12. Beau
twelve
Beau
A n address comes through via text as I’m shoving my few belongings into my backpack. Closing out of the dozen airline tabs, I give in to curiosity and hit the link Liam sent me. It takes me to a map of a studio seven miles away.
His studio .
Clutching my phone tighter, I tip my head back and sigh. After how things ended last night with Liam, I was prepared to disappear from his life. But then I think about leaving Stasi without saying goodbye, and it doesn’t sit well in my bones.
This isn’t what I wanted.
Or maybe it’s exactly what I wanted, and that’s why it hurts worse.
I’m such a fool.
As much as I’d expected Liam to ignore my phone call, I knew deep down he wouldn’t be so cruel. He’s not the type to leave you hanging when you’re in a bad place.
Sure, he ignored my texts years ago, but I didn’t exactly voice my desire for him to stick around either. Not that he would have chosen me over his European tour. I wouldn’t have wanted him to. Best we could have managed was some long-distance phone sex.
Dropping my backpack onto the floor and kicking it into the corner of the bedroom, I punch in the studio address on my Uber app .
Twenty-five minutes later, I’m standing in the parking lot outside Ascension Records.
The image online only shows the front entrance, but there’s a stunning mural painted on the side wall facing the street.
It must be the same artist who did Liam’s tattoos.
The imagery and style are identical—hooded figures wielding scythes and swords, winged and clawed demons, and elegant angels tangled up in a flurry of blood and feathers.
I snicker. Does the man realize how loyal he is? Hell, here I am, seven years after we had our fling, and he’s taken me back in with little complaint.
Popping a cigarette from the fresh pack I picked up when the Uber driver had to get gas, I light it up. The woman had apologized profusely for being so absentminded. It was obvious she was having a bad day, so I tipped her extra.
I’m not sure if Liam’s waiting for me. Not that I worry about following his orders much when misbehaving results in more attention from him. I just want the nicotine to hit me before I walk in there.
It’s a bad mental health day. I spent too much time huddled under the blankets of Liam’s spare bed this morning playing a fucked up game of “what if” in my brain. What if I never write a hit again? What if these weird, stroke-like symptoms get worse? What if I sold my house and stayed in Dallas?
What if I asked Stasi on a date?
Damn it, everything feels heavy today. I’m tired. I stayed up late watching Lithos clips on social media. Between my poor attitude and my replacement’s stellar performance in Toronto last night, I doubt I’ll be getting a callback.
It’s for the best . Even if I feel like my strings have been severed and I’m drifting into the void .
I glance down at my right hand. It feels normal today—no tingles—but there’s a slight pressure in my skull threatening to turn into a brutal headache later. I should have bought a bottle of medicine from the gas station.
Stubbing out my cigarette, I push out one last breath tinged with smoke. I’m not sure what Liam thinks he’ll get by summoning me here, but I’ll humor him temporarily. Maybe long enough to prod him about why the hell he’s not dating Stasi.
As I waltz through the front door, bells jingle above me. I’m greeted by two friendly faces behind the front desk. A taller man with short, tight curls and brown skin, and a peppy girl with a beehive of ginger hair atop her head. She bounces over to me.
“I’m guessing you’re Beau. I’m Emma, one of Liam’s sound engineers. And that’s Walter. Hail already left for the day. He likes to FaceTime his boyfriend before lights out across the Atlantic, if you know what I mean.” Emma exaggerates a wink.
I chuckle. Her bubbly personality is contagious.
“Hey, man,” Walter greets with a nod. “How’s it goin’? Badass work with Lithos. That first album? Top shelf.”
“Yeah. Thanks,” I reply, pushing down my disappointment.
Is anyone talking about the new album? Do I care at this point? Or would I rather bury it in the past and not let my failures further take root?
“Yeah, you’re perfect for the temp gig.” Emma nods.
Brows lifting, my gaze cuts to Liam as he steps out of his office. What the hell did he tell them?
“Hey, bossman. Since Beau's here, does that mean I finally get a break?” Emma asks.
Liam doesn’t look away from me. “You always get breaks, Emma. ”
“Yeah, but I feel guilty taking one and leaving you with loads of work.”
“Get out of here. You too, Walter. It’s after five.”
Emma and Walter collect their belongings and drift out the door, lost in enthusiastic chatter about new artists they’re working with.
When the studio falls quiet, I soak in the interior.
The walls are part dark green paint, part exposed brick, warmed by soft golden lighting.
There are instruments everywhere, some displayed as artwork, others propped up with cords connected to amps.
Liam’s got a grand piano. Not sure I’ve seen anything sexier in my life.
Okay, maybe the two people I had sex with recently.
