Chapter 3
THURSDAY
T he sun is just coming up as I roll into the gas station with my drum kit and a small suitcase crammed into the back of my Jeep. My nerves are a jangled mess, and I probably got a sum total of an hour of sleep last night.
I hop out to fill up the tank, and I send June a quick text to let her know I’m going to be able to make that show tomorrow after all.
By the time I reach the city limits, the old familiar sights are tickling my memory.
There’s the first club we ever played in the city and the flashing neon sign in the window of my favorite Chinese takeout place—the one where Micah always asked for extra fortune cookies because he knew I liked them so much.
There’s my old apartment on Milwaukee Avenue with the giant pear tree in the front yard and Micah’s place just a few doors down with its big picture window that looks out over the street.
I head straight to the recording studio to drop off my kit, and as I’m rolling into the parking spot, my phone vibrates.
JUNE: OMG, Kacie, you just made me the happiest girl in the whole wide world! I’ll see you at the show, but let me know if you have time to meet up before then.
I can’t wait to see her!
One of the sound guys lets me in and helps me unload all my gear into the live room.
The space is dead silent, with carpeting on the floor and sound dampening and diffusing blocks covering the walls.
It smells faintly of sweat and Cheetos, and I spot a bag of them near the door.
The whole perimeter of the room is lined with different types of cables and microphones, and everything except the Cheetos bag looks tidy, cords carefully wound and hung in neat little bundles on hooks along the walls.
I peek into one of the isolation booths, and Micah’s main electric guitar is there, hanging from one of the hooks on the wall.
I run my finger over the soft, smooth edge with its glossy, red finish.
The fretboard is worn down in several places where his fingers press.
I spot his favorite Sunny Day Real Estate hoodie hanging by the door, and I can feel my nerves smoothing out just sensing his presence around me.
On impulse, I reach for his hoodie and bring it up to my face, breathing him in.
The scents are so familiar and manly…all woodsy and clean.
But then I realize what I’m doing and scramble to hang it back up on the wall before anyone sees me.
Good Lord, Kacie, get a hold of yourself.
I head back over to the live room and take several minutes to rebuild my kit.
Once I have everything together, I start tuning it up and adjusting all the angles.
I get myself situated on my drum stool and pull on my black fingerless gloves.
I’ve been wearing these gloves for so long they’re like a part of my kit now, and I like the feel of the soft, worn leather against my skin .
I twirl my sticks a couple times to feel the weight of them before kicking off a few beats to make sure I have everything exactly the way I like it. I make a couple of adjustments, then play for several minutes straight, getting the feel for the sound in the room, and it’s good. I like it.
The room falls silent again as I lay my sticks across my thighs to collect my thoughts, but then I spot something out of the corner of my eye.
It’s Micah.
He’s leaning against the doorframe and watching me with an intensity that I suspect I was not meant to see.
My eyes meet his, and something fierce and electric passes between us.
All my instincts tell me he’s been here, watching me, for some time now, and if I didn’t know him as well as I do, I’d think I was turning him on.
But Micah’s never been interested in me that way.
Why would he be? I’m nothing special to look at.
“Wow, Kace.” His voice is soft and breathless. But then he runs his hand through his hair as if to shake off the moment and heads straight for me with his arms stretched out wide. “I can’t believe you’re here.” He grins from ear to ear.
I set my sticks on top of my kit and run over to him, wrapping my arms around him and nuzzling my cheek into his chest as he hugs me. He has an incredible body, and it’s hard not to notice when he’s pressed right up against me.
“Oh, Micah…” I sigh, feeling the stress of the last twenty-four hours melting away.
He takes a step back and smiles down at me. Somehow he’s even more handsome than usual, and I feel a sudden need to break the tension.
“It’s so good to see you,” he tells me.
Maybe it’s the way his stubble is framing his lips as he says it or the way his voice is all velvety soft, but whatever it is, it’s working on me in ways I don’t intend to reveal.
“It’s good to be seen,” I joke, but it comes out sounding more like a flirty reference to the way he was watching me from the doorway.
Ugh. What’s going on with me? This is Micah, for God’s sake.
Thankfully he flashes me one of his winning smiles, and I get ahold of myself again.
“Do you have time to start working up the songs right now?” I ask him. “You could take me through each of the ones you still need to finish up so I can start getting familiar with them.”
“Right. That’s the thing. I wasn’t happy with any of the tracks Rebecca laid down.”
“Wait. Seriously?”
He didn’t like her work on the album? That’s hard to believe, but he seems sincere. Maybe she was distracted, thinking about rejoining Triple X.
“I was hoping we could start fresh and rerecord everything from the top, so it would be you for the whole album.”
My stomach twists up in knots. I take a step back. The entire album in three days? What have I gotten myself into?
“Hold on. Don’t freak out. It’s all the old songs you already know.”
“Jesus. Well, thank God.” I laugh. Having to learn a ton of new material well enough to lay down tracks in just a few days would have sent me straight over the edge.
“But wait. Why are you recording old songs? Don’t you want to put new ones on this album?”
“Well, I would”—he pauses, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand the way he does when he’s uncomfortable—“except I haven’t actually written anything new since you left.”
