”
Sage felt his lips curling up on the ends. He lowered his shirtsleeve, thankful Zelda seemed to be making an approach. Maybe she could get her husband to stop embarrassing him.
“So, I was thinking,” Zelda started, zeroing in on Emily. “I’m taking pictures of this whole process.” She waved a hand around the garage. “For the album jacket and promotional materials. Capturing the guys in their element, stuff like that.” Her eyes flicked to Harrison and landed briefly on Sage before returning to Emily. “I could use a second camera...if you’re interested.”
“Huh? What?” Emily asked, her back going ramrod straight.
“You’d be paid, of course,” Zelda went on. “Technically, you’d be working for me.”
Emily was shaking her head and Sage saw her eyes gloss over. “I can’t,” she forced out. “I don’t have my own camera.”
Zelda smiled warmly. “That’s okay, because I’d want you to use one of mine anyway.”
“But you haven’t even seen my work,” Emily pointed out. “I could be terrible.”
Zelda laughed at that. “You could be. It’s a chance I’m willing to take.”
“Why?” Emily whispered.
“Because I was given a really big chance once, and it changed my whole life. I always swore to do the same for someone someday.” She checked her phone as it chirped. “I have to take this. Think about it. I’d love to at least have you around to tell me how amazing I am.”
Sunlight filled the studio as Zelda opened the door and stepped outside, Harrison on her heels. Emily watched them go. Sage tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and she turned toward him. He let go immediately, but his fingers buzzed with the small connection.
“Is she for real?” Emily asked, her voice strained.
“It appears so, sunshine,” Sage replied quietly. He watched her closely, trying to gauge where she was on an emotional level, but he didn’t know her well enough yet. It was a fact he understood but also hated. He wished he knew her better. So he knew how to talk to her, give her what it was she needed in this moment.
“It’s how it happened for me,” he said, going with his gut. “I was offered an opportunity, and I would like to say I was smart enough to recognize what it was before I jumped.” He shook his head, turning to face her fully. “But I hadn’t a clue.”
“But you jumped.”
He nodded. “I did.”
“Do you regret any of it?” she asked, looking away from him.
“Em, I don’t know what kind of answer you’re looking for.” Sage took his hat off and held it in his hands, turning it over. “I’m a dropout. I left college to hang out with rock stars. My girlfriend broke up with me because she didn’t see a future in what I was chasing. I live at home with my parents, and I justify it by working as hard as I can doing what I love. It could have all blown up in my face. And I have some regrets mixed into all of the chaos of the good. I don’t feel great about dropping out, or how I handled everything with Heather...” He sighed, staring at the floor. When he looked up, she was watching him clos
ely. “I feel bad about the bad things, I feel good about the good. But...no matter what, I’d still jump.”
11
Emily
I wanted to jump. I wanted to take this risk, and I couldn’t believe it was even on the table. But I thought of how many of my jobs this would probably conflict with.
I wasn’t really in a place to take a week off to take pictures of famous people.
John would just work at The Brew that week and not worry about it. Mrs. Hansen could listen to an audiobook instead of me reading her great-grandfather’s journal to her. Glamour Paws would be ticked, but if I could take pictures of rock stars or glamour shots of overdone poodles, it was a no-brainer.
I was a little worried about Michael finding coverage for the overnight babysitting. But maybe Ash would do it. She was actually getting her master’s in early childhood ed, so the worst that could happen was she ended up with my job if he liked her better.
“Hey. Where’d you go?” Sage asked.
Glancing up, I realized we were alone in the sound room. It was the first time I’d been solo with him and I felt…well, I didn’t feel like at any moment he was going to wreck my life.
Improvement much?
“I was just thinking how I’ve never really been given an opportunity before.” I’d been given jobs—jobs pay bills, but don’t really move your life forward. But actual opportunities? Not so much.
“No?” He cocked his head to the side. Not really challenging me, kind of just letting me go where I wanted with this.
“I bet you have.” I tried to say it like it was just a passing thing, but Sage narrowed his eyes and leaned forward.
“I have.” He turned, shifting his body away from the board and toward me. “You just saw one. Luke buying my guitar was the first step to becoming his guitar tech. I never would have ended up here without that opportunity.”
That wasn’t really what I’d meant.
I tried not to scowl at him, thinking about all the chances he must have been given just being who he was. Growing up well off, opportunities were handed out like balloons at a fair.
“You don’t mean something I worked for, though, do you?” He didn’t sound accusatory. He didn’t even sound upset.
I pushed back, afraid I’d said too much, wondering what he was seeing now as he looking at me. I felt like ninety percent of my life was just keeping the past from sneaking up on me again.
Not that it mattered.
I was a relationship-free zone.
I was here strictly because he’d blackmailed me into coming with the invite to Megan.
Which…where was Megan?
I stood, glad for the chance to escape a conversation veering too quickly toward something too personal.
“I better find Megan before she kidnaps Sway.” I turned away and headed toward the door when I heard Sage get up to follow.
Sage snorted. “Not like that hasn’t happened before.”
“What?” I spun around, smacking right into him.
Sage’s arms came up, catching me in the most cliché awkward moment ever.
I stepped back, trying to get out of his way.
“Sorry.”
“No worries.” He grinned, a bit like he knew something I didn’t. “You wanted to go rescue Sway?”
“Right.” I stepped back again. “Sway.”
Because rescuing His Sexiness was vital.
I took another step back.
“Whoa, there.” Sage reached out, grabbing both my shoulders, and pulled me back. “Watch the chair.”
“Right.” I started to step back again, then remembered imminent death, disfigurement, and dignity destroyer lay behind me. “Chair. To sit in, not fall over.”
