Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
Roman
The sound of my fists connecting with the heavy bag is a welcome distraction.
It’s rhythmic. It’s brutal. Each punch is a temporary escape from the mess in my head. From the noise of my thoughts.
I don’t bother wiping the sweat from my brow; the sting in my knuckles is enough to keep me focused.
My body moves through the motions on autopilot, but in reality, I’m barely paying attention to the bag. I’m thinking about everything else—the band, the album, and the one thing that’s been gnawing at me for days.
The music.
We’re supposed to be here in this forsaken retreat to create something.
We’ve been living in the Meadow Creek Retreat for almost two years now, grinding away, hoping to find that perfect sound, that perfect hook, but nothing feels right. We are chasing something that keeps eluding us.
Fuck, I knew it was a good idea to let Elliot Simmons go, but it’s harder than I thought it would be without him.
Of course, we can’t go back. The guy never understood Wild Reverie’s soul. All he wanted was to push us into some shiny, overproduced pop sound that was never us.
The last album? A mess. A disaster. A shadow of what we could have been.
And the tour after that… even worse. Every night, I was performing to a crowd of strangers who didn’t give a shit about what we stood for. They just wanted the glamor, the smoke, and the mirrors as if we weren’t even there.
I throw a few more punches, trying to shake off the spiraling thoughts. But it’s not enough. Nothing is.
Then, just as I’m about to throw another, I hear a voice behind me.
“Well, look who’s here trying to beat the crap out of his demons.”
I turn and see Timothy Everett and Leo Griffin standing by the gym entrance.
Timothy’s arms are crossed, his usual grumpy expression softened by the tattoos covering his body and the smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
He’s got that “I’m a teddy bear but you wouldn’t know it” vibe that always cracks me up.
Beside him, Leo’s got the same scowl he always wears, but there’s something warm in his eyes.
“Don’t you two have lives?” I tease, wiping the sweat off my face with the back of my hand. “I always see you guys here.”
“Please,” Timothy grins. “You think we’re letting you work out alone with all that angst hanging around? Not on our watch. So, what’s going on?”
I chuckle and walk over to where they’re standing, lowering my arms and leaning against the wall.
“You know, I’m really starting to wonder how much more of this I can take. The music’s not coming together. The vibe’s off. Hell, I’m starting to think we’ll never get the damn album finished,” I admit, leaning my head back against the cool wall.
Timothy glances at Leo, who nods in agreement.
“Well,” Timothy says, “sounds like you’re overthinking it. Which, I mean, we already knew. It’s always about the next big thing with you, huh?” He smiles slightly, but there’s a touch of seriousness behind his words. “You need to stop trying to control everything. Let it happen.”
I let out a bitter laugh. “Yeah, because that’s worked so well for me so far.”
Timothy raises an eyebrow. “It will if you actually let it. C’mon, man.”
Before I can protest, Leo tosses me a pair of padded targets. “We’re running drills. You might as well jump in.”
I sigh dramatically, but there’s a flicker of relief under it. Anything’s better than standing here brooding.
“Fine,” I say, slipping the pads on. “But if I kick your ass, don’t cry about it.”
Timothy snorts. “Yeah, right. Pretty rockstar boy thinks he’s gonna outlast a firefighter and a guy who inks people for a living. This’ll be fun.”
I roll my shoulders, smirking. “I’ve been on stage for three-hour sets for years. Stamina’s kinda my thing.”
Leo shakes his head, already setting up the mitts. “You talk too much. Show us what you’ve got.”
We start slow, jab, cross, jab, but soon Leo’s upping the tempo, barking out numbers while Timothy calls encouragement from the side.
The rhythm feels good. My body remembers the beat even if my head’s still a mess. Sweat rolls down my back, my lungs burn, but my brain quiets. It’s just me, the movement, and their voices.
“Not bad,” Leo mutters as I throw another combo.
“Stage life,” I puff out between punches. “Lots of cardio. Plus, I’ve had to dodge more than a few flying beer bottles.”
Timothy chuckles. “You sure it wasn’t bras?”
“Those, too,” I shoot back with a grin. “Occupational hazards.”
Leo shifts, upping the pressure. “Alright, Rockstar. Last round. Give me everything you’ve got.”
I plant my feet, exhaling hard, and start throwing punches faster, harder. Each strike shakes something loose in me. The frustration, the doubt, the fear, it all bleeds out with every hit.
“Good,” Leo says when I finally stop, chest heaving. “That’s what you’re supposed to look like at the end.”
Timothy tosses me a towel and a bottle of water. “See? Told you. Way better than moping.”
I wipe my face, still breathing hard but smiling now. “Fine. You win. I needed that.”
“Damn right you did,” Timothy says with a grin. “Next time, we’ll actually spar. I’m dying to see if that stage swagger translates into the ring.”
