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If it means you'll be mine.
But when the story is over,
And it's gotta be over,
I'll be the villain,
And you'll never, you'll never,
No, you'll never be mine.
I pulled the headphones off like they were made of lava, letting them fall unceremoniously to the floor, and scrubbed my hands over my face. The sound booth's door flew open, and Simon was there, clapping a hand against my back.
“That's a wrap, baby!” he crowed, pumping a fist into the air.
“Thank Christ,” I groaned through my hands before dropping them to my lap.
Standing, I grabbed the cane from the corner of the booth and walked out to the control room, where Devin was already applauding with an expression of astounded satisfaction blanketing his face.
“It's been two very long months, but we finally did it,” he said, extending a hand. “Congratulations, man.”
“Thanks,” I replied as we shook.
“All of you,” he clarified, sweeping his gaze around the small room at Greyson, Dave, and Simon. All looking as tired as I felt. “That's gonna be one killer album.”
“Well, we'll see,” I said, taking a seat in the swivel chair beside him. “It might completely bomb once it's out in the world.”
“Some of the greatest albums in the world tanked when they first released,” he reasoned. “From my understanding, Jimi Hendrix's first album was trashed by critics, but look at it now.”
Simon clipped my shoulder with his knuckles. “See, man. This might be the greatest thing to happen to us,” he said, always the voice of positivity.
The room fell silent then, and I allowed my head to tip back and granted my lungs the permission to breathe deeply for what felt like the first time in weeks.
It had been the most grueling album of my career. Eight weeks to record twelve songs with only a handful of short breaks in between. I had seen my parents only once in that time despite being only a couple of hours away, and my conversations with Lennon had been short and vague. I could remember a time when this type of work had been enjoyable, and while it might have been exhausting, it had also been rewarding. I wasn’t feeling that now. All I felt was stress and an uneasy settling in my gut that said we were celebrating prematurely.
Devin must’ve been reading my mind because he then said, “I gotta be honest though … I feel like it’s missing an ending.”
I opened my eyes and looked at him, knowing damn well I looked as exhausted as I felt. “What do you mean?”
He tapped the tip of a pen against the board of buttons and sliders, pursing his lips. “It plays out like a story, right? Dude meets the girl, they hook up, they go through some shit, he decides he’s done … but that’s not where it ends.”
Before, I’d thought he was reading my mind. Now, he was just making me mad.
“It ends where it ends,” I replied sternly.
“It’s your album,” he agreed, nodding. “And if you guys are good with it, then by all means, call it done. I’m just giving you my opinion, and I feel like it’s missing something crucial.”
I stared him down for a few seconds, unsure of what to say or how to react. Apart from being dropped by our old label, wasn’t this ultimately why we had decided to record in his studio—to hear his feedback and get some pointers? Now, I was receiving it, and I was ready to rip the guy’s throat out. And why?
Because I was a stubborn shit and I knew he was right. That was why.
Still, I looked over my shoulder at the other guys, saw their own exhaustion reflected in the dark circles hanging from their eyes, and said, “We’ll talk among ourselves and get back to you.”
Understanding, Devin nodded. “You got it. Go get some rest. You know where to find me.”
He headed inside to have dinner with his wife and kids, leaving us to lock the place up ourselves. It would’ve been fine with me to get the hell out of there and head back to the inn for some desperately needed sleep, but Greyson suggested we go to dinner first. His husband was in town for the weekend while their kids were chilling with their grandparents, and instead of having a romantic night out, they wanted to spend it with the rest of us.
“Don’t you guys wanna get it on or some shit?” Simon asked, and right on cue, Dave broke out in a chorus of Marvin Gaye’s “Let’s Get It On.”
