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Present day—Southern Brick Studios, Nashville
The guys are busy with Dad going over the bass and drum parts when Navarone takes his seat next to me in the control room. I pretend not to remember what happened between us at Sterling’s house, or better yet, what didn’t happen.
“Jack asked if we could go over that second guitar piece,” he mutters, not even looking at me. Apparently two are playing this same song.
I nod, plugging him in. “Okay, take four.”
Listening to the way he strums the guitar, I write down pointers here and there. Dad always talks about how the recording studio should be a safe environment. A place where you shouldn’t be afraid to fail. Having fun with the music is his number-one priority. He isn’t afraid to tell you when a section should be better. ‘There is no right or wrong way to record an album,’ he always reminds me. I love that about my dad. He makes me believe everything is possible.
“What do you think?” I ask.
Rone grunts, not sounding sure.
“Play the bridge again and see where you end up.”
He gives me a look, but plays on. When he’s finished, I have trouble suppressing my smile. He sounds amazing.
“What?” he asks, voice gruff as he focuses on the other guys in the studio.
“It’s—this is you. This music is vulnerable. It shows who you are.”
His hard stare melts a little.
“Don’t be an ass,” I tell him, nodding to Dad when he motions to me to ask if I’m getting what the other guys are playing. I give him a thumbs up before moving my hands over the console, making adjustments here and there.
Navarone chuckles, brushing a hand over his forehead. “You never did like the music I was playing in Regulator with the guys, did you?”
“No, because they were never your songs.”
“Yeah, but this scares me shitless. Because these are my songs that can crap out on the charts.”
Shaking my head, I try to hide my smile when I look at the creases in his forehead. The way he is focusing on his guitar is cute. Cute? Shit, I’m losing it.
“I get why you wanted to test out the Neve, but Jesse has a studio in Seattle, and what about your house in California?”
He frowns, giving me an incredulous look. “Our house in California,” he counters. He turns his head and I sigh in response.
“And you know why I came back here. I fucking laid it on the line for you like an asshole.” His voice is deep.
“Rone, let’s just keep whatever this is professional.”
“You want a professional answer? The Neve is here. The boys wanted to record some good songs,” he says, gritting his teeth. He furrows his brows, leaning back.
“To record songs,” I say, focusing on the console in front of me.
“That too, but do you want me to spell it out for you again? You know I will,” he scolds.
“Let’s focus on the song, shall we?” Casting him a sideways glance, I try to sound all in control and businesslike, but his sarcastic chuckle tells me he knows he is getting to me.
I shake my head, realizing I do want to know his answer.
He doesn’t look at me when he clears his throat and rasps, “I came back for you, Al.”
Something burns inside of me. I focus on the whiteboard, then on my dad explaining something to Paulie, sitting behind the big drum kit.
“Ever since I moved here all those fucking years ago, I’ve been writing all these damn songs about you.”
“You shouldn’t have bothered. I was doing fine until hearing your song on the radio or in the bars on Broadway.”
