Chapter 17
FLINT
The day I’d been dreaming about for more than a year had arrived. I’d looked forward to this moment more than my pending wedding. I was back in my home studio with the guys, ready to write a new album. It had been just over fourteen months since we’d agreed to take a break. Now, we were here, together again. I couldn’t wait to get started. Music was a huge part of who I was. I wasn’t complete without my band.
We were set. Ready to work.
At the far end of my studio that overlooked the garden, we took seats on the two large sofas that faced each other. Lewis, beside me, Slip and Cole, opposite. I’d stowed my acoustic guitar next to me, leaning it against the edge of the armrest. Everyone pulled out their notebooks and laptops from backpacks or satchels and dumped them onto the coffee table in disarrayed piles. Lewis grabbed his electric bass. Cole drew out a set of drumsticks from his backpack. Slip sank onto his knees beside the coffee table and opened the guitar case he’d brought with him...one I’d never seen before.
“Holy shit.” I didn’t need to see the logo on the head to know what brand it was. The classic vintage sunburst acoustic body and long, dark neck with signature mother-of-pearl fretboard inlays screamed Gibson. But that was no ordinary guitar. “Is that a Lab ’57?”
“Yep.” Slip spun the guitar around in his hands. “Found it online near our place on Bowen Island. This old guy had it sitting in his garage, collecting dust, for years. He’d never used it and had no idea what it was worth. It had a broken tuning key and bridge and some bad scratches. He had it listed for five hundred dollars. I offered him five grand and he wouldn’t take it. I showed him online what she was worth, and he didn’t believe me. After much negotiation, we settled on three. I still feel bad I got such a bargain.”
“Shit. You got a seven-thousand-dollar guitar for three grand?”
“Actually, this one is probably worth closer to eight-and-a-half. It didn’t take much to restore it. She’s a beauty, isn’t she?”
Slip handed me the guitar. I placed it across my lap, struck the strings, and admired his incredible restorative handiwork. “Dude, it looks brand fucking new. And sounds...amazing. Is this my late Christmas present?”
“No fucking way.” He puffed air through his nose and shook his head. “She’s mine.”
“You sure?” In my collection of more than twenty guitars, I had a few Gibsons, electric and acoustic, but I could always add more. I didn’t have a Murphy Lab ’57.
“Yes.” He held out his hand and flapped his fingers. “Give her back.”
I tinkered away on the steel strings, loving the sound and feel. But before I got too attached, I handed her over. “She’s awesome. Can’t wait to see what you create on her.”
“Me too.”
“Alright then.” Cole shuffled forward in his seat and rolled his sticks between his palms. “Let’s write an album. Where do you want to start? Look? Feel? Sound? Anyone got anything they want to lay on the table?”
“I do.” I wrung my hands together, cracked my knuckles. The first two albums I’d penned with Phil, then Cole and Slip had joined us to flesh out and compose the music. I’d written our third album with Cole and Slip after Sutton and I had broken up...and then, when Sutton and I had gotten back together. There had been way too much alcohol involved. But I’d loved the process and their input every step of the way. “I want this album to be written like our last one. We’re all together, for every word, every line, every note. Is everyone cool with that?”
Fire ignited in all the guys’ eyes as they nodded.
“I have a million ideas zooming around inside my head.” I leaned forward and rested my elbows on my knees. “I’ve written a bucket-load of new songs and composed some cool music, but I’d also like to do something with Phil’s lyrics. Have you read your notebooks?”
“Sure have.” Cole grabbed the one Tia had given him and flicked through the pages.
“Yep.” Slip tapped his hand on top of his pile of pages and pads.
“I’ve read all of them.” Lewis dipped his chin. “The guy had a way with words.”
“He certainly did.” I remembered how we fed off each other, coming up with lines, stories, and rhymes, trying to outdo each other, creating song after song. Phil was truly talented. His lyrics were incredible. I didn’t want them to go to waste. “I’d love to swap each notebook around and we can read each one, tagging the songs we like ...like this.” I pulled mine off the coffee table and showed them the colored Post-it notes sticking out the top. “Green is awesome.” There were three. “Blue is ‘I can work with it.’” Four of them. “We see which ones we agree on and turn those into something.”
