Chapter 21
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
“I need the workout,” I explain, grabbing the cart beneath her scowl.
She would have to physically stop me at this point, and I’m pretty sure an altercation with a guest over the transport of their own belongings isn’t a hill she wants to die on.
“Peter, take this one next!” she calls to a porter. The man releases his grip on a cart with the most button-up shirts I’ve ever seen and joins us.
“Thank you, Mara. You’re the best,” I say in a sweet tone.
She returns a stiff smile and spins on her heels to stomp toward the next crisis.
Aiden is more enthusiastic when we enter his elevator domain.
“That looks like a guitar,” he says as he helps us pull the cart onto the elevator .
“It is. Along with a midi controller and some other production equipment.”
His eyes go wide as he scans the items, then looks to me. “Are you and Luke and those other guys gonna record something here?”
“Not here, but we’re going to write and rehearse.”
“Wow,” he says under his breath, but I sense it’s not the thought of rockstars in his hotel that’s got his attention. He’d be used to weird shit like that.
“Yeah, should be fun,” I say, subtly probing.
His gaze shoots to mine before landing on the porter beside us. The other man does a good job pretending not to be listening to our conversation.
We reach the fourth floor, and Aiden helps the porter get the cart over the hump. As I hand the younger man a bill, he hesitates and glances at the porter again.
I check the guy’s name tag and offer a sincere smile. “Thanks, Peter. I’ll meet you at the suite in a second.”
The man glances between Aiden and me before nodding. “Of course, sir. Take your time.”
Once the cart is squeaking down the hall, I turn back to Aiden, who has the elevator on hold.
“What’s up?” I ask the teenager. His typically sunny smile has sagged into a worried frown.
“I probably shouldn’t say this, Mr. Barrett, but…
I’m glad you’re here. You and Callie both.
I was worried about Luke. Right before you showed up, he completely stopped leaving the room.
After a few days of that, I knocked on his door to check on him.
He was in a bad state and said some really scary stuff.
I didn’t want to tell my supervisor because I’m not supposed to approach the guests, but I was worried about him.
People shouldn’t be alone like that for so long.
They get in their heads and start thinking things that aren’t real.
I’ve seen it before. I was afraid that was happening to Luke. ”
Aiden flinches when the elevator buzzes from being open too long.
Knowing he’s on borrowed work time, he takes the bill and shoves it in his pocket. “Anyway, thanks. Luke seems like a good guy. I don’t believe all the stuff people say about him. Or at least, I don’t believe that stuff is true anymore.”
Stunned, I return a tight smile. “Thanks for saying that. I’m glad we’re here too.”
He nods, and I clear the elevator so he can leave.
As the doors close, he waves with a smile, but I can’t move.
My thoughts are taking off in all directions again.
Nothing he said about Luke’s state surprises me.
It’s the fact that a teenage elevator attendant picked up on it and cared enough to look out for him that’s left me stunned.
While Luke hid in his room, lying to himself about how much everyone hated him, a virtual stranger was willing to put her life on hold to help him, while another was willing to risk his job.
I stare at the door of 403 in the distance, now blocked by a luggage cart and impatient porter.
Even when Luke sought complete isolation, there were people in his orbit who saw him.
Aiden, Callie… He never would have noticed from the prison of his head, but there are always people willing to help if we can reach just a fraction of a hand above the surface for them to grasp.
Just because you don’t see someone, doesn’t mean they don’t see you.
By the time I join the porter, I’ve bottled the angst and packed it safely away.
After tipping the man (very) well, Luke unpacks the crate while I handle my guitar. Man, I missed this thing.
I pull it out and strap it on like a favorite hoodie. The familiar smell of the wood and feel of the curve against me takes me back to so many vivid moments over the years.
Writing with Luke in the basement, on the bus, backstage …
Hours of shoving my pain, grief, and frustrations at the strings until they transformed it into something else…
I do a quick tune, grab a pick from the case, and launch into the progressions I’d only heard on Luke’s beater until now.
My excitement is already exploding into joy at how that small change is turning this song into something special. Once I get some real production going, it will be epic.
