When the last customer paid their tab and left, I gave in to the urge and let out a loud groan.
“You okay?” Jimmy asked, peeking out from the kitchen at the sound.
“Yep. Don’t mind me. Just fretting about…life.”
He snickered, smoothing fingers over his thick white whiskers. Jimmy was over sixty, divorced, and retired, and he mostly worked here for the company. I knew he wasn’t gonna let this one go.
“You wanna talk about it.”
It was a statement, not a question. I couldn’t say no, so instead, I picked up a pint glass and began to polish it.
“I just got offered an opportunity to do something with music.”
“Okay.”
“And I don’t know how to feel about it,” I lamely concluded.
He sniffed, his mustache moving up to his nose. “What’s the gig?”
“Helping a well-known band record a new album.”
“Sounds pretty decent. Pays well?” he asked.
“Yeah, it does. But they’ve only heard me play once, and I’m afraid they’re way too optimistic about how good I am.”
“Well, you won’t know that until you try, right? Give it a go, and if it doesn’t work out, it doesn’t work out. All you’ll lose is a few hours of your time.”
I ran my tongue over my teeth. Jimmy made it sound so simple, only in my head, it was everything but. If it didn’t work out, I’d get a confirmation that I still wasn’t good enough. That I’d never be good enough. At least with the current state of things, I could have a rare good day when I played a great show or composed a sweet tune and feel like maybe I wasn’t all that bad.
“Don’t be afraid, Adeline.” Jimmy came up and patted me on the arm. “Whatever happens, you’ll come out on the other side. I don’t want to sound like one of those self-help books, but based on my sixty-six long years, sometimes they say just the right things. It’s the shots you don’t take that come back to haunt you.”
In my experience, the shots you took came back to haunt you as well, but his words nudged something in the depths of my brain. Was I afraid? Was I being a coward?
My thoughts drifted to the tattoo I had on the inside of my biceps.
Courage: the ability to do something that frightens one
When I got it done, I’d told myself I’d never cave to fear again. It looked like I needed to lift up my sleeve and read it one more time.
ABEL
Cole’s message glowed on my screen like an accusation.
“Adeline is in. Audition/rehearsal is tomorrow. PLAY NICE.”
I didn’t play, and I definitely wasn’t nice. Cole should know that by now, and I guess Adeline was about to find out.
The thought of sharing these songs with a stranger made my skin prickle unpleasantly. It was Charlie’s last work, and we’d both gone through hell and back to write them. None of the guys knew what these notes and lyrics cost me. If I kept my mouth shut, they never would.
Whatever. Tomorrow would be an audition, and one she was sure to fail. I’d relish breaking the inevitable bad news to her and watching her face crumble in disappointment.
From the moment I saw her up on that stage, I couldn’t decide if I wanted to fuck her or break her. Maybe it was a bit of both. She was beautiful, but she reminded me too much of myself when Bleeding Moonlight was first starting out. The energy and passion that radiated from her was like a punch in the gut. Everything about her screamed young naivete, which was personally offensive to a jaded bastard like me.
It was ridiculous. She was a guitarist in a cover band, for fuck’s sakes, and I had two Grammy’s decorating my living room. I shouldn’t have had any kind of a reaction to someone like her. But then she’d started playing our song, and I’d known I needed to keep her the fuck away from our band.
She sounded too goddamn good, and I was always thinking three steps ahead of the rest of the guys—maybe not Ezra, but he was done playing Papa Bear for now. I knew exactly how this story would play out. Working with a fresh talent like her made people dream, but I knew that for us, those dreams would quickly turn to nightmares.
I couldn’t allow the rest of the guys to get ideas. After this album, Bleeding Moonlight was done.
I stood up from the couch and walked toward the floor-to-ceiling sliding door leading out to the backyard. It was raining, and there was something tragic about how the rivulets trailed down the glass, distorting the outside world until it resembled a gloomy impressionist painting. When I slid open the door, the smell of wet grass and damp earth took me right back to a childhood memory. A good one, of which there were not many.
My feet were quickly slicked with dirt and grass as I stepped into the manicured backyard. Yeah, this wasn’t quite like hiking the rough terrain along the Huss River, but the sensations felt similar enough. That two-day camping trip had been as close to a vacation as anything I’d had in my first eighteen years of life. A generous local guide hadn’t charged a cent for the adventure and had managed to convince my last foster family to let me go. There, in nature, far from the screaming and chaos of yet another temporary home, I’d finally had a chance to dream. I dreamed of many things I didn’t have, and having my own home one day was one of them.
There were still moments when I couldn’t quite believe this place was mine. My last home in River Valley had been a crumbling two-bedroom bungalow where warm dinners had come a lot less often than the beatings. By then, I’d been old enough to defend myself, but the feeling of not being safe in one’s supposed home extended far past its walls.
Not here, though. With nature at my doorstep and songbirds waking me in the morning, I felt a sense of rare peace here. This was my glass fortress, and I ruled as king.
I stepped across the backyard, looking at the tall cypress trees spearing through the sky and letting the rain soak through the cotton fabric of my T-shirt. We had come back here to bury our bandmate, but I knew that in the process, we were burying the band, too.