“So you want this album to be Phil’s work?” Concern drilled into Slip’s brow. “I’m not sure about that. I want to write new music. This is a fresh start for all of us. I don’t want to look back.”
Cole closed his book and placed it on the table. “I don’t think the album should consist entirely of his stuff. But there are some really good lyrics in my notebook. Raw shit that hits hard, that I know we’ll turn into phenomenal songs. A mix of old and new would be good. Does that work for everyone?”
“I’m not making any promises about using Phil’s songs.” Slip ruffled his hands through the back of his hair. I understood his hesitation about not wanting to write an album of depressing songs or using all of Phil’s words. He shrugged, not totally killing the idea. “Like always, we’ll see how things unfold as we write.”
“I’m cool with that.” Cole nodded and scratched his scruffy cheek. “I’ll mark up my book tonight and have it ready to swap tomorrow.”
“Awesome, and yes, I’d like a mix, too.” I skimmed through a few of the pages in Phil’s notebook. There was some great stuff in there. I couldn’t wait to work on the music for several of these songs. “We’ve come so far, but I don’t ever want to lose sight of where we came from. I don’t want to dwell on losing Phil anymore. The aim is to honor and remember him in a positive way. To not let these lyrics go to waste. I’m so grateful for where we are, what we have, and what we’ve achieved. I’m excited about the years ahead.” I closed the book and held it against my chest. “Our last album was about breakups and falling in and out of love. This album is about us...what we’ve lost, what we’ve found, and our friendship that has stood the test of time. I want it to be full of good vibes. We’re gonna write some incredible rock songs and legendary music.”
“Ooh.” Lewis clicked his fingers. “We could give the album a working title of Lost and Found ? I kinda like that.”
“Yeah. Me too.” I bobbed my head .
“That works.” Cole picked up a drumstick and twirled it around his fingers. He was super chilled most of the time, but always fidgeted with something.
Slip rubbed his forehead. Too much worry had embedded there. I didn’t want to see any. “Fine. But if we go down the path of using some of Phil’s material, I don’t want to focus on losing him or the darkness. Most of the lyrics in my notebook are depressing and painful. Most of them were written just before he died. I’m happy to honor Phil—you know that. He was my best friend. But anything we use has to be fun and positive. A song or two is fine. If we find more, we can always record them and keep them in mind for future albums. We’ve turned our lives around in the past couple years. All for the better. I want to look forward, not backward. I have a new fire burning inside me. Fresh rhythms and tunes are hammering my head. The break has given me a new lease on life. Let’s make this a fun album.”
“Absolutely.” I clapped my hands together, then held up one finger. “But...with a couple love ballads and heart-breaking tracks thrown in.”
“If they weren’t our bestselling songs, I’d beat that crap out of you.” Cole shook his head, but his eyes glinted. “I’d prefer upbeat party tracks. Much better for drumming.”
“That is true...but our bestselling hits have been the emotional ones.” I counted on my fingers. “Angst-filled love, being hot for a girl, sexy innuendo, and crushing heartbreak sells.”
“I know. But write the soppy ones from memory, not reality this time.” Cole jabbed a finger at me. “Just promise me you won’t fuck things up with Sutton. We don’t want to see either of you hurt, or for you to fall into the depths of depression and hit the bottle again. Or have to write another album totally about her. ”
Grinning, I bobbed my head. The guys and I had been through so much shit together, but we’d survived. We were stronger. I was better. “We won’t...not the whole album anyway. I’m in a good place. Sutt is my one. I’m ready to take on the world again. Are you?”
“Fuck yeah.” Cole twirled his sticks around his fingers, then tapped them against his books. His energy filled the room, a clear sign he was itching to write and play.
Shards of silver light shimmered across Lewis’s eyes. His electric vibe was as contagious as Cole’s. “The album has to tell a story. The story of us. That after hard times, there is good. After heartache, there’s love. Hope. A bright future. Our friendship has been key.” He straightened and slapped his thighs. “So let’s do this. Let’s write an album.”
“Yes, please.” Slip strummed the strings on his guitar and jutted his chin toward me. “We always come up with the best songs when we just jam and follow a beat, or you get all fucking emotional. Have you worked on anything good recently? We gotta start somewhere, so what have you got for us?”
“I have so many bits and pieces to show you.” I shuffled through some books. “I don’t know where to start.”
