3. Liam
three
Liam
L istening through Atonement’s final track, I fight back a grin at the rightness of the music washing over me.
Stas has an ear for this. Her suggestion to pull back on percussion during the chorus allowed the outro to hit like a brick wall of unforgiving sound. The sudden explosion of drums at the end, combined with Maria’s harsh vocals, has goosebumps rising on my arms.
“Please tell me this is the one,” Griff calls out, his voice sounding through the control room speakers. He’s shining with sweat and panting as he braces his forearms on the top of his beanie, drumsticks clutched in his trembling hands.
I cock my head in Hail’s direction, leaning forward in the other leather chair behind my digital mixer, a captivating smile on his face. He waits for Maria’s last high to run its course before he confirms, “Yeah, that hits the spot.”
My gaze drifts to Malek behind us. He’s got one foot propped on my junior sound engineer’s desk.
His long, nimble fingers pluck out a muted rhythm on the bass guitar he snatched from my collection of instruments hung in the moody painted hallway.
His blood-red locks are spiked out in all directions like he stuck a finger in an electrical socket.
Honestly, I wouldn’t put it past him to do just that. The guy challenges death on the regular.
“The world isn’t ready for this album,” Malek says .
“They better be.” Maria pops her head in the room, dreads swaying from a high ponytail and a slice of meat lover’s pizza folded in one hand. We ordered a feast hours ago when we realized it was past dinnertime and no one was ready to leave.
I take pride in the fact that my previous bandmates trust me with their new album. They’d been in the market for a new producer and had faith I wouldn’t fuck it up due to my workaholic nature and dedication to perfection.
I might have been a bit of a tyrant when I played with them.
As much shit as they’ve given me for leaving Atonement, they’ve come to understand that succeeding in music was never about fame or money for me. It was an outlet for the messy things I didn’t know how to wade through as a kid.
And when Hail offered me friendship—when he gave me reason to wake up each morning—music became a way for me to give back to him.
Once his position was secured at the top of the metal world, I knew it was time to help other aspiring musicians.
It’s one good thing I can do. One way I can prove to myself I’m not what my parents believed I would become.
I’m not the criminal teachers whispered about or the murderous goth other kids feared.
I get to submerge myself in music production, something I came to love more than performing on stage.
“Aw, you didn’t have to,” Malek says, reaching for Maria’s pizza. She yanks it away from his hand, and when he goes for it again, she takes off down the hall. Malek sets my bass on the desk and chases after her.
“Come hang that up, dickhead!” I shout.
Both of them are bickering so loud in the entry area, they don’t hear me.
“Is that a yes? No? Someone? Anyone?” Griff asks in a defeated tone .
I take pity on him, hitting the button for the microphone. “You’re done.”
Griff pops off his headphones and drops his head back with an exhausted growl that sounds more like a dying creature than a small, normally goofy human.
“The fuck was that?” Malek reappears in the doorway with Maria hanging off his back.
I nod in Griff’s direction. “Think it belongs to you.”
Malek’s brows furrow. He runs his thumb under the curve of his bottom lip as he takes in his bandmate. “Nope. I don’t claim ownership.”
Maria jumps off his back and smacks him in the arm. “Go get your man.”
Panic momentarily flashes across Malek’s face. He glances around the room, almost like he’s gauging our reactions, before slipping into the recording room to scoop Griff up and toss him over a shoulder.
Shockingly enough, Griff doesn’t try to fight him. His limbs dangle uselessly as Malek holds him.
A laugh bursts out of Hail. “I think we broke him.”
I snort. “He’ll be back to his annoying self in an hour.”
“Oh, for sure,” Hail agrees.
“Guess we’re out then.” Malek salutes us.
Bells above the front door ring out, signaling their departure. I assume Maria already bailed. She’s not one for greetings or goodbyes. Not that I’m complaining. She lives her life like everything is constant. Like relationships won’t change without effort, and people won’t leave.
I have a very different perspective on that matter.
Now that it’s just me and Hail in the studio, I’m about to interrogate him about his family situation, worried about the impact it’s having on both him and his sister .
However, the sight of him clutching his phone in both hands as his knee bounces up and down has me taking a softer approach.
“Hey. You good?”
“Yeah.” After a pause, he adds, “Would be better if Z were here, but you know…”
“He’s putting in the work,” I remind him.
Therapy isn’t easy, and Hail’s boyfriend’s struggles run deep. I had hesitations about Z when Hail first dragged him into our world, only because I recognized the demons lurking in those ice-blue eyes. We were both exposed to them when Z toured with us as my guitar tech for a bit.
After some deeply reckless behavior, it was decided that Z would hang back in London and work through his trauma and addictions.
Hail nods. “He’s putting in the work.”
I’ve checked in with Z a few times, and I couldn’t be more proud of him for the progress he’s making. He plans on moving here as soon as he feels mentally strong enough.
“Don’t feel like you need to keep me company,” I tell Hail.
“Can’t I be worried about you ?”
“No,” I say firmly.
He does his best to glare at me, but he’s all golden retriever energy, even with the piercings and tattoos.
I glance at the clock on the wall. “About to be morning across the ocean. Get the fuck out of here.”
Hail looks at his phone for the hundredth time. The fact that he hasn’t jumped on a plane and flown out to see his boyfriend proves he’s respecting Z’s wishes. His self-control is something to be admired.
Wish I could rein myself in when it comes to filthy thoughts about his sister.
Hail hops to his feet. “I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah? ”
“Tomorrow.”
“Thanks, Liam. Love you, man.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
I linger in the studio after Hail leaves, reflecting on my career with Atonement. What’s it going to feel like when they’re back on tour without me? How could I crave solitude so much when I was crammed in buses and bouncing between cities and yet hate it so much when I finally have it?
I think about Stasi, the only other soul I’ve interacted with outside of work since I moved back to this godforsaken city. I fear what might happen if she gives in to me. If I cave to my desires and claim her. What if we can’t get back to what we have now?
I almost laugh at myself. What the fuck do we have now? A frayed friendship I put little effort into?
I drag a hand down the side of my face. I just need a distraction. I haven’t had a single hookup since I moved home. Didn’t want anyone getting ideas. Just because I set up roots somewhere doesn’t mean I’m looking for something permanent.
Opening my phone, I scroll through hundreds of phone numbers.
Somehow, I end up in my messages with Stas. The last one she sent me was over a year ago. It was a picture of a starry night sky. I’d sent her one back of the Tokyo skyline after we’d played a sold out show there.
As I’m scrolling through our history, I see more photos of sunsets and stars.
Did we ever actually talk?
There’s a cute video of her giggling and apologizing for a horrible view of a meteor shower she sent me from her apartment balcony.
Sighing, I shut my phone and push up from my chair. It’s a little after midnight. There’s the lingering feeling of dread, knowing it’s going to be one of those nights where I either wake in a sweat or sleep evades me entirely.
Locking up the studio, I debate finding someone to take home and fuck into oblivion.
Maybe then I’ll be able to keep my hands off my best friend’s sister.