There was no band without Charlie.
A band needed songs, and I couldn’t write a single one without him.
Charlie and I had written every single album together since he’d joined the band. We’d fed off each other, pushing and pulling, breaking and fixing until we made something that lived up to both of our impossible expectations.
I’d been ready to walk away from the band as soon as we said our goodbyes to him, but in a moment of weakness, I’d made a mistake. I’d shared the new material with the rest of the guys.
“This is your best work,” Cole had insisted. “We have to record it. He would have wanted us to release it. Charlie cared about the music more than he cared about anything else. If he were watching us have this debate, he would tell us we’re all being idiots.”
All the things they’d said were true, but fuck… There was as much of me in the new album as there was of Charlie, and there was a reason why those songs were a leap above our previous work. The three weeks we’d spent working together in my LA apartment had been the most mentally and physically draining period of my life. Charlie always took as much as he gave, but this time, the scales had shifted. He’d drained me in ways I didn’t think I could ever explain to another living soul. Our chemistry, always present, had become explosive, destructive to its core. It was a miracle we’d managed to create anything.
Recording those songs would mean reliving all of that.
But Cole and Silas wouldn’t let up, and I’d relented. I’d record this album with them, but that would be our end.
I was done touring and performing. I wanted to live in my glass castle and walk in the rain on hot summer nights. I wanted to try and rebuild myself as a songwriter, but if it didn’t happen, at least no one would be here to witness my failure.
With that thought, I headed back inside, wiping my feet on the carpet before walking over to pick a guitar off the wall. I tuned the instrument with practiced precision and settled down on a high stool in the kitchen. I strummed through
a series of chords that sounded dull to my ears. The rain outside should have been helping, but as the strings vibrated under my fingers, not a sliver of inspiration came.
I dropped my head, trying to push the overwhelming disappointment away. It had been this way for weeks, ever since I’d finally picked up the instrument and tried to compose for the first time since Charlie’s death.
Nothing came.
What if I’m not meant to write anything without Charlie?
That question had become a constantly intrusive thought, popping up in my mind on its own volition. The creative process was as much of a mystery to me today as it had been when we first started the band. I didn’t know where the songs came from, but I did know that they came a lot more frequently when Charlie was around. His methods had hurt, but they had worked.
I rose and put the guitar back up on the wall. Maybe things would change with time. I would keep trying, because music was all I’d ever known. It was my savior, my language, my first love. I didn’t know who I was without it. Still, I felt it drifting out of my reach, inch by inch, the space between us growing with each day.
ADELINE
I woke up the next morning after a restless night of light sleep. This wasn’t a good start to my first day of recording, but I was determined to bring my best to the studio.
When Through Azure Skies started playing live years ago, I’d had to figure out how to perform on stage. Back then, my motto was fake it ’til you make it. Even when I didn’t have a shred of confidence in me, I would pretend. I’d tell myself I could pretend to be a badass musician, a fierce, self-assured woman who didn’t give a shit about what others thought of her.
I needed that persona again today.
I was going to walk into the studio like I owned the place.
Too much?
I was going to walk into the studio like I…comfortably rented the place.
Molly wasn’t in her room when I peeked inside. She was probably still at Lauren’s, given that it was only eight am. I scrambled some eggs and made myself a protein shake, knowing that I needed to fuel myself properly for today. According to my maps app, the studio was a twenty-five-minute drive from the house, so I ate my breakfast quickly and spent a few minutes trying to figure out what to wear. I wanted to feel good but not try too hard or make it seem like I was trying to impress them. This was work, not a party, and if we were going to spend all day recording, I needed to be comfortable. I settled on a pair of torn mom jeans that were tight around the hips but loose at the knee, and a cropped, sleeveless tank. I dug out a vintage leather jacket that I hadn’t worn in a while from the back of my closet, since my other one from the show still needed a serious cleaning.
I slapped some makeup on and ran my fingers through the mop of curls on my head before getting into the car. It was go time.
As soon as I pulled out of the driveway, self-doubts exploded in my head as if they were waiting for just the right moment. I growled at myself like a maniac and turned up the radio. The louder the music, the less I could hear my thoughts.
I double-checked the address when I pulled up to a nondescript warehouse and a nearly empty parking lot. A big SUV stood outside, with a middle-aged guy sitting in the driver’s seat, talking to someone on the phone. When he saw me, he rolled down the window and waved.
“Adeline?” he asked as I pulled up to him. “The guys are inside. Go right on in, the doors are unlocked.”
He must be their driver or security. I nodded in thanks and parked a few spots away from the frosted double doors. As promised, the door swung open when I pulled on the handle, and I walked in with my guitar in hand. I didn’t know if they’d have their own instruments they’d want me to use, but I sure as hell wasn’t going to show up empty-handed. My guitar felt like some kind of magic amulet you’d collect in a video game, giving me confidence and protection. I knew it was silly, but I needed all the help I could get.
The front desk looked abandoned, so I padded down the carpeted corridor I hoped led to the studio.
“Hello?” I called out loud and clear. I could hear muffled voices from somewhere down the hall.
