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They step right outside the studio, into the hallway that I can still see through a window in the door. I’m tuning my guitar, or at least running through the motions, barely paying attention as I watch the two of them. Rosa looks like she’s really laying into Chelsea, but then Chelsea snaps back, her eyes blazing, her hands flying around wildly. Rosa doesn’t back down and I can almost hear her through the thick soundproofing in the booth. I’m sure Merrill’s getting an earful, and I look to him for any clues. He’s pale as a sheet, but glaring murder at me and I look away fast as I can, back to tuning my instrument.
I knew it was a bad idea to show up together. But I believed Chelsea when I should have relied on my own experience. I could have waited outside for another ten minutes, drank my coffee, and walked in alone without raising any suspicions. But I just had to be a showoff. I just had to parade around with Chelsea on my arm like a proud fucking peacock.
Now I’ve probably ruined everything.
Eventually, Chelsea slinks back into the booth and I raise my eyebrows at her hopefully, waiting for a smile or a wink or a nod, or something. But she doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t even look at me. Though, to be fair, she’s not looking at Rosa either. I don’t know what the hell went on between them, but I can see her pulling away from me and panic grips my chest, wringing my heart out like a wet mop.
“Everything okay?” I say under my breath, hoping for something. For any glimmer of hope.
“Fine. Let’s do this.”
My heart sinks. I should have known that Chelsea wouldn’t stick by me when things got tough. She’d already run out on me once just at the possibility of things going wrong. Apparently, her manager breathing down her neck was all it took.
But shaken as I am, I can’t let it rattle me. I can’t let it stop me from doing my job. So I start my warmups, trying not to look at her, trying not to look at the managers, trying not to hear her perfect voice filling me with that bittersweet ache that’s going to be with me for the rest of my miserable life.
I’m lucky to have had a chance with her at all. Even if it is over far sooner than I’d like.
The music is shaky for both of us. I don’t know why Chelsea’s struggling when she’s the one trampling all over my heart, but she is. And I’m no better. We’re stumbling over lyrics, missing cues, our voices not harmonizing the way they really should. Somehow, we make it through a song, then another, and finally a third before Merrill decides to wrap the session.
I don’t have to look at him or Rosa to know that these aren’t the best tracks on the album, but there’s just not time to deal with it. We’re on a tight schedule and the constant roller coaster of emotions that Chelsea and I are on is going to be painfully obvious once the album’s pressed, I just know it.
Merrill catches me in the hall, clapping a hand on my shoulder. “Only one more day of this. Think you can handle it?”
I freeze, counting through the recorded songs and the tracklist in my head. Shit. He’s right. One more day of recording and the album should be done. And then my excuses to see Chelsea will be done too. I think I manage to hide my sudden panic with a nonchalant shrug.
“Yeah, don’t see why not,” I say, trying to inject some confidence in my voice. Truth is, the thought of not being in the studio with Chelsea is torture. I always knew this thing had an expiration date, but I kept thinking it was far off in the future, some distant day that I didn’t need to worry about.
But now it’s not so distant and it’s all I can worry about. Whatever happened with Rosa and Chelsea this morning, there’s a chance I could get Chelsea to come around, but with only one day?
I’m good, but I’m no miracle worker. If I’d realized the way things would go down, I would’ve taken Chelsea up on her offer this morning and taken my sweet time making her come over and over. To hell with being late. But I’d been trying to show her my responsible side and now maybe the last chance I had would be my last chance ever.
I feel like a fool. Living in the moment used to be my motto, but rehab broke me of that. Living for the now and not thinking about consequences is what got me there in the first place. But now the tools I learned to help me be a better person may have lost me the best damn thing I’d ever had.
I’m still stewi
ng and grumbling to myself as I head out to the car, a dark cloud hanging over me with every step.
But when I reach the car, the cloud parts and a shower of sunlight breaks in, making my heart soar with hope. Chelsea’s there, standing by my car, waiting for me. And then I remember we rode in together. So at least I have one last chance to talk to her. I have a feeling if I don’t fix this rift before we go home, before we split up for the day, that there will be no fixing it. But she could have taken a cab or an Uber. She didn’t. And the fact that she’s here fans that little ember of hope into a big blazing ball of fire.
“Hey,” I say, unlocking the car to toss my guitar case in the back.
“Hey,” she says, sliding into the passenger side. She keeps her eyes straight ahead.
Not a great start.
I climb in too, taking my sweet time putting on my seatbelt, starting the car, fiddling with the radio, watching her out of the corner of my eye. She’s clearly wrestling with something and I want to tease it out of her, but I don’t know how hard I can press.
“So—”
“Can we not talk about it?” she snaps, cutting me off.
I sigh, my shoulders slumping. Guess we’re back to that then, with Chelsea keeping me at arm’s length and me being left out in the cold with no one on my side.
“I was just going to ask if you wanted to come back to my place for lunch… Maybe a swim? It’s a nice day and it always helps me relax.” I know it’s a long shot and I brace myself for rejection. I steel myself for the blow I know is headed my way, when she finally tells me to stop trying and just take her home.
Chelsea looks like she melts into the seat, slumping down until she probably can’t even see over the dash. She rests her head back and sighs, her eyes closed for a long time before she turns and looks at me with those big, beautiful eyes that never fail to take my breath away.
“I need to go home,” she says, and all the hope floods out of me, leaving me an empty useless husk of a person. “You are not getting me to skinny dip. I need a bikini,” she adds, a grin turning her mouth.
