CHAPTER 9
SIERRA
My mouth was sticky with drool when I woke up later that evening after a much-needed afternoon nap.
The sky had already grown darker to a deep shade of blue, which was a stark contrast to the bright yellow and orange lights from the skyscrapers.
It felt like I was at the top of the world.
Both literally and figuratively.
So this is what peace was like, wasn’t it?
I get to sleep however long I want, eat whatever I like, all the while enjoying the best view in the city without my mother breathing down my neck.
Absolute peace.
In a way, I missed her, both she and Dad, and Abuela, who would randomly pull me in for her bizarre life stories.
But I reminded myself why I was doing this.
I had to keep reminding myself till that trophy landed in my hands.
Qualifiers started next week, and I was more pumped than ever.
I got this.
I slid my lazy ass out of bed and ventured outside. Just as I entered the living room, I could hear the faint sound of a guitar crackling through the air. From the distinct familiar notes, I knew it was Raphy blasting his electric guitar in his bedroom.
Also, I knew for a fact that Matty couldn’t play the guitar, only drums and piano.
My eyes landed on the heap of crushed papers lying on the floor by the couch.
“Is this what the funeral of papers looks like?” I asked dryly.
Matty had his head buried in a notepad, scribbling something with his pen before a frustrated sigh escaped his lips. He tore the paper away and hurled it on the floor with a little more force than necessary.
Instead of quipping another silly remark, I threaded closer and sat by his side. “What’s wrong?” I asked softly.
He sighed, flinging the notepad aside. “I’m trying to find a name for the label,” he mumbled, rolling his neck over the back of the couch. He looked exhausted and utterly drained.
“You still haven’t named it?”
“That’s what I said.” He slanted me a gaze.
“Isn’t there anyone to help you?”
“No.”
“I’ll help you.”
He shook his head. “It’s okay. I can do it.”
“You can’t do everything on your own. Can I play drums like you? I can’t. So if I want to, I’d ask for help. I know it’s difficult to ask for help when you’ve been doing everything on your own for a long time, but everybody does once in a while. That doesn’t take who you are at the end of the day.”
“When did you get wise all of a sudden?” Surprise laced his eyes.
I shrugged.
“Fine,” he said softly, almost hesitantly. “You can help me.”
I nodded enthusiastically. “Only I don’t know how to name things either.”
He gave me a bewildered look.
“But.” I held up a finger. “We’ll figure it out together. Two heads are better than one.”
He looked like he didn’t believe me one bit.
After doing a quick Google search, I understood the key elements of naming a company and formulated a strategy.
It was a skill that was butter on bread for me, but I didn’t voice it aloud.
“There are two ways we can go about this. One way is that a name holds meaning to you or a random, unique name that’s catchy or marketable. Which one would you like?”
His brow pinched as he thought for a second. “One with a meaning.”
“Okay.” I crossed out the other plan. “With meaning could be a few different things. Like a name that means a lot to you or your own, like a founder name. It can also be a word that feels close to your heart, or it can be from the reason you want to do this. Since it’s a label, it has to be generic yet memorable.”
“How do I do that? I’m not good at things like that.”
My lips tugged into a smile. “Which is why I am here.”
“Okay,” he mumbled.
I set the notepad aside. “Why the label?” I asked softly.
He frowned. “What?”
“The label, why do it all? You could have just been with the band. You guys are pretty famous already.”
“I’ve always wanted to do it,” he said slowly.
“But why?”
He hesitated, averting his eyes to the floor.
I placed a soft hand on his shoulder. “You don’t have to tell me everything if it’s something you don’t wish to share. But any little information could help us brainstorm more efficiently.”
A few beats of silence passed.
“I had a friend once,” he started in a low tone. “He helped me a lot—taught me a lot.” He swallowed. “All he wanted to do was create music. He loved it so much that it was all he talked about.”
The heaviness in his tone suggested that it was not all.
“What happened to him?”
