Never Say Never: Gravel Hill Boys Book Two

12. Ian

It feltgood being back in the studio, and after two weeks, we were nearing the completion of our next album.

“I want to run through that again,” Beau told Luke, who’d been promoted from tour manager to band manager. “Ian, you’re coming in too slow on the hook.”

What the fuck? “I am not coming in too slow. I know when to come in; I wrote the damn thing. You’re rushing it.”

“Here we go again,” Zac muttered from behind his kit.

“Fuck all, Ian. How many times have I said we need to up the tempo?”

“And we did. It’s a slow, sexy ballad, Beau. We’ve already upped the BPM. If you step it up anymore, it’ll be a fucking cha-cha.”

“It’s too slow.”

“Jesus Christ. You wouldn’t know a?—”

“Ian,” Luke said from the control booth. “You have a phone call.”

Beau whirled on him. “Fuck that! We’re in the middle of a session. Tell whoever it is he’ll call them later.”

“Fuck you,” I growled. Not that I wanted to take a call in the middle of a session, but if it kept me from pummeling my best friend, then I’d take the damn call.

I set my bass into the stand next to my microphone. “Who is it?” I asked, hoping it wasn’t just some chick interrupting us, because if it were, I’d have to kick my own ass.

On the other side of the glass, Luke shrugged before pressing the button and leaning into the mic. “Hard to tell. She sounds pretty desperate and there was a lot of screaming in the background.”

“What the fuck?” I bolted for the door.

Beau uttered a low curse.

“We’re here for you, man,” I heard Barrett say as the door closed.

In the control booth, the lead engineer motioned to a conference room down the hall where I could take the call in private. A cold sweat rose along the backs of my knees and under my arms. Fuck. If something had happened to my parents or any of my sisters… The two doughnuts I’d scarfed down earlier became a giant lump.

I wiped my clammy hands on my jeans and picked up the phone. Sure enough, I heard screaming.

“Hello?” My voice was low and cautious.

“Ian?”

“Bridget?” I tried to swallow the rock lodged in my throat. “What’s wrong?”

“Hang on one second. Let me put him down.”

“Wait!” Now I was screaming. Who calls someone with a fucking emergency and then tells them to hold on? I paced back and forth, as far as the phone cord would allow.

It felt like hours before my oldest sister got back on the line. “Ian?”

I could still hear screaming, but it was somewhat muted and distant. “Yeah. Jesus, Bridg. What’s wrong? Are Ma and Pop okay?”

“Yeah, they’re fine,” she said oddly dismissive. “Callum’s teething.”

Teething? I dropped into a chair; my legs unwilling to hold me up. “What?”

“I said, Callum is teething. I’m losing my mind here. Nothing I’ve done has helped. I’ve used all the baby stuff they tell you to rub on their gums, but it does nothing.” She lowered her voice. “I even rubbed some whiskey on his gums last night, but he still cried most of the night. I haven’t slept in two days.”

“Uh, Bridg, I’m sorry about that, but what does any of this have to do with me? Since you called me here at the studio, you know that I’m in Nashville working on an album. If you wanted to bitch about your kid keeping you awake, there’s a shitload of people back in Ashwood you could’ve called. Why the fuck are you bothering me with this?”

“You can be real a dick, you know that?”

I snorted. Of course I knew that.

“Seriously, Bridg. I’m working.”

“I know that, asshole,” she growled. “But Ma said you calmed down little Ellery when you were home. Said you’re a baby whisperer or something.”

“Who’s Ellery?”

“Who’s Ellery? She’s your niece, fuckface. What the hell, Ian?”

“Nice mouth, mama. No wonder your kid is screaming its head off.”

“Listen, you little shit. I don’t have the time or the energy to deal with you. I’m going to slip some headphones on him, and you’re going to sing to him until he calms the fuck down. You hear me?”

I snorted. “I hear you, but I’m not listening.”

Other than the muffled frantic screams coming from somewhere in my sister’s house, there was silence on the other end. I was about to hang up when she pulled out the big guns.

“I wonder what those gossip rags would pay for a story about how I walked in on you masturbating to a picture of Margaret Thatcher when you were eighteen?”

“I was fourteen!” I shouted before I could think better of it and deny, deny, deny. “And you know damn well it wasn’t Margaret Thatcher. It was a Victoria’s Secret catalog.”

“Was it? I can’t remember. Do you have the number for TMZ or should I just go online and look for it on their website?”

“Go ahead. No one will believe you.”

She laughed. “Oh, Ian. Everyone will believe me. First I’ll tell Zac, Barrett, and Beau, and then I’ll call?—”

“Never mind, just put the damn kid on the phone. But I’m not doing this for you. I’m doing it for him, ‘cause I can’t stand listening to that screaming any longer. You on the other hand, can fuck yourself sideways.”

She fucking giggled. “Thanks, bro. I’ll go get him. Just sing until he falls asleep. Oh, and hey, do a good job and I’ll set you up with my friend Morgan next time you’re in town. Deal?”

“Morgan? Dark hair big…um…”

“Yeah, but just so’s you know, they’re fake.”

I sighed. “Most of the big ones are.”

While I waited for Bridget to grab her kid, I stood by the window and looked down into the parking lot. Nothing but pavement and SUVs as far as the eye could see. For a place where creativity lived and breathed, it was boring as fuck.

The crying grew louder and the phone clattered. “Okay,” Bridget yelled into the receiver, damn near shattering an ear drum. Between her and her kid, I’d be deaf by the time I got back into the studio. “Sing.”

“What do you want me to sing?” I asked, resigned.

“Sing whatever you sang to Ellery.” I opened my mouth, but before I could speak, she threatened me. “And if you ask who Ellery is, I’m getting in my car, picking up Maylene, and I’ll drive all night if I have to so that we can both kick your ass.”

Four sisters, and all I had to show for it were threats.

“I was going to say that I don’t remember what I sang. I was just holding her. I think it was my face that calmed her down.”

Her response was raucous laughter. She was losing it. Guess a lack of sleep could do that to a person.

“I’m serious,” I insisted. “It might’ve been a combination of my face, my cologne, and my voice. Maybe it just liked the way I held it.”

“Good lord, Ian. Stop calling that baby It.”

“Don’t blame me for that! The kid has a gender-neutral name and looks like Winston Churchill. It’s hard to remember what it is. Tell Maylene to stick a bow on its head, and I won’t have to wonder whenever I see it.”

“Seriously? How the hell did you calm her down when you’re such an asshat?”

Facts. “Beats me.”

The crying on the other end escalated into hiccupping sobs.

“Look, I need to get back into the studio.”

“Then you better make like a canary and sing or my next call will be to the TMZ tip line and Entertainment Tonight.”

Using the right tempo—the way it was supposed to be sung—I sang the words to the song me and Beau were currently fighting over down the hall. It was meant to have a 3/4 time signature and should be slow and dreamy.

“Now I’m too far gone

I’m too far gone

I once had the world

In the palm of my hand

I’m too tired to walk

And I’m too?—”

I’d just finished singing the chorus when I heard a loud thump. I spun around to find Zac sliding down the wall inside the conference room. Beau was doubled over with laughter, while Barrett stood with his arms folded, grinning and shaking his head.

I raised my free hand, flipped them the bird, and kept singing.

My sisters drove me fucking crazy, but despite that, family first.

Regardless, I was gonna kill Bridget next week when I was back in Ashwood for Beau and Brooklynn’s engagement party.

Then me and Ma were gonna have words.

Baby whisperer. The fuck?.