“Same.” Lewis scrolled and clicked on his laptop. “I’ve got some great ideas. Let me see if I can find one.”
“Actually...” I drew my shoulders back and rubbed my hands up and down my thighs. “I know where to start.” This day was what I’d been living for. I wanted to capture it. Capture our feelings, our thoughts, our goals. I grabbed my laptop, opened it, and turned it on. Damn thing took forever to load. “Gemma told me to do this years ago, and I never have. So you’re gonna suck this up and go with the flow. It’s a quick activity for us to understand each other. I want everyone to say why you’re here. Why do you want this? Or why the fuck you can’t breathe without music? Or what’s driving you to make this album, get back on stage, and follow this dream?”
“That’s a no-brainer.” Cole leaned back on the sofa and stretched out his legs.
“Good.” I opened Google Docs and a new file, ready to type. “I’m gonna wing this and write shit that comes into my head. You first, Cole.”
“Fine.” He rolled his sticks against his leg. “I’m here because my life is better with the three of you. Drumming and you guys are my world...Ava and the kids are my everything. Taking care of my family is my priority. I want to give them the best life possible, travel with them, and be the best father and partner I can be.”
I rolled my hand through the air, coaxing him to give me more. “Can you give me a moment, or a time when something happened when you knew you couldn’t live without Ava and the kids?”
His gaze softened. “Yeah. It’s been right since our last tour. But a couple months ago, we were in bed. It was early. We’d just finished fucking when the kids came charging into our room and jumped all over us. We had to quickly get dressed, but then the four of us just lay on the bed and talked, hugged, and goofed around. It was the day Ava agreed to move in. Every day since then just keeps getting better and better. That’s the day we truly became a family.”
I closed my eyes. I didn’t want to picture him fucking Ava, but I’d sensed they’d been truly happy the past few months since they’d lived together. I’d felt that way when Sutton had moved in with me. Words and feelings tumbled around in my head. My fingers glided across the keyboard as I typed. Tunes and words formed in my head, then the lines rolled off my tongue:
The sun . . . woke us
Sweet kisses . . . Hot lov e
Knotted sheets . . . Soft touches
Your smile . . . perfect
My heart . . . surrendered
This life . . . with you
Is all . . . so new
Our family . . . has grown
Let’s see . . . where this goes
Bold steps . . . A home
Our love’s . . . so strong
We can’t . . . be wrong
This is . . . so right
I’m yours . . . You’re mine
Every day . . . and night
I’m yours . . . You’re mine
Together . . . for all time
“Fuck.” Cole smirked. “You just came up with that? This is why you write most of the lyrics.”
“I can just spin more shit than you.” I chuckled, fixing my typos, and saved what I’d written.
“That’s true.” Slip laughed and placed his guitar over his legs. He tinkered at the strings, mimicking the way I’d read the lines. “You are full of shit.”
My laugh rumbled low through my chest. Fuck, I loved these guys. “Don’t make jokes. You’re next.”
Slip thumbed a string and stared at his fingers. “Me? Okay. I’m honestly happy to be alive. Clean. Sober. With Maddy.” He rested his arm on top of his guitar and spoke from the heart. “I was so fucked up at the end of our last tour. It took a long time to get better. But I did. I’m confident I won’t relapse. I’m here for me, to prove that I can do this sober. I’m here because I love you guys and music. I need you to survive. And Maddy. She inspires me to be the best person I can be every day. I’ve known she’s the one for years, since the first time we slept together. But that feeling grew stronger when we went public with our relationship, and she said yes to marrying me...both times...in Vegas and after rehab. She is it. Forever.”
“You two are meant to be.” I tinkered on the laptop keys, the words flowing.
“We are.” Smiling, he strummed his strings. “She’s the best.”
“How’s this?” I read my words with more of a storytelling beat:
Sunset . . . Vegas
The lights . . . endless
A slow dance . . . Champagne
Diamonds . . . A veil
Morning . . . Goodbyes
Your tears . . . Heart break
Cameras . . . Cruel words
Rumors . . . that hurt
But you . . . and I
Are ride . . . or die
Our love’s . . . so strong
We can’t . . . be wrong
This is . . . so right
I’m yours . . . You’re mine
Every day . . . and night
I’m yours . . . You’re mine
Together . . . for all time
Slip played a few chords, then shot forward and jotted down some notes on his new notebook. “I like the beat. The lyrics, not so much, but it’s a start.”