His breath hitched. “He died.”
A heavy slice of hurt ached my heart. I could tell that his death took a part of him that never got replaced, and somehow, maybe that was the reason he was this formidable, strong man today.
He looked so sad, vulnerably so that I wanted to hold him in my arms and tell him that everything was going to be okay.
But I had to remind myself why we were having this conversation in the first place.
“So you want to do this for him?”
“Yes. For the unsupported artists and the actual talents. I want to create music like he did. Real music.”
I nodded. “Why don’t you rest for the night? You’ve exhausted yourself enough. I’ll come up with some possible names in the morning. And you can pick whichever one you like.”
“That easy?” he mumbled. An unwavering glint in his blue-green eyes made them softer than they usually were.
“Yes,” I whispered, smiling softly. “That easy.”
MATT
Instead of silence like I’d expected, a flurry of sounds crackled through the air when I entered the apartment the following morning after the gym.
Frowning, I headed in that direction, with the sweetness of the caramel latte still lingering in the back of my throat.
I came to a halt by the threshold when a vision of a perfect ass in the tiniest shorts leaped to stick a bubble-shaped sticky note on the kitchen wall next to the fridge, which was already covered full of colorful notes of different shapes.
Sensing my presence, she spun around, and her round hazel eyes flew right to me. “Good morning, Matty.” She beamed so wide that a dimple in her right cheek popped.
A sharp pang pierced my heart at that sight.
Fuck, she had dimples now?
“Morning,” I muttered, nodding toward the wall. “What are you doing?”
“Oh, this…” She was still beaming as she waved a hand like she was presenting. “This is the wall of names.”
“Wall of names?”
“For your label, duh.”
My eyes widened as I actually looked at the wall. There were probably a hundred notes, if not more. When the hell did she have the time to do all this?
I had no idea what came over me yesterday when I told her about Truman. I never spoke about him to anyone. But something about the softness in her eyes had me spilling. Or maybe it was because she didn’t prod or try to pry it out of me, or perhaps it was the fact that it was her . I seemed to have the uncanny ability to do unusual things when it came to her.
“Did you sleep?” When she mentioned it in the morning yesterday, I thought she meant around noon when she usually woke up, not around eight, which normal people considered morning.
“No, but don’t worry,” she assured, smiling. “I’m like a cat. I can sleep for twenty hours or stay awake for two days straight.”
She was up all night, doing this for me ? I didn’t know how I felt about that. No one had done anything for me like that before without wanting something in return.
“Go to sleep, Sierra. This can wait.”
“No, I’m fine. I’ll crash after this. But on one condition, though.” She stepped forward, an excited gleam in her eyes. “Just promise you’ll buy me a month’s worth of Cheetos.”
I’d been in negotiations where people have demanded I give them money or diamonds or even my music, but never Cheetos. But I guess there was a first time for everything.
“Fine,” I agreed. “But can you wait?” I motioned to me. “I’ll take a quick shower and be out in ten.”
“Shower?” she breathed in question as if it was only then she realized that I’d just returned from the gym. Her eyes trailed over my soaked black T-shirt, sticking to my muscles and my shorts that ended right above my knees, showing off my muscular legs.
“Sierra?”
Her eyes snapped to mine. “Yes, shower. You can go shower. I’ll wait,” she said, red painting her cheeks.
I nodded, turning around.
“Wait,” she shouted, bounding toward me. “What’s this?” Her curious eyes pointed at the drink in my hand.
“My coffee.”
“Did you go out to get it?”
“Yes, I always do.”
“That’s such a waste of money,” she chided. “Let me have a taste so I can make it for you.”
Before I could offer, she leaned in and closed her lips over the straw. Lush and pink.
Her eyes squeezed closed as a soft moan slipped from her throat. The sound made heat pool down my blood. I tensed and stepped away just as she removed her lips.
That was a thick, coiled line I didn’t want to cross.
“It’s caramel,” she said, sweetly as if she didn’t realize the stunt she pulled on me.
