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.