Slip didn’t totally shoot me down, so that was good.
“Lewis?” I swiveled my laptop toward him. “You?”
“Me?” He scratched the tip of his chin. “Fuck, guys...I’m here because finding you was my destiny. I’ve had so many amazing experiences since moving to LA. It’s been mind-blowing, life altering, incredibly good, and totally crazy. From auditioning for you, to now being a Flintlock, to meeting Tia, to having a baby soon. I’ve found the family I’ve always wanted. I have a home. I was born to play with you. Nothing beats doing what I love with my best friends. I’m here for you. For Tia. To make music, perform on stage, entertain the fans, and tour. Fuck, you could write a novel about those things, not just a verse.”
He wasn’t wrong there.
“Let me give this a crack.” I tapped my finger against the side of the laptop, pinched my brows together, and mulled over what Lewis had said. “How’s this?”
The stars . . . night sky
New city . . . New life
I was . . . so scared
But then . . . you appeared
Your touch . . . so new
One smile . . . and I knew
Your kisses . . . profound
Heartbeats . . . so loud
Music . . . our souls
I’ve found . . . my home
Our love’s . . . so strong
We can’t . . . be wrong
This is . . . so right
I’m yours . . . You’re mine
Every day . . . and night
I’m yours . . . You’re mine
Together . . . for all time
“Wow.” Lewis splayed his hand against his chest. “Flint, that’s amazing.”
“Thanks.” I loved writing lyrics. I loved letting my mind search for a feeling, home in on it, and write whatever words jumped into my head. Some songs came easily. Others took days to nut out or were never finished.
Slip added more chords. Lewis strummed his bass and joined in, feeling and finding a rhythm to match. Cole tapped away on the table, drumming in time with their tune. I felt the vibe; it was my turn. I pounded on the laptop keys. Mine was easy. There was nowhere else I wanted to be. I was here for Sutton, music, and these guys. I wanted to write and perform for the rest of my life and spend every day with Sutton. Having the band reform after our break had saved my soul and sanity. Finding Sutton, living with her, proposing to her, and having her say yes had healed my scarred heart.
I finished typing and read my lines to the guys:
Moonlight . . . Our fate
From our . . . first date
We were good . . . then lost
Drowned sorrows . . . the cost
But we found . . . our way
Grow stronger . . . each day
Each song . . . I write
Is for you . . . my love
My soul’s . . . on fire
You take . . . me higher
One door . . . I opened
My heart . . . exploded
Got down . . . on one knee
You are . . . my everything
One ring . . . for you
Can’t wait . . . to say I do
Our love’s . . . so strong
We can’t . . . be wrong
This is . . . so right
I’m yours . . . You’re mine
Every day . . . and night
I’m yours . . . You’re mine
Together . . . for all time
“Damn.” Lewis play-punched me in the arm. I just grinned as I stared at the words pasted across my screen. He then shoved my thigh. “Not bad for our first effort.”
“Thanks.” I hit save. Those moments had brought us here. They were why we were here. It was what we lived for. I loved that.
But what impressed me more than the lyrics I’d written was the fact the guys had come up with a sick beat. My words would probably never see the light of day, but I liked the music. I picked up my guitar from its rest spot against the side of the sofa and positioned it on my lap. I zoned in on Lewis’s and Slip’s fingers and listened to the beat. The rhythm. The chords they were playing.
I joined in. Cole tweaked his tempo, drumming his sticks faster and faster against the coffee table. Lewis hit record on his laptop to capture the tune.
“Fuck this. I need to play on the kit.” Cole leaped to his feet, raced over to his drums, and took to his stool. His pedals captured the beat. His sticks snared the drums.
How could we not join in?
I put down my acoustic, dashed over to my rack of guitars, and grabbed my electric Fender. I plugged it in and stood in front of Cole. Lewis glided over with his bass. Slip picked up his electric guitar off the stand beside his mic and jumped in.
But after a few minutes of us playing, finding the chords and rhythm and beat, Cole caught his cymbals, silencing them. “That’s awesome. It’s something we can work with. But...” Fire blazed in his eyes. “Can we just jam?”