I’m shocked. He’s always been obsessed with writing music. It’s like his brain is so full of ideas he can’t get the songs out fast enough. As soon as he finishes one, he’s already halfway through the next one.
“I don’t understand. Why aren’t you writing anymore?”
“I don’t know. It’s been a weird time, I guess?” He looks down at the floor for a moment. “I’ve been working on the same song for months now, and I can’t seem to get the pieces to come together.”
Wow. He really has been feeling down lately.
“Hey, that’s OK. Maybe we can play around with it while I’m here. I bet we can get things to start locking into place,” I offer.
“Yeah, that would be awesome. But first let’s work through some of the old stuff, just to see where you’re at with everything.”
Micah heads over to the isolation booth to grab his guitar, and I take a seat back at my kit. He plugs in to the amp closest to me, and we start on the first song.
I can feel the creative energy in the room ramping up, but I’m having trouble getting the image of him standing in the doorframe out of my mind. Was I turning him on?
My body was definitely responding to something between us. Or did I just imagine that? Because what am I saying? There’s never been anything steamy between us. Maybe it’s just the excitement of being here and seeing him again after so long.
Maybe.
We play through a few songs, and everything is going really smoothly—thanks in no small part to the fact that I’ve been secretly playing along with his recordings every single day for months now.
But it isn’t just the songs that are coming back to me easily.
Those familiar feelings are flooding back too: the satisfaction of playing together in perfect rhythm, working the groove out together.
We’ve been back at it for maybe half an hour, and it already feels like we never stopped.
Like we’ve always been here, playing together, in lockstep .
Eventually we make it through the whole set, and I’m satisfied.
“I’m feeling good about these already,” I tell him.
“Obviously we’ll need to spend a little more time locking each one in before we record, but I think we’ll be in good shape.
Why don’t you show me that new song you’ve been working on? ”
He nods, then pauses for a moment, like he’s trying to collect his thoughts. “I have most of the verses down solid, but I don’t have lyrics for the chorus yet, and I need to figure out how it all fits together. I’ll play through the parts I have, and we can see how it’s sounding so far.”
He starts the intro and it’s just a few spare guitar notes at first, spread thin, laying out a haunting melody, and it’s utterly beautiful.
When his voice comes in, it’s sad and soulful.
The verses are about unrequited love, and the sentiment is heartbreaking.
As his words twine their way into my heart, I can’t help but wonder what it would feel like to be the object of his affection. To be the woman he’s yearning for.
I sigh as he finishes the song. “Micah, it’s beautiful. The lyrics in the verses…the lyrics are just…”
I clutch my hands to my heart, struggling to find words that can describe the feeling. “They’re passionate. The way the vocal melody winds together with the guitar part—it almost makes me wish you were singing about me,” I tease.
He’s smiling, but his cheeks flash pink.
Whoa. Is he blushing? That’s a first.
But he shakes it off and turns his attention back to me.
“I’m glad you like it. I can’t wait to see what you do with it.
I know it needs something special with the drums in the pre-chorus, but I can’t figure it out.
The chords start to ring out right there, so the tension needs to be building and building.
I’ve got a few ideas, but it needs more. ”
“OK. Let me see what you’ve got so far.” I move off my seat and stand to the side so he can demonstrate on my kit.
He grabs my sticks and starts playing through some different beats, but it’s a little hard to focus on anything except his strong, muscular arms as he plays. I love watching him move with the rhythm on drums, and it’s so sexy the way his lip curls up just a bit when he’s really in the zone.
Somehow I manage to maintain enough focus to get a sense of what he’s going for with the drum parts, and then I’m back on my kit, my mind alive and buzzing with all the different beats I’d like to try.
He grabs his guitar and we get right to work.
This is my absolute favorite part about playing with Micah: the collaboration. Searching together, feeling our way through his music for those luscious little moments even he doesn’t know are in there. Those gems hiding just beneath the surface, waiting to be discovered.
We try out a few different things on the pre-chorus, and suddenly I hit on something solid. He locks eyes with me, and we loop over that part a few more times. He’s excited, and I can feel his energy coursing through my body. This beat feels amazing.
He signals for us to keep moving through the song, but he keeps his gaze on me, and I can’t turn away. There’s an electricity coursing between us, and my nipples are tingling, responding to his gaze and drawing themselves up into stiff little points.
I worry that I’m gonna lose the beat for a moment, but then I feel his eyes, still locked on mine, and I know I’m not going anywhere.
We finish out the song, and I’m breathing hard as I bring my sticks together and rest them on top of my kit with a click .
I finally turn away from him and verify that yes, indeed, my nipples are visibly protruding from the thin fabric of my top.
I’m hoping he won’t notice, but frankly, there’s really no missing them .
What’s happening to me? Despite Micah’s sexy good looks, I’ve never had trouble keeping my body in check around him before.
I have to get my emotions back under control, and fast. We’re finally getting our friendship back on track, and the last thing I need is a pile of messy feelings getting in the way and ruining everything.
My relationship with Micah means everything to me.
I don’t want anything to come between us again.
Still, I can’t stop thinking about the heat in his eyes when I first spotted him in the doorway today, and an even more dangerous idea inches its way into the corners of my mind.
Is Micah having feelings for me too?