“You made it sound like I had a lot of variance in my music, when it was all done in the sickeningly-sweet-pop-star-gag-me-sparkle-Barbie-doll style.” I hold up the notebook. “But those songs were written before—” I cut myself off, not wanting to admit so plainly that I tried to take my life. That would open a can of worms that I can’t deal with right now. “Rehab,” I finish quickly.
“That’s okay. We’ll just change your sound. No more sparkling like the rain while the sun shines. It’s time for a new era of Raina. Let the dark storm clouds roll in and unleash your thunder.” For a second I’m shocked that Nash can pin the vibe so well, but then I remember he’s seen at least one of them.
“Okay, but I haven’t changed any of the words yet. Everything is in its raw form,” I tell them, studying the pages to find the one Nash already read.
“What are you on about?” Darius asks.
I should’ve probably realized how still the room became, how Dare leans closer with puzzlement or the guys share loaded looks. But I don’t. Not until it’s too late. Which is why I answer him. “All of my songs are coded. Anything sad is replaced with something that’s happy. It’s all a game of opposites. Like in the first song Tristan and I wrote where we talked about laughing on a park bench under the shining sun… In truth, it was on my bed in the dead of night. My parents would’ve killed me if they knew.”
A smile comes out of nowhere with the memory, on its heels is the reminder of him not being here right now. He always should’ve been by my side. This kind of sadness is why I chose to bury it under the haze of drugs.
“Okay, you ready?” I glance around the room, finding them in various stages of trying to hide their reactions to my confession. Shit.
Oh, well. Too late now.
“Read it for them,” Nash encourages.
Blake comes around the side of the couch to sit on my other side, and Keaton takes his place, looking at the page over my shoulder. Even Darius scoots to sit on the other side of Nash, everyone crowding in.
Taking a deep breath, I spill my soul laid bare on the page. It’s not so bad at first, but the further in I get, the more my hands shake, and my voice becomes thick with emotion.
When I’m finished, I wipe the tears from my face. “Like I said, I haven’t changed any of the words yet. But this gives us a baseline for working on the rhythm.”
“Don’t change a word,” Darius breathes out, sounding like he’s pained by the thought.
“But this is too honest. Too raw and painful. Nobody wants to hear this,” I object.
“Leave it,” Keaton growls.
“Raina,” Blake starts, waiting until he has my attention before he continues. “Showing this kind of raw emotion is everything your fans don’t realize they’ve been wanting from you.”
“It makes you relatable,” Darius adds.
“Regular like the rest of us,” Nash tacks on.
“It’s you.” Two words, yet they pack such a punch. Keaton consistently comes in saying things that are laden with more weight than all the other statements combined.
“I know, but… it doesn’t fit with any of my other music.” I twist my fingers together.
“So?” someone says, though I’m not sure who. My mind is racing, trying to make sense of the sudden support I’m receiving. It’s hard to make sense of it with how I’ve been treated in the past whenever I mentioned wanting to explore different genres of music.
“I’ve been down this road before, only to be shut down by the label,” I explain.
Darius shakes his head like he can’t believe it. “As one of your top fans, I don’t care what genre you sing in, I just want to hear it. And as someone in your band, I only wish to be a part of the magic.”
“It’s settled.” Nash claps his hands together. “Let’s work on the rhythm.”
“Okay,” I say, my voice barely a whisper as I set the notebook down. A ripple of energy pulses through the room, like a slow-rolling wave before a storm. This is the moment that it will all start to change—my music, my persona in the industry, even the dynamic within our band. This will become songs we wrote together, bonding us more than anything else ever could.
I won’t be simply Raina anymore, it will be Raina and the Desert Nights. A new beginning that I’m not so opposed to. Proof that I’m no longer alone.
For a moment, everyone seems lost in their own thoughts. Then Blake grabs his guitar and settles on the couch, pushing his glasses up on his nose with a determined expression. Keaton adjusts his drumsticks and looks at me with that quiet strength that has always made me feel safe. Darius finds his guitar and strums a short riff that echoes perfectly with my mood, tentative but full of potential.
“Those lyrics deserve a strong passionate rhythm. Something with a bit of darkness.” Blake’s eyebrows pinch together inthought and his fingers run through a few options of note combinations before nixing them.
“A hint of grunge,” Keaton adds.
“And an undercurrent of strength.” Darius gives me a wink and I pretend it means nothing to me.
