24. Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Four
Laredo
“ Y ou’re not hearing me; she canceled the rest of the sessions this afternoon. Made evening plans that didn’t include us and is now at some beach party, hanging with a bunch of dudes instead of me.” Adam squeezes his phone so hard that if it were coal, it would turn into a diamond.
Emily, Ariel’s good friend and trip mate, has been feeding him information about Ariel’s mood and movement since she dismissed us via Post-it note this afternoon.
We’re pacing along the boardwalk, and I’m leading him in the opposite direction of the beach party because with his current attitude, he’d blow any chance at winning over Ariel. As slim as it may be.
I see it as another hurdle he’ll need to navigate, and he sees it as the end of the world. We are night and day.
“You care for her, huh? This isn’t some fantasy fling you’re chasing?” I ask a question that doesn’t need to be asked. Adam is not built that way.
He gives me the response I expect. “I’m not you.” He’s right. That has been my MO, performing town after town and enjoying the perks of being a rock musician. But the gigs are fewer and further between now, and I realize the perks weren’t where I should have been concentrating my efforts.
If Adam has the courage to step to Ariel, I’ll do my best to make sure he’s prepared. I point up to the crescent moon high in the sky. “You see that?”
He shakes his head, hesitant in his muttering. “Of course.”
“When I was young, I thought I would see nothing more beautiful than that in my life.” I let the words linger in the warm summer breeze. I wait until Adam turns to face me. “But then I laid eyes on you.”
The shove he gives me is expected. “Are you serious?” I chuckle, knowing it will cause a reaction. “Ariel isn’t like any woman you’ve ever met. She’s… she’s a keep you or get out of my way woman on a mission. She doesn’t tolerate foolishness or have time for people who don’t know what they want.” Adam pulls the words from deep in his soul that he’d been saving for a special lady. For a special moment.
I don’t interrupt, and he continues opening his heart, revealing with words the thoughts he’d been carrying for some time. His faucet opens wide, the words rushing with reckless abandon, so different than his usual deliberate, curated reveal. This is the version of him that constructed a song out of thin air in one night. Passion is his guide.
He completes his heartfelt soliloquy, his parted lips taking air like a deep-sea diver resurfacing. I catch a sliver of the moonlight across his eyes. A happy spark of realization flashes, and a prideful smile spreads across his face.
He’s ready. “That’s what you tell her.” I raise my sibling pom-poms and hype up the man with the world’s biggest heart.
I spin on my heels and lead him in the opposite direction toward Ariel and the beach party. It only takes three steps for him to realize it’s the opposite direction of where we were walking. I explain the reason why, and he bumps his shoulder into mine. “Thanks,” he says.
We walk in silence for a few beats, enjoying the rhythm of the night. “You’re welcome to crash the party, too.” Adam offers. “I’m sure there will be plenty of women for you to corrupt.”
“Only interested in the one,” I say without thinking. And it’s true. Betty is living rent-free in my mind, and I hope she never moves out.
“I see I’m not the only one who’s gotten it bad,” Adam says. “I’ve never seen you so hung up on a woman before.”
I don’t dismiss his comment but rather lean into it. “She’s kind of special. I wish I had told her that last summer.”
“Tell her now.” I know what Adam is going to say before he forms the words. Ariel has gotten his eyes open, and now he sees the impossible for everyone. Even me. The brother who hasn’t had a serious relationship in his life. “If you feel this way about her, you have to let her know.”
It’s not that simple. Adam is an all-in, if we’re going to do this, we’re going to do this right type of guy. Ariel is the same.
I’ve never been all in on anything in my life. Even my music, the one constant love in my life, I’ve half-assed at times. I’ve taken it for granted, coasted when I got even a nibble of success. Have taken the same attitude when it comes to women, never working hard to let them see past the rock-star persona I flash. Walking away the minute they try.
Betty had put me on notice with her text from the other night. Adam saw it immediately. I’m trying. I’ll leap over any barrier thrown in our path. I will fight and show her I’m in it this time. All in.
“I’ll tell her after I see you win over Ariel.” I pick up the pace. The beach party is located less than a five-minute stroll from where we are.
“I’m okay, really. Go get your girl.” Adam gives me an out I would normally take. But when it comes to working on relationships, it’s not just the one I have with Betty that needs attention.
Adam has always been there for me. “Not a chance in hell I’m going to miss this. I’m totally invested.”
Adam’s brow furrows. “You sure? This could go sideways a hundred different ways. I don’t want to ruin your evening.”
“Not a chance in hell. My little brother is stepping to the plate and taking the biggest swing in his life. I’m going to be right there to cheer you on.”
He chuckles. “I’ll let that little-brother comment slip.” I hear his voice in my head, the usual retort of me being less than two minutes older than him.
“Remember, you are the prize. She’ll be lucky to have you,” I remind Adam to embrace confidence. I unclip the small travel Bluetooth speaker from my shorts and pass it to him. I’ll save my ‘lead with aggressive confidence’ speech to him for another day.
Our gaze locks, a shared look of admiration, “I know I give you grief about… well, just about everything,” he says with a seriousness that gives me pause. “You like to hide your feelings, show the world that you are too cool to care. But I know you do. You always have.”
He pulls me into a tight hug, and I return the gesture. We may have two different perspectives when it comes to how we approach life, but not tonight.
Tonight, we are one mind. We are focused on getting the girl.
Or rather, girls.
***
I can’t believe he had the gumption to go through with it. Any of it, all of it. The image of Adam kissing Ariel on the beach plays on repeat in my head as I rush back to the studio to retrieve my guitar.
