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“Actor,” he finally answers. “We met on the set of A Far Cry Home.”
I nod. “Maybe you can take her to the Icon Awards next month to smooth things over. I mean, if you guys are still … whatever.”
He chuckles, but it sounds funny. I know they aren’t technically a couple, and yeah, maybe a date to an award show is a little much for two people who are casually seeing one another. Still, he’s kept her around for a reason. She must mean something to him.
“Yeah … maybe.”
Getting up from the couch, I head to the door. I expect him to follow me out, but when I glance back, he’s staring at his phone. “Hey,” I call out to him. “Come on, man. Bro’s night.”
* * *
Working with the band, we’ve been hitting the studio a little more recently. We’re still in the early stages of recording our next record, but it’s all very rough stuff. Some days we brainstorm on rhythms. Other days EJ and I will lay down tracks while Derrik and Jade work on the composition of something they’ve written. Today we’re sitting around the studio as Derrik and Jade argue over the wording of some lyrics.
“I’m telling you, ‘I don’t know why, but the heart falls through,’ sounds so much better,” Derrik complains. Again.
“You’re wrong,” Jade counters. “That doesn’t make sense, Derrik.”
“Yeah, well, neither did ‘running down the road to z,’ and that nabbed us a Grammy Award.”
“Oh, I didn’t realize we were creating music to earn awards,” Jade snaps.
EJ and I both look at one another, with the exact same lifted eyebrows. Same side of the face and everything. It’s a conversation we’ve both been around numerous times. The complaint leads to bickering, which, in turn, leads to arguing. Both of them are incredibly passionate about creating music, even if Derrik’s comment makes it seem like he loves the adoration. He does—we all do—but I know he’s not in the band to earn the latest awards. He loves creating music like the rest of us.
Still, these arguments always happen.
Derrik rolls his eyes and gets up from the stool he’s sitting on. “Jade, you know that’s not true.”
“‘I don’t know how. Can’t we cross this bridge,’ is so much better,” Jade continues to complain.
“Should we get boxing gloves?” EJ jokes, whispering to me.
We’ve been in the studio for four hours today. This is all standard procedure, so I lean back on the couch, tapping my drumsticks over my knee. EJ sits next to me, but on the floor, reclining against the couch with his guitar. Derrik and Jade sit on stools. I don’t know why, but ever since we first started playing music, this has always been our seating arrangement. Dating all the way back to when we were middle schoolers, dreaming of traveling the world and making music in Derrik and EJ’s garage. Of course, back then, it was a raggedy old couch their dad got for us and a rug along the cement floor. We’ve certainly come a long way since then.
“Derrik, you just switched the previous stanza and—”
“I didn’t change it,” Derrik argues. “That line just sounded better.”
“Fine, but I really think this one sounds better my way.”
“Jade, you think everything sounds better your way.”
“You guys,” I call out to them, waving my sticks. “The whole line sucks.”
Both of their mouths drop, craning their necks to look at me. I’d laugh if I wasn’t so surprised myself. Glancing at EJ, he stares up at me with an incredulous expression. Neither he nor I contribute much on the lyric side of our songs. Sure, we add tidbits here and there, but Derrik and Jade are the songwriters. They’re the ones who feel something when making music. I just love banging my drums.
“EJ, play that riff we were messing around with last week,” I tell him. He continues to stare at me for a moment, surprised as the rest. I motion to him with a hurrying movement, waving my hands. Nodding, he begins playing the music, and instead of tapping my sticks, I start bobbing my head.
“No, slow it down a little.”
I set my sticks down, and my fingers start tapping away, my eyes closing. I begin humming. Well, not really humming, more like … beat boxing. I don’t know, I’ve never written a song before. All I know is we’ve been making music together for years, and these last few days, I’ve had something in my system that doesn’t consist of hitting a snare drum or hi-hats.
“When you walk away, my eyes stay locked; And when you say my name, my mind flies. This is something new, and I don’t know if I should follow through the waves or to stay low …” I keep vocalizing the words, but I don’t have any more. It’s something that’s been stuck in my head for days, and to finally put music to it feels great.
EJ stops playing, and it forces me to look over at him. He’s slack-jawed, and his eyes are wide, staring at me like he doesn’t recognize me. I glance at Derrik and Jade. They both gaze at me with the same expression as him.
“Okay, damn, you guys. I know I don’t sing, but—”
“Maddox …” Jade starts but stops. She’s shaking her head, and I don’t know if that’s good or bad.