“Fuck yeah.” I stuck the strings on my guitar. The need burning in the guys’ eyes matched the fire skipping through my veins. Slip and Lewis nodded. My fingers quivered against the fretboard, ready to glide across the steel stings. “Let’s go for thirty minutes, then it’s back to work.”
“Yes, boss.” Slip slayed a wicked riff on his guitar. Show-off.
Laughing, I stepped over and clipped him over the head. I hated it when he called me boss . I was the lead singer, but we were an equal team. Always . “Are you able to keep up for that long? If you don’t, you’re buying lunch.”
“Oh, I’ll keep up.” He adjusted a tuning key. “Let’s play.”
“Lewis? Cole?” I jutted my chin at them. “You in on this?”
“What? Play for thirty minutes without stopping? That’s not even a challenge.” Cockiness swaggered through Cole’s tone. “I’m in.”
“I’m always down for playing before work.” Lewis strummed out a rapid beat on his bass. “I’m good to go.”
“Alright then.” My fingers hovered over my strings. This, playing with the guys, our friendship and having fun, were more reasons for living. “Let’s play ‘Motion,’ ‘Love Makes You Crazy,’ ‘Follow You,’ the medley from tour, and the songs we played for our encore. That should be about half an hour.”
“Yes, boss.” Slip saluted me.
Asshole, but I love him . “Fuck you.”
“Love you. Now let’s play.” He positioned his fingers over his strings.
Cole tapped his sticks together, beat his bass drum four times, then hammered out the intro, leading us into our set. Lewis, Slip, and I struck our electric guitars. The music reverberated through our amps, my feet, and my soul. Cole’s cymbals shattered the air. The booming beat struck the center of my chest. I sang, but not in front of the mic.
We stood in a circle, feeding off each other’s energy. Slip and Lewis banged their heads in time with the music, flicking their long hair over their faces. I laughed out loud, rocking from side to side on my feet. Cole’s hands were a blur as he struck his drums. It was wicked to be back together again. Playing. Joking around. Living and breathing music.
For thirty minutes, we rocked out our songs. We sweated. We panted. But no one called timeout. Cole struck the last note, threw his sticks in the air, and caught them. “Hell yeah. That’s what it’s about. Us playing. The music. That rush.”
He raced around from the back of his kit to join us.
We huddled in a circle, draping our arms around each other’s shoulders.
“Cole’s right.” Fire burned hot inside my chest. “Music is who we are. We’re going to write an incredible album. Tour. And keep doing this for the rest of our days.”
“Absolutely.” Lewis wiped his sweaty face on the shoulder of his T-shirt. “But I’m starving. I’ll buy lunch. Then let’s get to work. I’ve got a bunch of songs I’ve been working on and want you to hear.”
“Me too.” I tilted my head toward the door. “Food, then work.”
“Deal.” Slip took off his guitar and placed it on the stand. “I’ve got lots of verses and ideas to throw at you guys. I’ve written some cool riffs, and other bits and pieces. They just need to be paired with some awesome lyrics.”
Cole grabbed a towel from the basket next to his drums and wiped his face. “I’ve worked on some new cool beats. I can’t wait for you to hear them. But once we sit down, fuck around, play with some lyrics, and I get a feel for the song, that’s when I fire. That’s when the drumming comes to me. You know that.”
“We do. I want to hear everything, but let’s eat first.” I set down my guitar and led everyone out of the room.
We headed out to the kitchen and living area. I grabbed icy-cold beers for Cole, Lewis, and me, and a lime and soda, now a permanent item in my fridge, for Slip.
We sat around my dining table and told stories and rude jokes while we waited for the pizzas Lewis had ordered to arrive.
I loved these moments—hanging out with the guys, talking shit, and laughing—just as much as playing music .
We had the best job in the world.
We had an album to write.
We would. I had no doubt.
Lost and Found would be another epic chart-topper.
I felt it in my bones.
I pictured us performing in front of thousands of people at Wembley, MetLife, and even the MCG in Melbourne. Yeah, that would be epic.
We’d work toward making that dream a reality . . . after lunch . . . and another beer or two.
This time together, enjoying each other’s company and having fun, was just as important as our job.
I was a fucking good boss, wasn’t I?
Hell fucking yeah!