29. Bailey
bailey
. . .
Cory and Tim are in the control room arguing about a mix while Rhett leans back in one of the armchairs with his boots crossed at the ankle, lazily strumming a guitar that doesn’t belong to him.
Jackson is scribbling something into a notebook and Sadie is curled into the couch under a blanket, half listening, half daydreaming the way she has been lately.
Noah stands beside the coffee machine pretending he understands the difference between whatever Cory and Tim are arguing about. Cole promised baked goods from a bakery in town and should be back any minute.
Rhett plucks another chord, sitting across from me in the recording room.
“Serious question,” he says suddenly.
I glance up. “Should I be worried?”
He grins. “Why haven’t you released any of your old songs?”
Jackson looks up from his notebook.
“The ones you wrote before the first album,” Rhett adds. “Or the ones with Luke.”
I keep my fingers moving slowly over the guitar strings resting in my lap, feeling like I need to do something with my hands. “They weren’t meant for the world,” I say simply.
Rhett tilts his head. “What do you mean?”
I shrug lightly. “Some things I wanted to keep for myself. When I signed my contract, a stipulation I had added in was that they couldn’t force me to record anything I wrote prior to the contract. I wrote everything new.”
Rhett watches me for another second, then something clicks behind his eyes. “What about the one you sang at Ms. Sadie’s wedding?”
My fingers pause.
Rhett grins suddenly. “Oh… by the way, congratulations,” he adds toward Sadie.
She laughs softly. “Thank you.”
The room has gone very quiet now.
I stare down at the guitar in my hands. “That song…” I say slowly. My throat tightens slightly. “That song was written for him.” I glance toward the floor, adding, “I never wanted to sell it.”
Never wanted it to become something people streamed between workouts or played in grocery stores. Some things shouldn’t belong to strangers.
Jackson closes his notebook, asking, “Can you sing it for us?”
The question is gentle, but I hesitate. The wound is still raw. Still new. But something has shifted in me.
I take a breath. “Okay.”
I shift in the chair and pull the guitar into my playing position.
Tim and Cory immediately stop talking in the control room and Rhett leans forward.
Sadie sits up as I strum the first chord.
My voice follows almost automatically.
“There’s a quiet kind of magic
In the way you say my name…”
The words settle into the room like they’ve been waiting for it.
“Like the whole wide world gets softer
Every time you look my way…”
My chest tightens slightly. But I keep playing.
“I don’t need the lights or diamonds
I don’t need a big dream view…”
My voice wavers just enough that I feel it. I close my eyes.
“If I wake up in the morning
And the first thing that I see is you…”
My fingers slow. Emotion catches in my throat. For a second the guitar falters, and then I stop playing. Silence fills the room. Then another guitar joins the chord, steady and familiar.
I open my eyes. Noah is sitting beside me now. He doesn’t look at me. Just keeps playing. His hands pick up the rhythm gently like nothing happened. Like he’s been here the whole time.
The support is quiet. Unspoken.
I swallow and start again.
I picture the summer sun on my face and the sounds of the river that I was sitting beside as I daydreamed of the boy who stole my heart when I wrote this song.
“I don’t need a perfect skyline
Or a house up on a hill…”
The words come easier this time. Noah keeps the rhythm steady under my voice.
“You call me sunshine walking
Say I light up every room
But you’re the one who keeps me steady
Like the pull of the moon
And I don’t know where this road goes
Or the dreams we’ll chase someday
But if loving you’s the journey
I’m already on my way.”
I feel all eyes on me, but I can’t look at anyone. So I close my eyes and picture ones that are the darkest blue. I sing through the pain, trying to clog my throat. I sing to the boy who will always hold a piece of my heart no matter where this life takes us.
“Maybe love is just that simple
Maybe hearts just understand
You don’t have to promise forever
When my forever’s in your hands.”
I keep my eyes closed and let the words pour out of me. When the final chord fades, the room stays quiet for a moment. I open my eyes when I hear a sniffle and see Sadie wiping under her eyes with the edge of the blanket.
“Oh, Bailey,” she says softly. “I think you should release it.”
I shake my head immediately. Before the idea can settle.
Jackson is quiet for a moment. Then he leans back in his chair, saying, “No.”
Everyone looks at him. He shrugs slightly. “Some things we keep close.” He taps his chest and then his eyes meet mine briefly. “Keep that one for you, Bailey.”
I exhale a breath I didn’t know I was holding and smile
And just like that…
October disappears.
One session turns into another.
Strangers become family.
Days blur into guitars and cold hands wrapped around hot drinks and notebooks full of half-written lyrics for future collaborations.
Morning sunlight spilling through the studio windows.
Late nights when the only light comes from the control board and the moon hanging over the orchard.
Rhett and I shape his song into something reckless and electric.
Jackson pushes harmonies until the hair on my arms stands up.
Gary and Cory argue about drum tones like it’s life or death.
Sadie shows up whenever she can. Curled into the big armchair with a blanket and tea. Her eyes bright. Her hands resting over the curve of her stomach that has been slowly growing.
Sometimes she falls asleep halfway through a session, or requests songs that we won’t record but she wants to hear and sometimes she just sits there smiling like she’s memorizing every second.
Between recording days we still have bonfires.
Guitars passed around the circle.
Songs that never make it onto the album.
Cole plays more than he admits he can.
Noah sings louder than I have ever heard him before.
And sometimes Sadie sings along softly, her voice carried away by the wind moving through the trees.She coaxes me to sing old songs I am not sure I am ready to, saying, “Come on, Bailey. Sing for me!”
Doctor appointments come and go. Life moves forward, as leaves turn deeper red. The orchard empties, old creeps into the mornings, and somewhere between the music and the quiet moments with Sadie… October slips from present into memory.
One day I realize the trees outside the studio windows are almost bare.
The album is finished, and winter is coming.