A door swung open ahead of me, and Cole stepped out, his curls bouncing around a face that seemed to light up at the sight of me. We had similar hair, I realized. His was darker and much shorter than mine, with looser curls, but the way it hung around his face was familiar.
“Good to see you,” he said, coming up and pulling me into an unexpected embrace. My face landed in the general area of his collarbone, and his head-spinning scent of cedar and something smoky quickly assaulted my senses. I couldn’t mistake how good his strong arms felt wrapped around my shoulders.
“Hi,” I mumbled into his chest. He pulled away, glancing at my outfit for a single heartbeat before lifting his gaze back to my face.
“We got here early because we’re so excited that you agreed to work with us,” he said as we started to walk toward the room.
“Ah. That’s…nice,” I stumbled over my words, unsure of how to respond to that comment. He grinned at me over his shoulder and waved for me to go inside the room ahead of him.
It was a large space split into a studio and a control room, the latter of which was currently occupied by the three other band members. Ezra was talking to Silas, while the guitarist gently strummed his instrument. Abel was sitting in a plush arm chair farther away in the corner, yet he was the first to see me when I entered.
I gave him a tight smile, but he didn’t return it. He wasn’t looking at me with the anger I remembered from the Barnyard, but there was an air of hostility that was impossible to miss. I forced myself to hold his gaze, unflinching. We still hadn’t officially met, something we’d have to correct momentarily.
“Adeline,” Ezra called out, and I turned to face him. He looked handsome today in a casual long-sleeve shirt with a Darkthrone band logo on it. His blue eyes crinkled in the corners when he smiled. “Welcome. How was the rest of your weekend?”
“Good. Worked a shift at the bar and hung out with my sister.” I tipped my chin in the direction of the guitarist beside him. “Hey, Silas.”
The tall beast of a man placed his guitar down and stood, his presence filling up the room. He was wearing a black shirt with the top two buttons undone, showing off the valley at the top of his pecs.
I lifted my chin as he came closer. And closer. He placed his enormous palms on my shoulders. “Cole said you seemed nervous when he said this would be an audition.”
I swallowed. I was starting to suspect he was always this intense, as if he really was a Viking clan leader, instead of a guitarist in a metal band. “No, it’s fine. I mean, I am nervous because I still can’t believe you want to try me out in the first place, but of course I understand.” I was rambling—nervous in his presence—but I couldn’t stop myself. “We both need to make sure it’s a good fit.”
Silas studied my face with hooded eyes, his long hair almost blending with the texture of his beard. I noticed he had his ears pierced, along with the left side of his nose.
He shrugged. “Just know you won’t be auditioning for me. I know a great guitar player when I see one.”
My lips twitched in a smile, and I thought Silas’s palms mirrored the movement when he gave my shoulders a gentle squeeze. His words, or perhaps the contrast between the lightness of his touch and the strength of his hands, made my chest tighten with affection.
I took a step back, readying myself for this next part.
“Hi, I’m Adeline. You must be Abel,” I said, taking a few big steps toward the lead singer and stretching out my palm.
He tilted his head to look up at me. Green, slightly tapered eyes stood in stark contrast to his tanned skin and long blond hair. He had a dimpled chin and cheeks, and his face was clean shaven. The full effect made him look like a goddamn fairy prince. For a moment, something tense ran across his face. Then, just when I started to think he was going to ignore me, he lifted his arm and grasped my fingers.<
br />
We shook hands, staring at each other, both of our expressions carefully schooled to remain neutral. Then we pulled away.
“Nice to meet you,” he parsed out in a flat voice and looked at someone behind me.
Okay then. I turned back to the rest of the guys. “So, how do you want to do this?”
I found out Abel was going to produce this album. He’d refused to cede any creative control to a producer chosen by the label. He told everyone in a curt tone which songs he wanted to work on, and we started to rehearse.
I picked up the first song fairly quickly, playing lead while Silas took the rhythm section. He said him and Charlie used to rotate between the two parts depending on the song, and that we could do the same. If today went well and I got the gig, the idea was we’d spend one week rehearsing, and use the following three weeks to record the album.
A few hours after we started, Ezra and Cole decided to make some changes to the drum and bass sections of the song.
“Why don’t we go into the room next door to keep practicing while they figure it out?” Silas jerked his head toward the door.
“Sure,” I said.
“Abel, you want to come with us?” Silas asked the lead singer, who’d been practically mute all day.
Abel rose from the arm of the couch he’d been perched on and followed us.
The other room was smaller, with just two couches and a stool, as well as a selection of amps littered across the floor.
I plugged in my guitar and started to strum the chords I’d just learned.
“Who wrote this one?” I asked, peering at the music sheet I’d placed on the ground.
“Abel and Charlie. They’re the principal songwriters on all the tracks,” Silas said.
I glanced at Abel just in time to see his expression darken.
It wasn’t my business. I didn’t need to know the background of the album or why they were recording it in their home town rather than at one of the studios in LA they must have used before. I couldn’t resist looking them up last night and had learned a bit more of the band history.
Taut Strings: A Rock Star Romance (River Valley Rebels) Page 6