“I could’ve told you.”
Her eyes widened. “Yes, sorry. I didn’t mean to.”
“Mocha.”
“What?”
“It’s caramel mocha latte. Iced.”
“I’ll take note of that.” Her tongue darted out to lick her lips.
Not able to take another second of it, I left, clutching the drink in my hand as I sipped, shutting down the fact that her lips were on it.
After the coldest possible shower I could take, I entered the kitchen once again, only this time, the smell of brown butter and sugar wafted in the air.
“Made you muffins.” Sierra gestured to the tray on the counter while she sat at the breakfast table with a pencil poking out of her bun. “I attempted to make your coffee. Try it.” She looked at me expectantly as she slid a glass my way.
When the hell did she have the time to do all this? Did she have an extra hand that I didn’t know?
“The muffins were already in the oven,” she stated, noticing my puzzled look. “And I had leftover caramel sauce and chocolate. Try it.” She bounced in her seat, nodding toward the drink.
I strictly adhered to one sugary drink a day. That was one rule I never crossed, ever . Yet I couldn’t be the reason for sadness in her hopeful eyes. So I relented like a hopeless sucker.
“So?” she asked, wide-eyed.
Heaven.
That was what it was.
Pure, golden heaven.
I don’t think I have ever had another caramel latte that tasted like this, and I don’t think I ever would. What magic did she put in here?
“It’s really good, Sierra. Thank you,” I said, rolling down the seat on her left.
She beamed that wide smile once again, her dimple curling in her cheek.
So fucking adorable.
“Try the muffin too. We’ll get started.” She pointed toward the wall. “So I have quite a few options, as you can see. I divided the names into six different categories. You can pick one out of each or combine both. How does that sound?” Her eager eyes waited, full of anticipation.
An inhale caught in my throat. “It sounds good.”
“Perfect.” She clapped.
In thirty minutes, I was spoiled. Too spoiled that I was full of sugar and brimming with energy for something that used to be torture.
Suddenly, I wanted this to last longer.
I wanted to pick names with her more.
Sierra was like science fiction today, eyes filled with an array of emotions glimmering as she made animated gestures, her hands flying around as she explained everything.
Underneath all that sass and sunshine, she was something more.
She was smarter than she put on, her mind worked like a chess game, analyzing the peculiar details and drawing unconventional solutions. In the end, no matter the obstacle, she had a way to grasp around it.
“Okay, here you go. These are the ones we nailed down.” She handed me all the yellow and orange sticky notes.
I thanked her as I scarfed down my fifth muffin like a hungry bear. I lost all control when I popped the first one in my mouth. They were green apples and caramel, and I was a goner by the time I even finished it. I promised an extra hour in the gym because I wasn’t giving these up for any fucking rules.
My eyes roamed over the names written in a delicate cursive. We narrowed them down to two categories, concluding it was best if we mixed two words rather than kept one. One would be something random or cool (according to her), and the other would be music-related.
“What about Real Symphony?” I mumbled.
“That sounds like something Abuela would listen to on her way to bingo.”
“Fine.”
“Phoenix Song records?” she asked, biting her lip.
“Sounds too mythical.”
“But Phoenix is fun. From the ashes and all.”
“Yo, what’s going on here?” slurred a groggy voice.
We both snapped our heads to the door to watch Raphael enter the kitchen, rubbing his nose with the back of his T-shirt.
“We’re picking names for Matty’s label.”
“What!” Raphael shrieked. “You haven’t picked a name yet?”
I sighed. “Did you even read the contract?”
“Nah, who would want to read that monstrous document? Dad said it was fine, so I signed it.” He shrugged, popping a muffin into his mouth.
“Hey, don’t steal that,” Sierra scolded. “Those are for Matty.”
“And I’m Matty’s favorite artist.” He grinned, still chewing the muffin.
“You’re his only artist,” she rebuked, puffing her cheek.
Still grinning, he stole another one.
