Chapter 3
Allegra
Watching the band collaborate at the studio is different than I expected. Firstly, it’s not nearly as glamorous as I thought it’d be. While the studio equipment is top notch, there isn’t free-flowing champagne and fashion models hanging around.
Clearly, all my knowledge about the music industry is what I’ve gleaned from television shows and movies.
Considering my brother is a member of The Burnt Clovers, the realization saddens me.
How did Levi and I grow so far apart in such a short number of years?
How do I know nothing about his life, save for the parts that piss off Mom and Dad, and he knows nothing of mine, at all?
As the band plays, my sadness is replaced with excitement.
Sitting in on their session, witnessing the energy that syncs between them is incredible.
All four members are so different in terms of looks and personalities but in the booth together, they seamlessly blend, becoming something greater than their individual traits.
The collaborative spirit of their session, the way they build off each other’s ideas, always willing to try something new, is inspiring.
I’ve never heard these songs, and I realize the band is recording a new album.
While they’re still fiddling with the lyrics and chords, taking breaks to try changes and make notes, they’re creating a masterpiece.
A series of hits that will play on an endless loop on radio stations across the country in the coming months.
A few songs in and I’m completely, wholeheartedly captured by Derek.
The sound of his voice, raspy and sultry, moves over my skin like a cool breeze.
The column of his neck, the veins that ripple in his forearms, the slight shadow that coats the underside of his jaw, is visceral and sexy.
He pours himself into his music, giving a glimmer of the man that lives beneath the phenomenon, concealed by a strong jaw and a blasé attitude.
My hands fist in my lap, my throat too dry to swallow. But I don’t clear it; I barely blink. I can’t tear my eyes from Derek Reiner if my sanity depends on it. And right now, it probably does.
The night he kissed me explodes in my mind. The cold night air, the callouses on his fingertips, the heat of his mouth, firm and fathomless against mine. I shiver.
I’ve recounted that night, that moment, for years. It still affects me. Derek, larger-than-life and famous, still belongs to me in some small way that most would dismiss as insignificant. To me, it’s a defining moment of my life.
As Derek croons into the microphone, his eyes closed, his tatted knuckles flexing on the mic, I come back to the moment. To the now. His eyes open and collide with mine.
Hold. Pierce. Know.
So dark they’re nearly black, glinting with swirling emotions I don’t understand, he sings to me.
At least, it feels that way. Time stops, the energy around me crackles to life, the air particles between Derek and me shrinking and expanding until I’m not sure if I’m in the past or present, in reality or a dream.
“You vanished like daybreak,
Lost stars and forgotten night.
You haunt me like a shadow,
Clingy and relentless.
You haunt me like her.”
He sings the chorus, the skull on the back of his hand shifting as he regrips the microphone. The navy nail polish on his right fingernails dances as he taps a beat along his thigh.
“You haunt me like her.”
The song ends. I work a desperate swallow. Swipe my clammy palms along my shorts. Derek blinks. Our connection severs.
My mind reels and I try to regulate my breathing. Who haunts him? Who is the woman like her? And who the hell is the “her” in the song? Did he write this? One of the other guys? A random songwriter?
I shake my head. It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t mean anything.
My heart kicks behind my breastplate, calling me out.
Because it does mean something. To me, it means more than it should.
“Nice work, guys,” the sound engineer says.
The producer claps his hands as the guys file out of the booth. My brother smiles at me. Mav tosses an arm over my shoulders.
“What’d you think?” Mav asks.
“You guys are…incredible,” I admit, my gaze flickering to Derek.
He doesn’t glance in my direction. Doesn’t acknowledge my praise.
“Hey. I’m Jameson.” A guy with a slight resemblance to Mav flips his chin at me.
I lift my hand in a wave. “Allegra. Levi’s sister.”
Jameson smirks. “Heard you’re bunking with my brother.”
Mav hugs me closer. I smile. “Yep.”
Jameson’s smirk grows. “Keep him in line, yeah?”
“I’ll do my best,” I promise.
Mav and Jameson laugh.
Their producer, Sam, goes over a few things with them. Then, Levi claps his hands. “Ready to eat?”
“Let’s head to the pub,” Mav agrees.
Jameson hangs his head. “Uh, I—”
“Gotta get home to the wifey?” Derek supplies, his eyes narrowed.
Jameson shrugs. “You know how it is.”
Levi snorts. “Not really, man.” He clasps hands with Jameson, and they do some bro handshake. “But you do you.”