I laugh and shake my head. “Not today. I need these hands for guitar, not stitches.”
Leo gives me a rare, genuine smile. “You’re alright, West. You’ll figure your shit out. And when you do, the music will follow.”
Their confidence almost makes me believe it. Almost.
I pull off the gloves and grab my hoodie from the bench. “Thanks, guys. Seriously.”
Timothy smirks. “Anytime. Just don’t forget who got you out of your pity party.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.” I sling the hoodie over my shoulder, heading for the door. “Next round’s on me.”
I step out of the gym, the cool evening air hitting me as a blast of clarity. The weight’s still there, but it feels lighter.
For the first time in days, the storm in my head quiets. The music, the thing that’s been haunting me, is still elusive, but maybe I’m a little more ready to catch it.
I pull out my phone, unlocking it as I make my way back to the retreat. The screen lights up, revealing a text from my cousin Jeena. My go-to. The one member of my family that I actually confide in, no matter what’s going on.
Jeena: Alright, spill. What’s going on? You’ve been radio silent for a week.
I let out a laugh. So needy.
Roman: Everything is fine, Jeena. Just busy with the band. We’re getting it together. Music’s coming back.
Jeena: Uh-huh. Sure. Well, I need you to get back on tour so I can see you again. I don’t know where Coyote Glen even is.
Roman: I’m working on it, okay? Just trying to get the guys in gear. It’s been… tough.
Jeena: Boo. I miss you. It’s tough for me too.
Roman: I promise, we’re on the right track.
I hit send, knowing Jeena’s probably rolling her eyes on the other side of the phone. She doesn’t get it, not in the way the band does.
The pressure is constant when you’re in Wild Reverie. But right now, I need to focus. I need to get back to the retreat, back to the guys.
The retreat…
I have to admit, when we first came here, I thought it was just a desperate attempt at finding something different. Some fresh air, some silence, a little space to breathe and clear our heads. But it’s been almost two years, and we still haven’t created anything worth keeping.
As I drive back, I think about what Timothy said: not overthinking it, letting the music happen. Easier said than done when everything I’ve worked for is on the line.
I get back to the retreat, the sprawling property nestled among the pines, the sight almost comforting despite the mess of my brain. The familiar crunch of gravel under my boots as I walk into the main house is oddly grounding.
I walk inside to find Ezra sitting at the kitchen counter, scribbling something on a notepad.
The guy’s usually a ghost, tucked away in the quiet corners of the retreat, brooding over whatever he’s working on. But today seems different. He’s got a grin on his face, which is rare for him. His usual quiet intensity has softened, replaced with intense focus.
“Look at you,” I say, leaning against the doorframe. “You’re actually in a good mood for once.”
Ezra glances up, a glint in his stormy gray eyes.
“Yeah, I’m feeling pretty good, actually.” He leans back, stretching his arms over his head. “Finally got something decent down on paper. Maybe this album’s not a total bust after all.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Now we’re talking. You mean you actually finished something?”
“Don’t jinx it.” He smirks. “But yeah, I think I found the right direction. It’s about damn time.”
I let out a breath, a sense of relief washing over me. Ezra’s the one who’s been holding us together with his lyrics, and when he’s off, it drags the whole damn band down. If he’s back on track, maybe we actually have a shot at finishing this album.
I step farther into the room, leaning against the counter next to him. “Good. That’s good to hear. Now let’s talk about what we’re gonna do about it.”
Ezra tilts his head, narrowing his eyes. “What do you mean?”
“Well,” I pause, trying to figure out how to phrase it, “We need a bit of a boost. It’s been two years here in Coyote Glen, and we’re all stuck in this creative rut. We haven’t had a proper chef in months, and I think it’s affecting the vibe.”
Ezra laughs, shaking his head. “You’re really going to blame the lack of food on the music?”
I shrug, a mischievous grin tugging at my lips. “You know how it is. We work better when we eat well. We’ve been surviving on takeout and whatever we can scrounge together in the kitchen, and it’s not inspiring anybody.”
“True,” Ezra admits, rubbing his chin. “We could definitely use some variety in the menu. It’s not just the food, though. We need to focus. We need an alignment of purpose, something to anchor us.”
I roll my eyes. “Yeah, well, that’s been the issue. We’ve been focusing on the wrong things. Remember what it was like when we had Delaney on our team?”
Ezra’s brows shoot up. “Delaney? Ooh, she could cook. Her dishes… magic.”
“Yeah, exactly.” I nod, making the decision right there in my mind. “We need someone else. I don’t care if it’s a temporary fix, but we need to focus. We need our energy back, and if getting a chef to make us real food helps, then I’m on it. I’ll post an online ad now. Let’s get this ball rolling.”