“Hey.” Sierra shot to her feet and leaned over the table, and attempted to smack him.
But that fucker jumped away.
Within minutes, she was chasing him around the kitchen like a toddler. And I watched dumbfounded when they landed on the floor with Sierra scratching his face and him trying to push her off.
There was never a boring day with the Chan siblings, was there?
Suddenly, Raphael maneuvered her easily, and Sierra landed on the floor instead, huffing a loud breath when her back hit the marble floor.
“Can’t believe you ruined my beautiful face, you bitch,” Raphael screeched, his hands going straight for her hair.
Okay, that’s it.
“Enough,” I thundered, grabbing his hand an inch above her hair.
Both of their wide eyes flew to me.
The temperature in the room dropped when they realized the seriousness of my tone.
Only the sound of their hard breathing filled the air as they both scrambled to their feet.
“Sorry,” Sierra mumbled, her face blazing red as she returned to her seat.
“Are you hurt?” I asked in a low murmur.
“No.” She shook her head, flicking her fingers.
My eyes went straight to Raphael, looking defeated as he leaned against the counter.
“Raphael, apologize to your sister. She is older than you for a reason. You will respect her as long as you’re under my care.”
“Why should I apologize…” He stopped when he noticed the look on my face and sighed a breath of relief. “Sorry, Si,” he mumbled.
“It’s okay,” she muttered.
“And you.” I turned my attention to her. “You started this. You’re not kids anymore. Apologize to him.”
“I know.” Her lips wobbled, her eyes shining with unshed tears.
I instantly regretted my words.
My heart churned at that sight. That wasn’t a sight I wanted to see. I ever wanted to see.
“Sorry, Raphy,” she rasped.
“Fuck, Si, you don’t have to cry for me.” He hurried to her side, patting her shoulder as she buried her face in her palms. “It’s just a scratch, it’ll go away.”
“Who cares about you!? I’m so embarrassed.” Her muffled voice leaked through her hands.
My lips twitched as I fought a smile. She was crying because she was embarrassed?
Sierra Chan was truly an enigma.
Definitely not for the fainthearted.
Raphael dropped his hand, stepping away. “Evil. Absolute evil.”
I shook my head and returned to the notes while Raphael made a coffee for himself. I was surprised that he was actually up this early. He was more committed to the craft and his music than he let on.
I did make a good choice after all.
“Can we please forget the last ten minutes ever happened?” a meek voice asked from my right.
My gaze wavered, struggling to keep the amusement in my eyes. “Yes,” I replied.
“Great.” Sierra let out a relieved sigh. “I don’t know why I keep embarrassing myself in front of you,” she mumbled.
“I have the same thought,” I muttered dryly.
She faltered, blushing before going back to the notes.
Ten minutes later, we had a few more names brimming in our heads. That was the most progress I’d made in the past weeks.
Sierra yawned, her cheek flush to the marble counter as she regarded me. “What about True Beats Record, Matty? It’s so simple, but it suits you. You want to make real music, and you’re a drummer.”
I paused, the name rolling off my lips. It did sound good. And his name was Truman, but she didn’t know that. “I like it. And you’re right, it does suit me and my vision. We can go with it.”
“Really?” Her spine jerked upright, her eyes sparkling. “We can go with it?”
“Yes. I like it.”
“Yay.” She beamed, crashing into me before I could even think. I caught her soft weight as her arms threaded around my neck. “I thought it was going to take forever. But we did it.”
Even sitting, I towered over her, her tiny frame hardly reaching my chest.
“Yes, we did,” I mumbled.
Flushing, she stepped away, yawning. “I think I’m going to go crash now. I’m exhausted.”
I nodded.
“Sierra,” I called out just as she was exiting the room.
“Hmm?” she asked, spinning around.
“Thank you.” My tone rang with sincerity.
She flashed that wide smile again. “Don’t mention it.”
And with that, she skipped away.
Hmm, maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all.