Chapter 11
(Steel)
Posted just inside the door of the private dining room Damaged Saints and Bleeding Dawn were currently having brunch in, I had the perfect view of the bedraggled faces of some of the band members.
Kit was barely able to push food around on his plate, his head propped on his hand, while across the table from him, Robbie covered his eggs with his napkin, looking visibly ill.
Mickey and Rebel were the only ones who looked bright-eyed and raring to go, and they’d both come to brunch with their instruments, as had Kayden, which meant there would be music at some point.
By now, I’d gotten used to the way these brunch sessions flowed.
Draven arranged one each week to give them all a chance to eat together privately and discuss upcoming appearances, show dates, and anything else he had in store for them.
Rebel hadn’t glanced my way since he’d spotted me when he sat down. I’d half expected him to get up and move to one of the chairs that would have allowed him to sit with his back to me, but he didn’t. He just never looked my way again.
And that broke something inside of me.
In the past, he’d sought my gaze, even if it was just to tease me with a glimpse of his tongue piercing or a soft smile that promised wicked things later.
Strangely enough, as I stood there bereft and longing for that small bit of affection, I was hit with a deep sense of regret over ending things with him.
He’d still not replied to my text, but him ignoring me was acknowledgement enough that my message had been seen and taken to heart.
Maybe if I hadn’t snapped at him after we’d put Kit to bed, I could have turned it into an opportunity to talk, because I’d done nothing but miss him and the connection we’d formed.
"So, uh, I’ve been working on a new song,” Rebel declared once it reached the point where no one was showing any more interest in their food.
“I think it’s ready for the rest of the guys to start adding their parts, but I thought this would be a good time to get some feedback first and make sure there was nothing further that needed to be tweaked before I handed it over. ”
“Hell yeah!” Johnny said, rubbing his hands together. “Let’s hear it.”
Seeing Kit perk up for the first time was interesting.
I wondered if that meant he’d be contributing to the drum tracks for the new song or if it would still be all Ozzy doing the creating.
I hoped they gave the kid a chance to shine.
It couldn’t have been easy, joining an established band the way he had.
If they trusted him to contribute to the songwriting, that would only be a confidence boost to him.
Seeing the way Ozzy mentored him, I doubted he’d cut him out of the process, so perhaps they’d work together on it so Ozzy could guide him through the way it all worked.
From the glimpses I’d seen, it was a longer process than I’d imagined, with each musician crafting their pieces before they could smooth out the song together.
Those opening chords weren’t ones I remembered.
In fact, the pacing was different too. This was darker and colder, the melody sending shivers up my spine.
The gut punch came when he started singing, because those weren’t the vibrant, hopeful words he’d been penning as he’d sat in that sunbeam on the balcony.
Drunk and disillusioned
Broken by my own confusion
Too many days are a blur to me
Wicked wasteland of immortality
No one asked you to make us gods
No one told me we’d burn for this
They just pushed us to dream
So when will the nightmares fade
When will my debt be paid
Absolve me of all my sins
Come set me free
Stoned and misdirected
Trapped by my own confession
Too many lies to keep sorted out
Desolate hall of deception and rage
No one asked you to make us gods
No one told me we’d burn for this
They just pushed us to dream
So when will the nightmares fade
When will my debt be paid
Absolve me of all my sins
Come set me free
Lost and self-destructive
Killed by my own redemption
Too many missed opportunities
Scorched river of failures and doubts
No one asked you to make us gods
No one told me we’d burn for this
They just pushed us to dream
So when will the nightmares fade
When will my debt be paid
Absolve me of all my sins
Come set me free
Come on
Set me free
Heartbreakingly beautiful, that’s what this song was, and yet I found myself mourning the one I’d listened to him slowly building and hoped he still intended to finish it.
Johnny joined him on what proved to be the final chorus.
I couldn’t believe how fast he’d picked up the words, but then, he was the singer.
Dash’s fingers were in constant motion by then too, the bass player already working out something in his head.
Draven had placed his phone on the table, recording as soon as Rebel started playing, or maybe he was live streaming it to Ozzy.
Silence followed the echo of the final fading note.
Jagger swiped at his eyes while Johnny sniffled.
It didn’t matter if I looked at one of the guys from Damaged Saints or the ones in Blissfully Immune; to a man, they wore looks of awe and disbelief until Johnny shot out of his chair and nearly dove across the table.
“I want those lyrics!” Johnny said. “Play it again and let me sing it with you.”
“Hey, watch the coffee; I’m in desperate need of that today,” Kayden declared, protectively wrapping his hands around his mug and pulling it closer to him.
“Especially after hearing that. I need to wake the fuck up and get to work on something for our sets that can match up to that. Seriously, that was badass, my dude. Loved what you did at the ending. Do not touch that. It’s fire.
I got goosebumps. It almost felt like you were stabbing me through the heart with those chords. ”
Praise from the other guitarist in the room, plus Johnny’s enthusiasm, prompted Rebel to hand the notebook to Johnny before he crawled past the fruit salad to get it.
Rebel, I’ve already got a few ideas for the drumline that I want to run past Kit so he can get started on it.
I’m not sure how much I’m going to be able to contribute to this next album, so its time you guys start creating with him.
I’ll walk him through how we do things, and Dash, I’ll need you to work with him on the rhythm until I get back.
It’s going to be a few more days, so send me a recording, and I’ll put some more thought into it.
Kayden’s right. It’s fucking fire. I can’t wait to hear it completely come to life.
Ozzy’s voice coming through Draven’s phone confirmed my suspicions about him live streaming the song, and he wasn’t the only one who had something to say about it.