He stepped forward, just a bit. “Sway’s used to taking care of himself.”
“Right,” I said. Again.
“And, Megan isn’t really that threatening.”
“No.” Unless obsessive energy was scary.
“We could just hang out up here for a while.”
“Ummm…” I glanced over my shoulders at the stairs.
“Unless I make you too…nervous?” He didn’t seem to be flirting anymore. It seemed to be a real question.
I was trying to figure out how to answer when Mike’s voice came over a speaker. “Okay. I’m back. I worked out why I sucked at this.”
Sage closed his eyes and took a step back. I found myself leaning forward, my body wanting to follow him as he moved back into Work Sage mode.
Just as I thought he was shutting me down, he held out his hand, watching me, giving me an out I knew he’d shrug off.
But instead, I took that leap he’d mentioned…and I took his hand.
12
Sage
Emily timidly slid her hand into his and Sage held his breath.
He’d held it out on an impulse. His expectations had been realistic and very, very low. Actually, he’d half expected her to bolt and leave an Emily-shaped hole in the door.
Seriously, if he ever got to meet the person or persons who had made this girl so wary, he was going to give them at the very least a stern talking to, and at the most, a punch to the nuts. Assuming they had nuts. Which he was assuming.
But she was currently holding his hand. And watching him. With an obvious question on her face. It said, “What have I just done?”
Sage gave it a gentle squeeze and tugged her back to the soundboard and to their seats. He reluctantly let go of her hand as she sat down. Wordlessly, he handed her the headset as he took his own seat.
“Okay, Osborn, show me what you’ve got.” He flipped the switches over again, his palm still tingling from the touch of her skin.
Mike started his track expertly, showing exactly why he was named in Rolling Stones’ Top 10 Drummers of All Time. The hesitation and second-guessing was completely missing, and in its place was a solid, steady rhythm that had Sage nodding his head and making the proper adjustments with ease. When these guys were on, they were so on.
They wrapped the track and Sage showed Emily how to pull the tape and cut it with a razor blade and set up the board for the next track. Her visible trepidation when he sliced through the tape and tossed the excess had him feeling just a little tougher than he was. Of course, he knew it was fine to cut through it, but she didn’t.
“What are all those?” she asked, pointing to the trash can of used and crumbled tape.
“The first three hours of that track.”
Her eyes widened. “Three hours?”
“Yep.” Sage blew the air out of his mouth and grabbed a handful of the used tape. “Three hours of cursing and broken drumsticks and off-color jokes.” He dropped the tape back into the bin.
“How long does this usually take?” she asked just as Mike joined them, sweat coating his face. Her words drifted off as she assessed his now sweaty apparel. Mike was the only member of the band who wore shirts displaying the name of his own band.
“Normally it takes weeks,” Mike answered for Sage. “But Sage has us ahead of schedule. Should only be a few more days.”
Sage pursed his lips at the unintentional lie. No. This would not be wrapped up in a few days. And he was beginning to get increasingly frustrated with their verbal praise. Especially since he hadn’t earned it yet. Realistically, they could finish this up and hate everything. They’d have to take it somewhere else after that; maybe one of the bigger producers would happen to be available. It’s not as if it was unheard of. Luke hated their sophomore album so much, he had scrapped half the songs and rerecorded everything in a weekend in a studio overlooking San Francisco Bay. It had been the right choice; they’d won a Grammy for that album.
Sage’s eyes drifted to the side and connected with Emily’s as she watched him. Always watching, measuring, listening, observing. What she was looking for, he had no idea. He’d be happy to fill her in if she ever asked.
“How did that turn out?” Mike asked.
“Good.” Sage nodded. “It def
initely has a more driven feel than the previous ones. I know that’s what you had talked about doing.”
Mike ran a hand through his sweaty hair, nodding as he headed out the door, leaving Sage and Emily alone again. Sage wondered if he could hold her hand again. Probably not.
“It’s starting to get kind of late,” she said softly after neither one of them had spoken for a solid minute.
“Right,” Sage agreed. “And you have to make caffeine bright and early.”
“I should find Megan and detach her from whichever band member she’s fused herself to.”
Sage couldn’t help grinning. He was glad for Emily to have a friend like Megan. She seemed like a handful, to be sure, but everyone needed at least one friend that kept them on their toes.
“Do you need help with that?” He offered his services.
“I don’t know,” she said dryly. “Do you have any industrial-grade solvents handy?”
Sage barked a laugh, noting the tiny, pleased smile she tried to hide.
They found Megan outside with the rest of the band.
“Hey!” Megan greeted, hurrying over to her friend. “I was just leaving.”
“What?” Emily asked, panic outlining her one word.
“Yeah, Marcus lives really close to here. I wanted to drive by his house with my hot new car.”
“It’s not a new car, Megan. It’s not even your car,” Emily explained patiently. “It’s a Zipcar. It says Zipcar right on the side in big green letters.”
“So? It’s like wearing a borrowed shirt you look hot in—it might be borrowed, but you still look hot.”
“That’s—no, that’s not a thing...”
Sage split his attention between watching Emily’s face morph slowly from patient exasperation to horrified panic, and Megan skip over to the Zipcar, get in, and leave. It took all of four heartbeats.
“How am I supposed to get home now?” she asked the empty parking space, a touch of venom lacing her words.
“Yeah, McNabb, how’s she ever supposed to get home now?”
Sage shot a warning glare to Blake, who cackled gleefully until his wife stuck an elbow in his gut. He had been ready to make that suggestion; he didn’t need Blake making it sound like the tawdriest of options.