The producer calls us into the control room to talk goals. Album direction. Sound evolution. Growth. All the buzzwords. I nod along, lean back in my chair, stretch my legs like I’m relaxed.
I’m not.
Because this album isn’t just another record. It’s the one after everything changed. Luc’s a fiancé now. He’s a dad. A man who fought his way back from losing the love of his life twice and still came out believing in forever. Dean cracked himself open and didn’t bleed out like he thought he would, and discovered he was able to love again without fear. Hayden, Hayden has always known exactly who he is and remains astute in that as always.
And then there’s me. I keep the beat. That’s my lane. I’m going to do my best to make it a straight one for once.
“Let’s start with drums,” the producer suggests. “Build everything around that.”
I freeze for half a second before masking it with a grin. Maybe everything will be fine. “Finally. Recognition.”
Luc looks back at me, brows lifting slightly. “You good?”
“Always,” I confirm automatically. The word tastes like bullshit and I wonder if they can smell it.
I move back into the live room and settle behind the kit, adjusting my in-ears, closing my eyes for a moment. Without the crowd, my breathing sounds too loud. I settle in anyway. This is where I belong. That hasn’t changed. I count silently, tapping the sticks together, grounding myself in rhythm. This is one thing I can control.
The click track starts, steady and unforgiving, and I come in clean with the kick, the snare, and then the hi-hat. Simple at first. The groove locks in fast, muscle memory kicking over thought, and for a few minutes, everything else fades. This is easy. This is safe. We stop after the first pass.
“Again,” the producer commands. “Looser. Let it breathe.”
I nod, teeth grinding together as my jaw tightens. Looser is harder. Looser means feel instead of precision. Looser means there’s room for something real to slip through. I play it again, adding ghost notes, letting the beat stretch just a little, resisting the urge to clamp down on it. The sound fills the room, warm and alive, and when we stop this time, no one speaks right away.
Luc’s voice comes through my ears. “That’s it.”
That lands. More than I want it to. I don’t overthink it. Not yet. I swallow and pop one earbud out. “Yeah?”
“That groove?” He stares at me through the glass, a wide grin lifting his cheeks. “That’s the album.”
Dean nods. Hayden gives a rare smile. I force a laugh through the relief that surges through me. “Guess I’ll keep my day job.”
We break for lunch, and I wander outside with a bottle of water instead of tequila. That in itself adds to the mix of feelings I’m chewing over today, because it feels like I’ve grabbed onto the wrong identity by mistake. But I’m trying. Trying to exist without drowning myself in booze and women.
The early September air is crisp, carrying the promise of fall, and I lean against a stone wall, staring at nothing. Off the road everything feels slower. Louder in the wrong ways. That’s whenmy phone buzzes. It’s a text from Quinn, which causes my heart to skip a beat.
Quinn: Hope day one is going well.
I stare at the screen longer than necessary. Of course, she knows it’s day one. And of course she remembers. Or maybe Sadie reminded her. Either way, I type back before I can overthink it.
Me: Define well
Three dots appear almost immediately.
Quinn: Are you still drawing breath
I huff a laugh. Then stop myself from adding something flirty. Something deflecting.
Me: Barely. And it hurts
A pause. Longer this time.
Quinn: That usually means you’re doing something that matters
I stare at the message. Then read it again. Once. Twice. Yeah, she cuts through the noise. Effortlessly. I let my head fall back against my shoulders. She’s miles away, and yet, somehow, she sees me. I don’t reply. My head jerks up when Luc sticks his head out the door.
“You hiding or hydrating?”
“Both,” I lift my hand to show him the bottle of water.
