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Adam looks at me warily. “Use this? What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You know, our…” I swallow down the revulsion that’s trying to choke me. “Our emotions and feelings and shit. We’re both raw, yeah? Let’s use that to make a fucking brilliant song.”
Adam’s solemn expression perks up then deflates again. “But we’re only in the studio for three more days. There isn’t time for a new song.”
I reach down and pull a stack of Adam’s notebooks from under the coffee table, dropping them loudly on top. “I guess we better get started then.”
Adam dials Ross to let him know we need a couple of days off before we get back into the studio. Ross is angry, but with the promise of a record-breaking song coming out of the deal, he relents.
“Two days,” Adam says. “Bloody wanker only gave us two days.” He rubs his eyes and tosses his pencil on the dining room table. We have our notebooks open and spread out all over the surface, lyrics haphazardly written here and there.
“Relax.” I can tell Adam is back to thinking about having a drink. His eyes keep flicking towards the bar. “We’ve got this. Haven’t we done this before? Fuck, we wrote a song in two hours once.”
He laughs, his dark mood lightening just a bit. “Yeah. That was brilliant, wasn’t it?” Adam picks up his pencil, snagging the nearest notebook and dragging it in front of him. “Reckon I can write a sadder fucking song than you in less than an hour?” He cocks his head as one eyebrow lifts with the challenge.
It’s not funny, writing about all the shit that has crushed your soul. Yet I can’t help but chuckle. It’s Adam’s way of dealing with stuff, making a joke or putting on an ill-timed smile. It’s what makes him so damn charming.
“I’ll have the audience blubbering in no time, Reynolds. Challenge accepted.”
Turns out, Adam’s a bloody genius. I mean, I already knew he was a genius with music—guitars and singing and what not. But he’s some sort of back room psychiatrist or something. Letting the blackness in my heart pour out of my hand and onto paper, releasing all of that negative energy and hate and helplessness… it felt fucking great.
Twenty-one years worth of our hatred, frustration, love, and loss mash together to create some of the most brilliant songs we’ve ever written. When we finish two days later, we don’t have a record-breaking song for Sphere of Irony. We have an entire bloody album of award winning songs and a two lifetimes worth of suffering set free.
57
Dax
Two years later
“Does she know you’re here?”
I flinch from the sudden closeness of a voice. Someone sneaking up on me has caused me to splash some of my drink onto my jeans.
“Bollocks.” I turn to see who spotted me, wiping my hand on my sweatshirt.
Bloody hell, it’s Kate’s flatmate.
“Abby. Didn’t think anyone would know who I was.”
The oversized hoodie I have pulled up over a cap and sunglasses would fool most people. Not having shaved in two weeks and sporting a fairly decent beard, that’s the bit that lets me walk around L.A. without being recognized at all.
“I didn’t recognize you. A little bird may have told me you’d be here.” She holds up her mobile, as if that’s supposed to answer my question.
“Who—? Hawke? You still chat with Hawke?”
I didn’t know she kept in touch with him, but it seems obvious now that I see Abby smirking. Hawke, that little shit. I’ll have to have a chat with Hawke. Something about learning to mind his own business and not tell people where I’ll be.
“We haven’t been speaking, per se.” Abby blushes. “Only recently. Anyway,” she waves her hand dismissively. “Enough about that. Why are you here, Dax?”
She’s quite beautiful, Kate’s friend. Reminds me a lot of Ellie. Blonde, blue eyes, sweet—but Abby doesn’t have the same naiveté that was so endearing on Ellie. I can’t explain it except to say Abby seems to realize the world isn’t all butterflies and unicorns. Something that Ellie, who used to think the best of everyone, has certainly found to be untrue by now.
“I heard about her joining the team.” My eyes are focused on the football pitch. I chose a seat all the way at the top of the outdoor stadium. I didn’t want Kate to spot me and definitely didn’t want to be seen by any fans. Not after what happened the last time I went to one of Kate’s games.
I shudder just thinking about it.
Kate graduated university a year and a half ago. I know this because I went to the ceremony courtesy of the Dean. He let me sit in a private box at the school’s massive indoor sports pavilion where the ceremony took place without even asking a single question as to why I wanted to be there. Sometimes it pays to be famous. You can get away with things that other people can’t.
“You just happened to hear about her joining the team?” Abby asks incredulously. “Do you normally follow professional women’s soccer?”