Something stirs in my chest, urging me to sit down on the plush bench and touch my fingers to the ivory keys. Maybe play a few chords…
“I didn’t agree to this,” I mutter.
“And yet you’re here. I have one more artist coming in tonight who needs help.”
I let out a quiet chuckle. “Ah. So you just want me for my musical talent.”
Liam’s dark eyes slide down my body. “Might as well use you while you’re bumming it at my house.”
Delighted by this flirty exchange, I walk right up to him. He’s got a couple inches on me and a lot more mass, but I’ve never been scared of him hurting me. At least, not without consent.
“You gonna pay me?”
Liam licks his lips. “Oh, I’ll pay you.”
“In sexual favors?”
Is this what I was hoping for when I reached out to him? Someone to reignite a spark inside me I haven’t felt in years? Someone to remind me I’m alive? Or was I hoping some of his talent would rub off on me?
He flashes a wicked grin. “And you used to call me the deviant? ”
“Oh, you are. But our freak matches.”
He brings his mouth closer to mine, his breath warm against my lips. “You accept my paychecks, and sex is on the table.”
My pulse leaps. I know he’s just teasing, but it’s the most commitment I’ve ever gotten out of him.
Cocking my head to the side, I ask, “And what about Stasi?”
His expression twists. “What about her?”
Maybe I’m hoping I can push his buttons enough to send me away because I obviously don’t have the strength to do it myself.
“Why aren’t you with her?” I ask.
Liam eases back on a long breath. “You know why.”
“Because you don’t date. Yeah, I know. But have you ever tried?”
His eyes darken as he contemplates this. “I grew up without a reference to what a healthy relationship looks like, Beau. I’m not about to subject anyone to my deficiencies.”
Deficiencies . What a horrible word.
I bring our bodies together, my hands resting between us on his abs. He tenses and gently pushes me away, but not before giving my arms a squeeze in silent apology.
I want to keep testing him, but it’s clear something from his childhood still has its claws in him. If only he could see what I see in him. How deeply he cares for others, even if he doesn’t vocalize it.
“Would you be upset if I hung out with her?”
He moves over to the chair behind his mixer and sits down. “Why would I?”
“Wouldn’t you be jealous?”
“No,” he says simply.
Liar . He chased us upstairs that night of the party.
Tilting my head to the side, I ask, “So I can date her? ”
His eyes flash with murderous intent, and my heartbeat skips. “You fuck her up, and I’ll disown you.”
I hold his intense gaze as long as I can before dropping my head. “I'm just fucking with you. We both know I’m not here to stay.”
Thankfully, the bells above the door jingle before Liam can poke more at my wounds.
The last artist on his schedule is a talented female folk singer by the name of Nora Woods. I don’t mention that I have a few of her songs on my daily playlist. Just like I don’t admit how much fun I have working with her, strumming out heartfelt chords and harmonizing with her vocals.
Nora’s been battling writer’s block. The fact that Liam was willing to give her studio time to work through her mental barriers further proves he’s got a bleeding heart in that big, sexy chest.
In the gaps between recordings, I feel his eyes on me. I can almost hear him taunting me. See, I can play games, too.
And I fell right into his trap.
I allowed him to lure me here and ease me back into playing when I told myself I was done. I’d even shipped my guitars to my dad in Phoenix, unable to stomach the idea of touching them after my swift kick in the ass from Lithos.
But it’s nice to perform without the pressure or expectations that come with fans and bandmates. Here, I’m able to create something wholly new. Something outside the realm of gallops and tremolo picking and power chords.
There’s no disconnect between my brain and my right hand, either.
Nora claps her hands together. “That voice! Handsome, you’ve got some soul in you! ”
Grinning, I lift my head to Liam standing behind the recording window. He gives a nod of approval.
“I aim to please,” I reply.
By the time Nora makes her exit, I’m still buzzing with energy. I continue lazily plucking at the strings of Liam’s guitar, no purpose behind what I’m doing. I’m driven solely by the need to let this living, breathing thing out of me.
I’ve always had a deep-rooted love for writing music, but for the last couple of years it’s felt more like a chore. More like I’m writing for listeners than I am for myself.
Liam strides in and sinks a hand into my hair.
“Time to leave?” I ask, digging my phone out of my pocket to check the time. “ Damn . How is it midnight already?”
“Are you ready to leave, Beau?”
It feels like a weighted question.
Swallowing, I shake my head. “No.”
His hand falls away from me as he gives me another little satisfied nod. “Then keep playing. Spare bedroom’s yours for as long as you need it.”
He drops a set of keys on a nearby table, and then he’s gone.
Who is this man? Is the real Liam tied up somewhere in a closet?
Maybe I should hang around a few more days.
Maybe I should ask for Stasi's number, too.