Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
Mikey
Self Esteem
The Offspring
The studio hums the way it always does when we’re in the early stages of something new.
It’s low and steady, like a living thing that hasn’t decided what it wants to become yet.
There’s no crowd noise, no roar to hide behind.
Just cables, amps, the faint whir of equipment warming up, and the familiar weight of possibility settling into place.
Luc built this place to be soundproof, but somehow the energy still leaks through the walls.
Maybe that’s not acoustics though, maybe it’s just us.
I sit behind my kit, sticks resting loosely across my palms, tapping them together out of habit.
One. Two. Three. Not a song. Just grounding.
This is where my brain finds some peace.
Luc paces the control room, a beer in hand, the glass of the bottle catching the light every time he gestures too hard.
He’s got that look on his face; the one that says he’s already ten steps ahead of the rest of us and mildly annoyed we aren’t there yet.
Producer Luc is different than frontman Luc. Less charm and way more obsession.
Dean is stretched out on the couch with his guitar balanced across his lap, fingers absently picking through a progression he’s clearly not sold on.
He’s relaxed in a way that still catches me off guard sometimes.
There was a time when Dean never relaxed, when tension lived in his shoulders and never quite left.
Sadie changed that. Or maybe she just gave him permission to stop bracing for impact.
Hayden sits on a stool near the window, bass propped against his thigh, phone in his hand.
He scrolls, pauses, scrolls again. Too distracted.
Too quiet. This is new. Hayden’s always been the steady one.
The constant. The guy who shows up, locks in, and doesn’t waver.
Today, though, he feels like he’s elsewhere.
Like he’s only half in the room. I clock it without comment.
Some things you don’t call out unless you’re ready to deal with the answer.
“You planning on actually playing today?” Dean asks without looking up. “Or are you just here to look pretty?”
I snort. “I’m the drummer. I don’t get credit for pretty.”
“Tragic,” he deadpans. “How will your ego ever survive?”
Luc’s voice crackles through the talkback. “Can we at least pretend to be professionals for the first hour?”
“No,” Dean and I retort together. Hayden’s mouth twitches, but he doesn’t lift his eyes from his phone.
We run a few loose passes, nothing serious yet.
Just feeling around the edges of what this next song might become.
I lock in easily, muscle memory taking over.
Kick. Snare. Hi-hat. The rhythm settles into my body like it always does, steadying everything else.
This is where I’m useful. This is where I don’t have to think about where I stand.
When we break, Luc disappears back into the control room to argue with the producer about tempo, Dean heads for the fridge, and Hayden drifts toward the hallway, phone already back in his hand.
“You good?” I check, keeping it casual.
He pauses, glances back at me, his brow furrowing before he answers. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
His reply is too quick. Too automatic. And then he’s gone. I frown, but Dean interrupts before I can think too hard about it. He glances at the bottle of water I’m holding. “You’re suspiciously hydrated today.”
“Trying something new,” I reply, twisting the cap.
“You’re suspect.” He squints at me. “I don’t like it.”
I take a drink, roll my shoulders, and that’s when the studio door opens and Quinn steps inside. She doesn’t look like she’s here to hang out. No weekend ease, no relaxed denim. She’s still in work clothes.
She’s wearing a soft blouse, tailored slacks, flats that have clearly seen a full day on unforgiving floors. Her hair is pulled back neatly, but there’s a looseness to it, like she twisted it up one too many times during the day and gave up trying to make it perfect.
My brain catches up a second later. The storm. Candlelight and food. Her mouth on mine. Yeah, that hasn’t gone anywhere. Her eyes sweep the room, brightening briefly when she spots Sadie’s camera bag on the counter. Then they land on me. She smiles. Not flirtatious. Not performative. Just tired.
“Hey,” she calls out, lifting a hand. “I was heading back to Dean’s and figured I’d say hi.”
Luc perks up immediately. “Look who finally escaped the real world.”
She laughs softly. “Barely.”
Sadie appears from the hallway and pulls her into a hug. “How was your first week?”
“Intense,” Quinn admits. “In a good way. Getting up to speed on new intakes and patients. Learning all the procedures and ready to really start digging in.”