“We’ll get on that as soon as we wrap up brunch,” Dash declared. “I’ve got a bassline in my head already, and I’m about to record the song.”
“I’ve got my electric drum set in my room,” Kit declared. “I’ll take it to Dash's, and we’ll get started with what you send me. I’m kind of blown away at the moment, and a little hungover.”
Is there any OJ on the table?
“Half a pitcher of it,” Kit replied.
Chug as much of it as you can stomach, and next time, drink less.
Jagger passed him the pitcher with a grin on his face; others chuckled at the sage words from Blissfully Immune’s co-drummer.
Johnny barely paid any attention to what was going on in the room as he read through the notes, then came around the table, jerking his thumb at Mickey to switch places with him so he could sit beside Rebel as they ran through it.
Despite having just heard the song, I was hit with the same depth of emotion as the first time Rebel played it.
From my vantage point, I could see Dash beginning to draw waves on a napkin while Rebel played and Johnny sang along with him, their voices harmonizing beautifully.
It took a moment for me to catch on that the waves depicted the flow of the song and the way it rose and fell in pitch and tempo.
Whoa. I was actually catching on to all of this.
“Shit, Mickey, can I borrow your bass?" Dash asked at the end of the second run-through.
“Yeah, sure, man,” Mickey said and retrieved it from its case.
What Dash played was rough, but midway through, Rebel nodded and started strumming the intro. “Right on, dude, keep going,” Rebel encouraged.
All the guys in Damaged Saints were kicked back in their seats, watching things take shape, while Kit leaned forward, eyes glued to his three bandmates.
Yeah, yeah, just that!
Ozzy’s encouragement spurred them on. It was truly a start-and-stop affair, but after several more run-throughs I could tell that they were onto something.
Someone send me all the recordings, and I’ll send some notes to Kit.
“I got you, man,” Dash said. “I think we’ve got enough to work with now.”
Hell yeah, we do. I’ve got to run, but you can expect those notes before dinner.
“Looking forward to it,” Dash said before Ozzy signed off.
“Alright,” Johnny said. “Let’s plan to meet in Dash’s room when we leave here. Our afternoon is free, right, Draven?”
Everyone fell silent as Draven checked their itinerary before picking up his text-to-speech device.
You’ve got five hours before you four need to be at KLTZ for an interview and acoustic set.
Saints, you're set up to live stream from Bernard’s Records on Fifth, it’s the oldest record store in the city and one of the few remaining ones.
That’s three hours from now. Tonight’s yours to do what you want with, but don’t forget that we’re rolling out of here first thing tomorrow morning.
Breakfast will be on the bus when you get there, courtesy of Wayward Waffles.
“Oh, hell yeah!” Rebel declared. “I love their food.”
“Oh my god, same!” Johnny declared.
I’ll be sure to order enough that you can all pig out.
Cheers went up while I made a mental note of Wayward Waffles, in case I ever had the opportunity to surprise Rebel with some.
Shit.
Goddammit.
What the hell was I thinking? That was not something I should even be thinking about.
I needed to keep my mind off him and focused on my task.
Still, I couldn’t help but think that maybe Rebel would have an easier time settling down and accepting that he couldn’t just go out and get all the things he loved if there was still a way to get them to him when he wanted them.
I told myself that remembering his food choices had nothing to do with the feelings I had for the man and everything to do with making all our lives easier.
Funny how the only time I lied was to myself.
Dash passed Mickey his bass back while Rebel tucked his guitar back in its case, relinquishing the floor so Mickey could present the bassline for one of the songs Damaged Saints had in development.
The feedback and encouragement that flowed through the room created a vibe that was mellow, laid-back, and clearly fun for those involved in the process.
Like when Blissfully Immune had been working on Rebel’s new song, there were changes as Mickey tightened up the rhythm and brought it in line with the guitar riffs that played from Kayden’s phone.
There was no singing this time, though; it was all about the melody.
When they were finally ready to leave the room, roughly forty-five minutes later, I was truly sorry for the change of pace. It gave me too much time to reflect on the decision I’d made in haste and purely out of frustration.
A part of me truly wanted to take it back, smooth out the feathers I knew I’d ruffled when I snapped at Rebel, and have a frank conversation with him about why I’d gotten so upset and what we could do to avoid blurring the lines between on and off duty.
Why hadn’t I given him my schedule? That would have been the smart thing to do. Then he’d have known not to come looking for me, and when I’d be available. Why the fuck hadn’t I just done that?
I hadn’t even thought about it.
Still, Rebel was unpredictable, and there were no guarantees that it would have worked. I’d have been angrier if I’d put in the effort only to have him come pull his shit outside of Jagger’s door anyway.
Fucking hell, all I was doing now was thinking in circles, the mental pros and cons list so balanced that I rejected every decision I came up with.
Text again? Naa, I was still waiting for acknowledgment of the last one.
Knock on his door to see if he wants to do a bit of wandering tonight?
Nope. We still had things to hash out first. Order takeout, and see if he wants to eat while we talk?
Maybe, but I needed him to acknowledge that he’d picked the wrong time to press me about fun time after I’d told him I was on duty.
It all boiled down to one factor for me. I needed him to take some responsibility for our falling out and show some goddamn respect for my job and the position he’d have put me in if I’d allowed him to tempt me away from my post.
Until that happened, all I could do was brood and hope he created a window of hope that we could work with, because I was even more captivated by him after watching him today and listening to him pour his soul out all over those strings.
He’d shown me the beauty in him that ran far deeper than that smokin’ hot packaging, and now that I’d had a glimpse of it, my longing for him was stronger than ever before.
I just hoped he opened the door for me to show him.