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ChapterThirty-Nine
Being at Abbey Road never got old. Zac looked through the big window down into the studio on the ground floor. Studio Two was iconic; it was where the fucking Beatles had recorded most of their music throughout the 1960s. He’d been here before with Fractured, but there was a different thrill being here with Crossfire. His younger bandmates’ expressions as they’d entered the hallowed space for the first time had brought a smile to his face.
The effort had exhausted him.
Sitting in the lounge room above the studio waiting for their guest to arrive, Zac’s hands moved across the strings of his guitar, playing the song he and Cassie had been working on when he’d let her walk out of his life. His fingers slipped, the discordant note echoing through the room. Three pairs of eyes turned in his direction.
“Losing your touch, old man?” Caleb grinned at him.
Zac flipped him the bird. He closed his eyes, picturing Cassie’s face as she sang the words she’d written. The delight shining in her expression, the beautiful smile on her lips. His heart constricted so hard, he had to rub his chest with the heel of his palm.
Fuck.
He didn’t know what was worse: the memory of how he’d hurt her or imagining what would have happened if he’d never kissed her that night at the club.
Hemissedher. He missed everything about her. Her smile, her laugh, the press of her lips to his, her touch and compassion, the way he could turn to her when he needed someone.
But that was the problem. It had all been about whatheneeded. He’d never cared about what she needed. He was selfish, just like his father. Putting his bands and his music and his needs above her. The only unselfish thing he’d done when it came to Cassie was to let her go. Because he’dwantedto keep her. He’d wanted to ask her to stay with him. He’d even considered asking her to come to the UK. But that would make him no better than Bryan—expecting her to follow him around. To have it all be about him because he was too busy, too wrapped up in his music, to make her his priority.
“You keep playing that song. When are you going to share it with us?” Devon sat down next to him.
“I’m not,” he said.
“It’s good.”
“It is.”
“Is it Cassie’s?” Devon asked.
Zac’s gaze jerked up to meet the knowing look in his bandmate’s blue eyes. His lips pinched together, and he looked away.
“What the hell happened?” Devon said. “You were happy. You were even relaxing a bit. We all saw it. Now she’s gone, and you’re miserable. You’ve been pushing us like hell to get to this place, and you look like you’d rather be anywhere else.”
Zac swung his head back to face him. “Pushing you? You want to be here just as much as I wanted to get us here.”
“Of course we do. What fucking musician doesn’t? But fuck, man, we want to enjoy the ride getting to wherever we’re going as well. And the last thing we need is to lose our front man because he’s burning out trying to exorcise some demons he won’t tell anyone about.”
Zac jolted back in his seat. “What?”
Devon glanced over at the other two, who were watching with furrowed brows. He turned back to Zac. “We love you, man. But fuck, you’re working yourself into the ground. One day, not too far into the future, you’re going to realize it too. And then I’m betting you’re going to decide you need to make a choice. Excuse us if we’re left wondering whether we might not be the ones you choose. Unlike you, we don’t have another mega-successful band waiting in the wings. We don’t get to shrug our shoulders and say, oh well, guess it didn’t work out.”
Zac pushed to his feet, staring down at Devon, who didn’t stand to match him. He just sat there, his forearms resting on his thighs, hands dangling between his legs as he held Zac’s gaze. There was a touch of anger there, but he was resigned more than anything. Resigned to the fact Zac was going to let them down?
Zac dropped his guitar on the couch next to Devon and walked away. He headed through the control room and down the stairs to the studio, his boot heels striking hard against the parquetry floor.
He stood in front of their equipment, which had been set up ready for the morning’s session. His hands were clenched so hard, his arms shook. What the fuck? Where the hell had this come from? They’d wanted this too—it hadn’t been just him. The fact he knew Devon, Beau, and Caleb didn’t have a backup plan was why he’d been pushing them all so hard. Why he’d been so focused on making this work.
And yeah, maybe he’d started Crossfire with the goal of proving something to his dad. But his father was gone now, nothing Zac did would ever be able to change his opinion. And he knew the weight of his responsibility when it came to Crossfire. He was their front man, the glue that held the band together. He was well aware of what that meant.
Footsteps approached across the studio. Zac didn’t turn, but he could tell from the stride it was Beau.
“This might not have been the best time for Devon to bring it up, but he’s not wrong,” Beau started. “You’re going to burn out, Zac. Two bands. Twosuccessfulbands. Touring, recording. I honestly don’t think any of us expected to get where we are so quickly. If at all. And we appreciate everything you’ve done. You’re Crossfire just as much as you are Fractured. But you’re tearing yourself apart trying to be everything to everyone. You can’t keep on this way, and we don’t want to lose you.”
He’d thought he’d been handling it fine. But apparently his bandmates were questioning his dedication. Were they right? Was he going to end up screwing them over because he wasn’t making them his priority? “So, you want me to leave Fractured to concentrate on Crossfire?”
A flash of surprise crossed Beau’s face. He tilted his head to the side, his eyes appraising. “Would you?”
Would he? Would he walk away from his friends? From their success. From their fans? With Lexie’s pregnancy, things were going to change. Fewer albums, less touring, less of what he’d spent his life devoting himself to. Particularly when the other two inevitably followed in Connor’s footsteps.
