Chapter 26
Chapter Twenty-Six
Quinn
Don’t Blame Me
Taylor Swift
My phone buzzes just after three. I glance down at the screen, expecting another work notification, but Mikey’s name lights up instead.
Long night at the studio again.
You should come by if you want.
Food bribery encouraged.
A smile slips onto my face before I can stop it. The tightness that’s been sitting in my chest all day loosens a little. I stare at the message for a second longer than necessary, fingers hovering over the screen.
Yesterday still lingers; the call about the apartment, the way something felt slightly off afterward, the late-night text that left me wondering if I’d imagined the shift between us.
But this feels easy. Normal. Like an invitation into something instead of distance. I type back before I can overthink it.
I’ll try to swing by if work doesn’t run late.
Of course, I know when I send the text that I’m going to go to the studio.
No matter what time, and because of that, later, the Uber ride out of the city feels longer than it should.
I balance two large paper bags of food on my lap, the smell of fried chicken filling the car, making me laugh softly to myself.
Sadie swore this place was the band’s weakness, and if I’m showing up in their space, it feels right to bring something that says I’m not just there for Mikey.
Luc’s house comes into view, already becoming familiar from the few times I’ve visited before. The windows of the studio glow a faint yellow as I exit the car and walk toward the entrance. Music hums faintly through the walls I can hear from outside, a steady pulse that makes my stomach flutter.
I step inside, following the sound down the hallway. The door swings open before I knock. Dean looks up first, grin already forming. “Do I smell fried chicken?”
I lift the bags slightly so everyone can see them. “I come bearing nourishment.”
The reaction is immediate. Luc leans forward from the couch, eyes narrowing at the logo on the bag.
Hayden lets out a low whistle of approval.
Someone cheers from behind the mixing board.
Mikey turns around from where he’s adjusting something near the drum kit and his face shifts the moment he sees me.
Something soft flickers there, before it settles into a look of relief.
Like he wasn’t sure I would. He strolls toward me, a smile tugging up the corners of his mouth. “You came.”
I shrug, stepping further inside. “You sounded hungry.”
He takes the bags from me, his fingers brushing against mine. The touch lingers just a second longer than necessary. It’s warm and comforting. He doesn’t let go right away. “Perfect timing,” he grins before glancing toward the others. “They were about to start eating each other.”
Dean reaches into a bag before anyone else can protest, pulling out a drumstick. “Okay, I officially like you,” he grins around a bite.
I laugh, tension easing from my shoulders. The room feels loud and alive. There are cables everywhere, instruments half set up, notebooks and coffee cups scattered across every surface. Controlled chaos. And yet they don’t hesitate to make space for me.
Hayden slides a chair in my direction with his foot without looking up. Luc clears a stack of papers off the couch beside him. No one announces it. They just make room. Like I belong. And no one’s questioning it. Something warm settles in my chest.
The next hour passes in laughter and easy conversation. They tease Mikey constantly about his food obsession, about his inability to sit still, about something that happened on tour that makes him groan and bury his face in his hands.
And every so often someone tosses a comment my way. Nothing pointed. Nothing awkward. Just inclusion. Dean slides a drink toward me without breaking his conversation. Luc asks my opinion about a lyric line like it’s the most normal thing in the world.
I don’t feel like a guest. I feel like I’m just here. Across the room, Mikey watches me once, catching my eye. The corner of his mouth lifts slightly and it causes my heart to flutter.
Eventually the food disappears and everyone drifts back into work mode.
I settle onto a stool near the wall, watching as they reset.
The energy shifts. Lighter conversation fades into focus.
Mikey moves behind the kit, rolling his shoulders, testing the pedals.
The easy, playful guy from dinner slips into something more concentrated.
More confident. I’ve seen him perform before, of course. But this is different. More intimate.
The producer counts them in. Music fills the room, raw and unfinished but already powerful. I watch Mikey with awe. The precision of his movements. The way he anticipates everyone else, adjusting without hesitation, anchoring the rhythm.
