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I ran from the darkness, you wanted forever
Our wishes, they curse us
They lead us to never
Our wishes, they brand us
They crush us together
Am I running from the darkness? Is fame all he wants, that fleeting forever?
The music reaches its final chords, and I jerk the mouse around. “I have other versions. I couldn’t settle on any.” I’m not ready to hear what he thinks. “Let’s listen to a few more interpretations.”
Jace has mercy on me and agrees to prolong my torture. “Go for it.”
I expect him to turn all my ideas down, but Jace pulls over another chair and steals the mouse to fiddle with the tracks. He’s quiet. Still frowning. He listens to a few more snippets, clicking between different tracks for a while. A long while. The longest. He must hate it. And me. I cross my arms on the desk and bury my face in them.
“You know what you are?” he says quietly.
“What?”
He slides closer, his knee pressing into mine, and his fingers brush the hair covering my face to the other side.
“You’re a producer, Laurel.” He sets the mouse next to me. “I can look at the interfaces and have an idea of what’s happening, but I can’t do anything fancy with them. Look at you! All these tracks and variations. It’s amazing.”
He’s not mad? “And the lyrics?”
Jace scowls. “The lyrics make me feel like crap because you took one of my ratty ideas and turned it into something awesome. Again.”
I swivel away from him, hiding the blush that I’m sure has returned. “You promised you wouldn’t be gentle.”
“I’m not being gentle, and by the way, I absolutely hate the delay on the tracks marked number four, five, and seven. Also, what do you think about—”
No way. Impossible. He’s not mad! I’m so overcome with relief, I almost kiss him again, but I stop myself in time and grab a notepad to jot down his comments instead.
“Laurel?” Jace taps my foot with the side of his, calling my attention back to him. “May I play on your dad’s black Strat?” he asks, eyes aglow with excitement.
“You mean the Hitmaker? The one he never lets anyone touch?”
“That’s the one.”
I lower the notepad and look at him. “I still feel guilty for helping myself to your lyrics, but no. You can’t.”
The puppy eyes come out.
My perception of the world cracks. What. Is. This? Jace’s charisma is fueled by his brazenness that hides softer undertones underneath, butcuteJace?
“Ple-e-ease?” He jumps to his feet, takes my hands, coaxes me to stand, and guides me in dance moves to a tune that must be playing in his head.
“Absolutely not.”
“He’s not home. He will never know.”
I laugh. “Jace, cut it out.”
“No way. I love the way you light up when you laugh.” He reels me back to him, wrapping my heart around his fingers.
“Flattery won’t help you. Dad will destroy us both if we touch the Hitmaker.” I free one of my hands and push him in the chest with one finger.
