“That job you mentioned earlier. The one here in Chicago. Is that a real possibility?”
I nod. “It is. I have to decide soon. Before the school year starts back up, which is right around the corner. I need to give the school notice before Labor Day.”
His jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. “That’s soon.”
“It is.” And suddenly, it feels like more than a career decision.
He looks at me like he wants to say more, then stops himself. “Whatever you choose, it should be the thing that makes you feel like you’re moving forward.”
I smile softly. “That’s good advice.”
He holds my gaze, something hopeful flickering there, but it’s careful and restrained. “Safe flight tomorrow,” he offers with a small nod.
“Thanks,” I reply. “Good luck with the recording. You guys are starting next week, right?”
“Yeah,” he chuckles. “I think I’ll need it.”
We don’t touch, but it feels like we did, static sparking in the air around us. As Sadie and I walk back toward the car, I glance over my shoulder once. Mikey is still standing there, watching me go.
I should feel wary. I don’t. I feel hopeful. And that might be the most dangerous feeling of all.
Chapter Five
Mikey
Breakdown
YUNGBLUD
Studios are quieterthan people would expect. They aren’t silent. They are never that, but the noise is controlled. Every sound matters here. Every breath, every shuffle of a foot, every accidental tap against metal gets noticed, logged, and adjusted. I prefer being on the road.
The tour was noise layered on noise. Crowds, engines, and late nights bleeding into early mornings. You don’t have to think much when you’re on the road. You react. You perform. You survive on muscle memory and momentum.
This? This asks you tolisten.
I roll my shoulders as I step into the studio Luc had built on his property. The familiar smell of polished wood, electronics, and coffee hit me like a memory I didn’t know I missed. My drum kit is already set up, but I circle it out of habit, checking angles, heights, tension. I tap the snare lightly with my fingers, feeling how it responds.
First day back. First week of September. The next six months will consist of long days and nights here. No more crowds, which means no more hiding behind the roar. I’ve made a conscious decision to be more present. No tequila glued to my hand. No random hookups.
It’s going to make all the other noise a whole lot louder, but what Quinn said to me at Luc’s barbecue struck a chord. How I don’t let myself feel things, how I hide behind them with booze and women. Not in an annoying way, but in a way I can’t ignore. I’ve been coasting, hiding behind the noise. I know that.
I don’t want to be that guy. I’m the guy that always shows up. Is there when anyone needs something. I’d go to the mattresses for the people I love. Time to start owning that. Should make dealing with Luc’s ego a fucking blast.
Speaking of the devil, he’s already pacing in the control room with a coffee in hand, talking with the producer like he owns the place. Which, to be fair, I guess he does. A large engagement ring flashes on Lily’s hand when she leans into Luc, laughing. Luc believes in forever, and I’m happy for him, but it hits weirder than I expect.
Dean’s tuning his guitar nearby, methodical and quiet, the way he always is when he’s thinking. He’s got that grounded look. It’s the one he wears now that Sadie is in his orbit. And even though she’s back in New York for a few days to grab some more of her things and to help Quinn relocate, the calm she left behind is still stitched into him.
Hayden sits on a stool with his bass resting across his lap, scrolling through something on his phone, unbothered as ever. If there’s a man alive who doesn’t spiral when the noise stops, it’s him. He is the epitome of control.
Then there’s me. I crack a grin and throw my sticks into the air, catching them easily. “So, is this the new domestic Devil’sHalo? We gonna put a crib in here too?” I smirk as I glance at the baby play mat on the floor next to the couch.
Luc chuckles. “You’d probably sleep in it after enough tequila.”
“Absolutely,” I grin broadly. “I’m adaptable.”
Dean snorts. “It wouldn’t be the first time you woke up in a strange bed.”
“Facts,” I admit, not even a little bit of shame in my game. But even as the jokes land, something underneath me hums restless and off-tempo that tug at my consciousness. Quinn’s damn words sunk in deeper than I realized, burrowed in my brain to keep reminding me of what I could be if I stop hiding.