He transforms here. He’s not just fun and easygoing.
He’s steady and strong. He’s the spine, the steady beat behind their music, just like Sadie’s article described.
My chest tightens unexpectedly. Well, not unexpected, just stronger than I was ready for.
I didn’t realize how much I’d never really seen this side of him.
The song ends and the room fills with voices. Feedback. Ideas. Arguments layered over excitement. Mikey leans forward over his kit, tapping a stick against his thigh. “I’ve got an idea,” he announces, glancing around. “Just bear with me.”
The room quiets. Even Luc watches him closely.
“At the end,” Mikey continues, his stick still drumming against his thigh, “after vocals finish, what if we don’t stop hard? What if I carry it out? Bring the drums down slow. Let it linger, just a little softer.”
The producer nods thoughtfully. Dean shrugs like he’s curious. Luc hesitates. “I don’t know,” he muses out loud, crossing his arms. “Could drag.”
Mikey’s jaw tightens slightly, rolling his shoulders before he speaks. “Just try it once.”
“Okay.” Luc nods and they reset. This time, when the song hits the final section, everyone drops out except him. The drums soften. Steady and gradual like a heartbeat fading instead of cutting off. The sound hangs in the air long after he stops.
Silence fills the room. The producer sits forward. “That’s good.”
Dean nods slowly, a grin appearing on his face. “Yeah, that’s actually really good.”
Luc still looks uncertain, and I don’t even realize I’m speaking until the words are out. “As one of your biggest fans,” I spout, directing my focus on Luc, “that ending is killer.”
Everyone turns toward me. Heat rushes to my face. I don’t usually do this. Speak up like this. Not for anyone. But I keep going. “It feels bigger. Like it stays with you instead of just ending.”
Luc studies me for a moment. Then he looks back at Mikey. “Run it again.” This time Luc leans in, listening harder. When it finishes, he stands and smiles wide. “You’re right,” he points a finger at Mikey. “That’s amazing.”
Something shifts in Mikey’s expression; surprise, relief, and pride all mixing together.
He glances at me briefly. It’s the briefest of looks.
But it lands deep in my chest. Like he felt it too.
The rest of the evening blurs into music and laughter.
I lose track of time watching them work, watching Mikey move through the space with a confidence I hadn’t fully understood before.
Every so often he looks toward me. Not checking to see if I’m bored, just checking.
Like he wants me there, or wants to makes sure I’m still here.
At one point he leans over as they reset equipment.
“We’re gonna run this one more time,” he whispers into my ear.
“This time, it’s gonna get loud at the end. ”
The casual inclusion makes something warm bloom in my chest. He says it like I belong in the rhythm of what’s happening.
Like I’m part of it. When they finally wrap for the night and everyone starts packing up, the energy softens again.
Luc claps Mikey on his shoulder on his way out. “Great idea tonight, brother.”
Mikey nods, trying to play it cool, but I catch the small smile he can’t quite hide. Pride swells inside me. Not loud. Just quiet and steady. I’m proud of him. The realization hits me hard enough that I look away for a second. When did that happen?
Outside, the air is cooler, the suburban houses buzzing softly around us. We walk side by side to his car. No rush. No pressure. He bumps his shoulder lightly against mine. “Thanks for coming.”
I glance up at him. “You invited me.”
“Yeah, I know.” One hand reaches up and grabs onto the back of his neck as he looks over at me. “I just liked having you there.”
That lands differently than it did a week ago, and something flips softly in my chest. His hand drops and then brushes mine as we walk.
Then his fingers curl around mine like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
There’s no hesitation. Just instinct. I don’t pull away.
We keep walking, hand in hand, comfortable silence stretching between us.
And for the first time since the apartment call, the uncertainty quiets. Maybe I don’t need answers yet. Maybe this, this easy, steady feeling, is enough for now.