“Take care. Good meeting you,” Jameson says to me.
“You too,” I say as he slips out of the studio.
“Your brother’s gotta cut Amelia loose,” Derek comments to Mav.
Mav doesn’t reply but his arm around my shoulders tightens.
Derek shrugs, as if shaking off the negative energy he just brought into the room, into the band dynamics. “Let’s go.”
I follow after the guys, slip into the back of a black Escalade, and take a moment to myself as we drive to a pub. Large trees, full of greenery and summer, mix with cobblestone streets as Boston slips past outside my window.
In the background, the guys talk, dissecting their studio time.
From snippets of their conversation, I glean that they’re recording a new album this summer and are still working out the lyrics for three of the songs. Derek seems the most frustrated by their setbacks, with Mav and Levi shrugging it off.
“Just wanna go out and enjoy summer,” Levi admits.
I bite the inside of my cheek to stop my retort.
Will Levi and I grow closer if we’re in the same place, or has too much time passed? Are we too different now to connect on the things we used to have in common, namely, our family?
I blow out a sigh. I have a call later tonight with a woman, Genevieve Yaeger, who runs the Harrison Foundation and does a lot of work with women’s shelters, centering on female education and empowerment, in Boston.
My roommate Mckenna hooked me up with her contact and I’m excited to speak with her and get involved with the programs her foundation runs.
Will I discover the type of work I want to commit my career to? Will any of them lead to full-time employment? Was taking a leave of absence from UCLA the right decision?
Questions circle my mind in rapid succession. Too quickly to search for answers. Too quickly to offer reassurances.
I feel his gaze on my cheek. The weight of his stare pulls me from my thoughts and a hyperawareness of my surroundings grows.
The fabric of my denim shorts and the way they ride up when I sit, exposing my tanned thighs.
The ends of my hair that brush against my shoulders when I tilt my neck.
I press my palms together to halt my expanding nerves.
“You’re overthinking it,” he murmurs.
I turn toward him, my eyes snapping to his. They’re guarded but I note the hint of frustration that curls his upper lip.
“Overthinking what?” I ask.
Derek shrugs, stretching out his legs so the denim of his jeans skims along my bare calf. It’s rough against my smooth skin. “Everything.”
I smirk. “You don’t know what I’m thinking about.”
He bites his bottom lip, the indent of his top teeth grazing against his full lip. His eyelids lower to half mast, hooded and hot. “Want me to guess?”
I press my hands tighter, try to control the hitch in my breathing. I squirm under his gaze, and he grins.
“That’s what I thought,” he says causally, his expression blank and blasé once more.
I frown, not understanding what transpired between us. What does he want me to say? What does he mean? His speaking in riddles is frustrating but so are his hot and cold moods. Already, he’s giving me whiplash.
I don’t like this feeling. I relish being in control of my thoughts and emotions. Of my interactions with guys.
Before I can press him for a real answer, for some understanding at what game he’s playing at, the SUV rolls to a stop in a back alley. The four of us exit the Escalade and are greeted by a guy at the back entrance.
“What’s good, Duke?” Levi exchanges a backslap with the older man.
“Good to see you, boys. Come on in.” Duke props the door wider.
I follow the guys through a dimly lit corridor and emerge in the back of a pub. Duke points to a corner booth and we slip inside.
“Been coming here for years,” Levi explains.
“Duke’s always been good to us,” Mav tacks on.
“Even lent us money when we were starting out,” Levi adds, passing me a menu.
A muscle pops in Derek’s jaw and his fingers, gripping the underside of the table, tighten. They’re small movements, almost imperceptible. But I’m so in tune to him, I catch them. I just don’t know what they mean.
A breathless server appears at the end of our table. She giggles, tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, and looks over her shoulder. It’s then that I notice that a group of women have repositioned themselves at the end of the bar closest to our booth.
I fight the urge to laugh. Do these women think Levi or Mav or Derek are just going to walk over and buy them a drink? I frown and glance at my brother. He’s craning his neck to check them out. Gah, is that how this works?
If so, it’s too…desperate. So pointless.
There’s no chase. No conversation. No thrill or anticipation.
“The redhead is hot,” Levi mutters.
The server blushes and drops her eyes to her notepad.
Internally, I groan. Of course Levi commented.
Derek sighs. “We’ll take a pitcher of whatever IPA you have on tap.” He glances at me. “You drink beer? Or are you too prissy to—”