Dean chuckles. “Be careful what you wish for.”
I watch her as they talk. The way she shifts her weight. The subtle way she rubs at the back of her neck when she thinks no one’s paying attention. Her posture is held together by sheer will. She’s exhausted but trying to hide it. And I feel it. Not just notice it.
“Still crashing at Dean’s?” Luc asks.
“For now,” she nods. “Apartment hunting is not going great.”
Dean grimaces. “Chicago real estate is a blood sport.”
“Trying to find times to look at apartments, while also commuting into the city every day is a challenge,” Sadie adds, shooting her sister a knowing look.
Quinn shrugs, but it’s tight. “It’s only temporary.”
I glance at the clock on the wall. Early evening already bleeding into a late night. “That’s a lot.”
“It is.” She meets my gaze and shrugs. “But like Sadie said, it’s temporary. I can handle it for a little while.”
There’s something unspoken there. And it’s not new anymore, and there’s something she’s not saying out loud. I know that feeling well; the pressure to prove you can handle it, even when everything in you is bone-tired.
“I’m going to head back to Dean’s,” Quinn yawns out after a beat. “I just wanted to say hi. Gonna go drown myself in a hot bath.”
Luc nods, distracted. Dean offers her a smile. Sadie squeezes her hand. I step forward before I can stop myself. Not dramatic. Not impulsive. Just necessary.
“So, commuting every day on the train?”
“Yes,” she answers. “Until I find a place.”
“None of the places we looked at panned out?” I feel stupid making small talk with her but I’m not ready for her to go yet. I haven’t seen her since the night of the thunderstorm, and that felt way too long ago.
“No.”
I run a hand over the back of my neck. Don’t overthink it. This is a bad idea. Not because it doesn’t make sense, but because it does. Maybe too much. “You could stay at my place,” I blurt before I change my mind.
The room goes quiet. Quinn blinks and her expression shifts. Not just surprise, but calculating, like she’s replaying something. “What?”
I keep my tone even, practical. “I’ve got a spare room. It’s in the city; in Lincoln Park where we looked at some places. You wouldn’t have to commute during the week. I’m at the studio most nights anyway. We wouldn’t be in each other’s way.”
Luc raises his brows. Dean smirks openly. Hayden reappears in the doorway, eyes sharp. Sadie’s glare is sharp as a dagger.
“That’s a generous offer,” her eyes narrowing.
“It’s not a big deal,” I add quickly, then slow myself down. “And it’s not forever. Just until you find something. Or don’t. Totally up to you. Just throwing it out there as an option.”
Her gaze searches my face. Not suspicious. Just assessing. “I-, I wouldn’t want to complicate things,” she stumbles over the words as she states them.
“You wouldn’t be.” And I mean it. That’s the problem. “And if it’s weird or uncomfortable, you can bail. No hard feelings.” We’d be fine right? Separate rooms. Separate schedules. We can keep it casual, easy. I want to smack myself for trying to believe it will probably be anything but this.
A beat passes. The air hums. “Let me think about it.” Her eyes stay on mine a second too long. Like she already knows the answer, but she just can’t say it yet.
“Yeah,” I nod. “Of course. No pressure.”
She heads for the door, throwing me one last look that lingers longer than necessary. That look lands. Not cautious, not distant, but interested.
When she’s gone, Dean lets out a low whistle. “Well, that was unexpectedly wholesome, but I know there’s an ulterior motive there.”
“Shut up,” I mutter.
“There better not be.” Sadie quips, her expression scarier than expected.
Luc laughs. “You offering up your spare room out of the goodness of your heart?”
“I’m just trying to make things easier for her,” I insist. “She’s practically family.”
Hayden meets my gaze. “Careful,” he warns quietly.
Yeah. I know. I just don’t care as much as I probably should, and my jaw tightens. “About what?”
He shrugs, arching one brow. “Just saying, be careful.”
Then he turns away, leaving the warning hanging in the air. I sit back behind my kit, sticks warm in my hands, heart beating just a little faster than it should. I tell myself it was nothing. Just a solution to a problem.
But the truth? I didn’t just offer her a room. I offered her proximity. And after what’s already happened, I’m not sure I’m prepared for what that could mean.