My excited feet take the steps two at a time as I replay the memory. Adam holding up my travel speaker above his head, John Cusack Say Anything style, streaming “In Your Eyes” by Peter Gabriel. It’s as cheesy as it sounds, but it’s Adam. So of course, it worked.
Ariel, the mighty badass goddess of rock, swooned. His crashing-the-beach-party grand gesture ending in a kiss that will be the talk of Seaside.
He was bold enough to make his move, and now it’s my turn. I left the two of them with a bunch of locals at the bonfire beach party and rushed back to the studio.
I’m going to surprise Betty. My words haven’t fully penetrated yet. So, I’ll pivot. I’ll communicate to her via our love language—music.
I open the staircase door and pause when I see the lights. Ariel had rented out the studio for the week, and it should be empty. The bright lights tell me otherwise. I step through the door and find Mr. Durant, the owner, seated at the large console, tapping away on a laptop.
“Good evening. Don’t mean to disturb you,” I say. It takes him a heartbeat to look up from his screen.
Mr. Durant runs the oldest and most respected music studio in a town obsessed with music. He’s African American, late fifties, with black-and-gray hair and eyes that have seen it all. “Oh, hey, Laredo. I didn’t hear you come in.” He begins to stand. “I can be out of your way if you need to jam.” Mr. Durant has made himself scarce this week, usually hiding out in his tiny office on the ground floor. I wave a hand to stop his movement.
“You’re good. I’m just grabbing my guitar. We’re not back on the clock until tomorrow morning.” I disappear through the soundproof door to grab my instrument.
The speakers crackle in the ceiling, and Mr. Durant’s voice filters in. “Since you’re here, do you have three minutes?”
I nod. “Absolutely.”
Mr. Durant stands, carrying his laptop, and joins me in the main studio room. He pulls a highchair to the center of the floor and places his laptop on it, waving me over. I approach and spot the electronic sheet music on the screen.
“I’ve had a few different artists reach out to me. Every year, they come to the festival and get inspired from being around so many of their fellow colleagues.”
I nod, fully understanding. The festival isn’t just about performing but also about community, networking, and discovery.
“Three different artists have booked time the day after the festival ends to work on new material.”
Out of habit, I strap on my guitar and begin to read the sheet music, my fingers strumming lightly.
“Not all of their bandmates can stay the extra days—you know, commitments and life.”
“The struggling artist trope is a real thing,” I joke.
“I’m trying to help them out. I’ve thought about it for years and think it’s finally the right time to have a studio band. So many artists come in by themselves, looking for some support. Needing to bounce ideas off someone, seeking to do something different.” Mr. Durant rubs his chin, his gaze finding mine. “I’m looking for a band leader. Someone quick on their feet but also commanding. You’ve seen the flyers, right?”
How could I not? They’re pinned to the wall in the break room and taped across the soda machine. Adam even joked that if he’s still unemployed in a few months, he might join a studio band back in Indiana.
When Mr. Durant doesn’t say anything else, I do what I assume he wants me to do. I play the music in front of me. It’s a pop song with gospel influences. It’s an interesting combination, and I quickly get lost in it. I stop after the chorus when Mr. Durant reaches for the laptop.
“What do you think?”
I’m not sure if his question is about him starting a studio band or my assessment of the song. I ignore the former. “Interesting.”
“Hmmm,” he says, swiping at the screen, and notes from another song appear. I take a few moments to read the key signature and make note of the tempo. The song starts with a guitar solo, an unusual choice. I find my head nodding as I begin playing. A short smile pulls on my face, and Mr. Durant interrupts. “What’s that smile for?”
I point to the bridge. “They shift the tempo here, and it would be a perfect spot to inject some horns.”
“Hmmm.” That’s all he gives me. I have no clue whether he thinks I’m an idiot or an idiot savant. “Interesting.” He tosses my earlier comment back at me. “I had the same thought.”
“Great minds,” I snicker and begin to lower my guitar. This is starting to feel less like a conversation and more like a job interview. As compelling as it might be to find out how many new songs he has on his laptop, I have a more important distraction I need to attend to. “I’m sorry, I have to run.” I look to soften my abrupt departure.
He slips another flyer into my hand, and I fold it, placing it into my guitar case. “It’s a good thing you’re here in Seaside.” I zip my case and lift the strap over my shoulder. “There’s no shortage of musicians. And they all know what an honor it would be to play here at your studio.”
“It’s not the quantity I’m concerned about. If I swing a stick anywhere in town, I’m guaranteed to hit a musician or two.” A smile drops from his face. “Not many can do what I need.” His gaze rises from the tablet to capture mine. “You’re quick. You know composition. You don’t care if you’re liked.” The smile returns for the briefest of moments. “And you’re loud.” He chuckles. “I’ve been in the office this week. I’ve heard you play. A lot.”
I wave a hand in his direction. “I’m a quick learner. I’ve been playing since I could ride a bike. I met some locals down at the beach who’ve been playing since they were in the crib. You’ll be fine.”
Mr. Durant tips his head, giving me permission to leave, but not before he gets in the last word. “Fine is for other people. I’m looking for special. And I know it when I hear it.”
I don’t turn.
I let his compliment play on repeat in my head. His opinion holds more weight than an A&R rep in Chicago. He’s seen great artists in person come through this studio. He understands what it takes. He understands music.
A week ago, I would have claimed this trophy and pranced in front of everyone to let them know.
A lot can change in a week. Rather than relish in the thought that Mr. Durant knows my name, I’m focused on the woman whom I’m hoping never forgets it.