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We fell in line easily, dropping our conversation to follow Iris’s orders. There was magic in her ‘honey bunnies’ that made Roddy, Adam, and me want to do her bidding. Since the day she marched up to us after one of our very early shows and told us she’d be a better lead singer than Adam, she’d been our leader, caring yet firm. She kicked our asses when we screwed up in rehearsals or performances, and even though I’d always shied away from authority figures, it had never bothered me.
I passed by her on my way into the studio. She squeezed my arm.
“Callie,” she cooed.
“Irie,” I answered back.
“You good?”
“All good.”
“Good.” She slapped me in the center of my back, propelling me forward.
The Seasons Change were in the midst of recording our third album. We spent the last week writing and had started to put it all together this week. It was a shit show. Iris and Adam did the bulk of the writing and melodies, while Rodrigo came up with the beats. I was mostly a silent contributor until I had a strong opinion, then I voiced it in one way or another.
I knew sounds.
Not just instruments, but nature, animals, fabric brushing fabric, wind rustling trees. Being silent most of the time had attuned me to the world around me. I wasn’t waiting with bated breath to jump into a conversation. I often checked out in social situations. When the world became too big, I narrowed it down to the rustling of a plastic bag blowing in the wind.
A therapist would have a field day with me. But I grew up as a Traveling Rose—and we didn’t do therapy. We also didn’t do public school, taxes, land ownership, rent, or vaccines. It wasn’t something to brag about, just a fact.
The upside to my head being full of sounds was I could listen to a song and have an instinct for what was missing.
We weren’t at that stage yet. Adam and Iris were bickering. The producer had his own opinions that didn’t mesh with Iris’s vision. Roddy kept leaving the studio to make calls or got distracted by texting, which was pissing Iris off.
There was a lot of pressure on us. The dreaded follow-up album to a hugely successful one—would we sink or swim?
Hours passed, recording and listening back to the shit we produced. No one was happy. I was at the window, losing myself in the view of the city sky rather than tuning into the tension at my back, when she showed up.
The girl from downstairs with the copper hair and memorable eyes.
“Hi, I have your dinner order.”
She barely spoke above a whisper, and even that was strained. I gave her credit, though. If I didn’t know the people in this room on a bone-deep level, I wouldn’t have been able to force myself to walk inside and announce my presence.
I turned to watch her place bags on the table in the middle of the room. Rodrigo, ever the gentleman, had taken the drinks from her and thanked her profusely.
Her oversized, owlish eyes flicked to me, then away just as fast.
“Is there anything else I can get you?” She had an accent. It was soft, but there was no mistaking a Jersey girl.
Adam was sprawled on the couch, his arms draped over the back. “Come sit and listen to the shit we just recorded. Tell us how shitty it is.”
“Um…” Somehow, her eyes went even wider.
Iris snapped her fingers. “Actually, yes. It would be fantastic to have an unbiased pair of ears. Can you give us five minutes, Wren?”
She tugged on her top, straightening it over her round hips. I tried to picture her, bent over for Adam, her flesh giving way to his. Would she moan loudly when he pounded into her? Would her inhibitions fall away when she was turned on?
Something stirred in the pit of my stomach. Something ugly and snakelike. Almost violent. It slithered around as my feet moved me without intention, until I was standing over Wren, who’d settled on the couch a safe distance from Adam.
He frowned at me, a crease carving deep between his brows. “Sit down, dude. Don’t be creepy.”
I hated being called out like that, and he knew it. But he was pissy from earlier and this was how he expressed it. Fuckboy.
Wren sucked in a breath when I took the cushion beside her. The sound felt better than most. Dulcet. Like worn flannel on a winter night. She scooted closer to Adam, and the snakes in the pit hissed.
The song started, and the girl listened. I watched.