“So do we get to hear this new masterpiece or what?” Eli asks.
I flinch at the interruption.
Right. Forgot about them.
And the food that’s coming.
More importantly is the fact that no one has heard this song the way I hear it in my head, and I don’t want their first experience to be less than the masterpiece it could be.
I feel like a diva when I say no and tell them I’m moving to the office, but doing it right is worth their merciless teasing.
Gathering an armful of equipment to relocate, I almost run into Callie standing beside the table.
“Can I help?” she asks, motioning toward the remaining gear. Her intrigued expression brings a smile to my lips. I have no doubt once we introduce her to our world, she’ll fit right in.
I tell her to grab the interfaces and cables, while I handle my laptop and the controller. It’s only a 49-key, non-weighted keyboard so it’s not heavy.
By the time she joins me in the office, I already have a makeshift workstation set up on the desk. While she unloads, I fire up the DAW on my laptop and open a new project. Still not sure what to call this thing, I type “Mirror Song.”
“Can you pass me the USB cable?” I ask.
I point it out and connect the controller to my laptop, then hook up the sustain pedal.
“You’ve been calling it a controller more than a keyboard. Why?” she asks .
Warmth spreads through me at her question. I love that she cares and is so invested in what I’m doing. As much as I’d like to lock myself away for hours and get lost in production like I usually do when the muse hits, I want to bring her along with me this time.
So instead of building tracks, I spend the next few minutes demonstrating the basics of music production.
Everything I show her elicits more questions and wonder.
It’s addictive, being immersed in something you love with someone you love, and soon I’m bursting with the same infection I have while creating.
While she runs to her room to grab her headphones, I pop in my own in-ears and record some quick sample tracks for her to listen to. If she thinks this shit is cool, wait until she sees what we do with it for real.
Once she returns, I spend several minutes guiding her further into the world of music production by explaining the DAW, plugins, and even showing her basic sounds.
“Tell me an instrument you want to hear,” I say, loving how seriously she takes this when her face scrunches in thought.
“Violin.” Her answer and corresponding smile feel like a bear hug for my heart. I love that she remembered my background and wants to tie it to the present.
I load my Stradivarius virtual instrument into a new track and copy the midi notes into the grid.
“Okay, now listen,” I say.
Her eyes go wide when I press the space bar.
“I can even hear the vibrato,” she whispers.
Blowing her mind might be my new favorite activity. I nearly forget about the song as I take her on another in-depth tour through my digital universe.
“This is wild,” she says, still in awe.
The best part is, we’ve only scratched the surface. If she’s truly interested in this stuff, we’d have days, weeks, months of lessons and material to play with and still not cover all there is to know. The technology and trends are always changing, so there’s always something new to discover.
“I know. It’s awesome,” I say. “And see all these buttons and faders? I can program all of these to control anything I want to. It’s especially valuable when playing live because it allows me to change sounds and trigger what I need right from here instead of messing with my computer.”
Her face scrunches in adorable confusion. “But I thought you’re a drummer.”
“Yeah, I don’t do this for NSB. Just on my own projects.”
I cringe inwardly at the unintended confession. As usual in her easy presence, the words just slipped out on their own. Only Luke knows about Penchant—and now Orin.
She absorbs the comment with a shake of her head.
Thankfully, the interaction slips into flirting instead of more questions, and when she climbs into my lap to straddle me, all previous topics evaporate. Her coy expression triggers an explosion of sparks throughout my body. Guess her smile has become my own personal midi controller.
She leans in slowly, so the kiss isn’t entirely unexpected, but the quick escalation into desperation is. She clutches the collar of my shirt to lock me against her as she pulses on my lap to the rhythm of our tongues. I knew she was a natural musician.
My hands slide down her back to curve over her ass, which only seems to drive her intensity. Our tongues sweep over each other, our hands roaming and claiming whatever they can find.
My muscles tense with need and frustration. Once again, our terrible timing is going to end in unsatisfied lust.
We both know this can’t go where we want it to, and can’t seem to decide if that means we should stop or chase as much as possible before reality intervenes.
With incredible effort, we finally separate, breathing hard.