Chapter 13
"You're early," Abigail comments, closing the door behind her.
It's a Tuesday in the second week of rehearsals, and when the executive arrives at the space at eight-thirty a.m., she finds Taylor settled on the floor with her acoustic guitar across her lap, practicing chords with her eyes closed and a level of focus that surprises Abigail.
Taylor opens her eyes and smiles at her with that mischievous, teasing look that always manages to make Abigail's pulse race.
"I couldn't sleep any longer," she answers without stopping her fingers from moving over the strings. "I can't stop thinking about the recordings we did yesterday."
Abigail nods, setting her bag on a small table near the entrance while she watches her fingers move over the guitar.
In a week, Taylor has improved on every front.
Her technique is still more intuitive than academic, but she's gained a lot of confidence, and in every new rehearsal her voice seems stronger than in the last, making Abigail wonder when it will stop giving her goosebumps.
"David says you have a great ear," Abigail comments, leaning against the back wall.
"And is that good or bad?" Taylor asks without losing her smile.
"Good, of course."
The musicians arrive right at nine, after, at Taylor's request to make better use of the little time they have, they moved the start of rehearsals up by an hour. David comes in loaded with two trays of coffee for everyone and hands Abigail hers while Lucas and James set up the instruments.
Taylor is thrilled with them; she's only known them a few days and they're already joking and laughing like they've been working together for months.
At nine fifteen, there's no sign of Ethan.
"Do you want to start without him?" David asks, sipping his coffee next to Abigail.
She checks her watch and draws a deep breath.
Punctuality is sacred to Abigail, and Ethan's constant lateness since last week keeps grating on her, but more than the tardiness itself, what bothers her is the lack of respect it shows for her sister.
Taylor is the only reason Abigail hasn't already told him exactly what she thinks of him and slammed the door in his face.
"Let's give him another five minutes," she answers in a tone so icy David is sure his coffee has gone cold.
Ethan shows up at nine twenty-three, strolling in with a broad smile like nothing's wrong.
"Sorry," he says as he pulls his guitar out of its case. "My truck broke down on the way and I couldn't get here sooner."
Abigail doesn't even look at him; she looks at Taylor, who watches her brother with a strange expression. She doesn't seem angry, but it's obvious she doesn't believe him, and Abigail realizes the dynamic between the siblings is starting to shift.
"I'm sorry," Ethan says again, this time directly to Taylor. "I really didn't mean to be late."
"It doesn't matter," she replies. "Let's get started."
"Good," Abigail says, checking her planner. "Let's focus on 'River’s Edge,' the song you two wrote together last year."
It's not that Abigail is a mind reader; it's a line Ethan hasn't stopped repeating since he convinced Taylor to swap out the second song she'd chosen for this one—something that irritated Abigail quite a bit, but she decided not to get involved.
The song starts with Ethan laying down the main melody on his electric guitar.
Taylor follows on the acoustic and sings with that raw voice she now fully commands.
The rest of the musicians adapt without a problem, but Abigail immediately notices that something is making them uncomfortable, though they'll never say so unless she asks.
When they finish the first verse, Abigail pushes off the wall and her frosty voice rises over Taylor's.
"Stop," she says in an authoritative tone. "There's a problem with the bridge progression."
Taylor looks at her, expectant, and her brother's face twists.
"The main melody competes with your voice instead of supporting it," Abigail explains as she approaches, not bothering to hide her irritation. "Taylor, when you hit the chorus, your voice needs to soar, but Ethan's guitar is pushing it down."
Ethan grinds his jaw.
"We've always played it like this and it's never been a problem," Taylor tries to defuse the tension, but only makes it worse.
"Because you've never had musicians with you who can follow your voice wherever you need it to go," Abigail says bluntly. "David, can you try to leave that space open? Maybe a simpler chord progression."
"No problem. Leave it to me," David replies.
"Good. Let's try again," Abigail orders.
David nods and tries a simplified version. The difference is striking; Taylor's voice has room to breathe and can rise wherever she wants.
"Now that's it," Abigail says when they finish the run-through. "Did you feel the difference?" she asks, looking at Taylor.
She's stunned and grinning from ear to ear, cheeks flushed from the effort and her face gleaming with sweat. Abigail swallows, feeling something tighten in her stomach as she watches her.
"Yeah, it was incredible. What did you think, Ethan?" she asks, trying to include her brother, but Ethan is rigid and only shrugs.
"Let's start again," Abigail orders. "With the change."
Taylor sighs as she looks back and forth between Abigail and her brother. Abigail can see the inner conflict this all causes her, but it's necessary—either she learns to fly without him, or she simply won't fly.
"Okay," Taylor says.
This time, when she sings the song with the new structure, Taylor feels as if a weight has been lifted. Her voice rises, breaks, and recovers in a way that makes Abigail stop breathing for a few seconds.
"Impressive," James murmurs when they finish.
The rest of the musicians praise her too, but Taylor only has eyes for Abigail, who looks at her with such intensity that Taylor feels like she can see right through her.
They keep working all morning. Taylor feels more and more at ease; she responds to every suggestion and adapts to every change, always aware that nothing Abigail asks of her implies she should alter or hide her tone.
When they finish it's two in the afternoon and she's exhausted—also euphoric—eager to keep going and at the same time to lie down on the floor and rest.
"Tomorrow we'll work on staging," Abigail decides, jotting something down in her ever-present planner while the others pack up their instruments. "I want to see how Taylor moves on a bigger stage."
The musicians leave first as always, eager to get to the restaurant, fill their bellies, and drink beer. Taylor is putting her guitar away when Ethan comes up to her.
"Can we talk for a minute?" he asks his sister.
"Yeah, sure."
Ethan looks over at Abigail as if expecting her to say she's heading out to leave them alone, but Abigail doesn't move, nor does she intend to, and Ethan doesn't seem to mind much either.
"What is it?" Taylor asks.
"Since when does she know more than we do about our music?" Ethan asks, irritated.
Taylor flushes with embarrassment, sneaking a glance at Abigail.
"It's not that she knows more, Ethan," she replies, uncomfortable. "She just has more experience."
"Taylor, we wrote that song together. And now she comes in and decides it's wrong. How many times have we sung it before?"
Abigail rubs her neck and blows out a rough breath, trying to let the tension she's holding escape somehow.
"She didn't say it was wrong," Taylor says, lowering her voice as much as she can, though Abigail hears her anyway. "She said it could be better, and she was right."
Ethan lets out a laugh laced with sarcasm.
"Seriously? After all the time we've been playing together, you're going to tell me a stranger understands your voice better than your own brother?"
Abigail's jaw tightens, but she forces herself to keep her mouth shut.
"Ethan, in these last few days I've learned more about my own voice than in the three years we've been playing together," Taylor fires back, thrown when she realizes that what bothers her most about this conversation isn't that her brother is against anything that lets her improve, but that the focus of his anger is Abigail.
"And I don't want to talk about this anymore. "
"Fine. I guess you've got it all figured out and my opinion doesn't matter."
Ethan turns around, grabs his guitar, and leaves.
"Shit," Taylor mutters, running a hand through her thick dark hair.
Abigail closes her planner, sets it on the stool, and comes closer.
"You okay?"
"Yeah, I guess. I'm going to stay a little longer. I want to keep practicing this version until it's in my bones," Taylor says.
"Okay. Do you need me to stay?" Abigail asks.
Taylor's eyes start to shine and her smile tugs to the side.
"That'd be nice, yeah, just in case you need to correct me."
Abigail arches a brow.
"Sure..." she says, and heads back to her stool while Taylor takes out the guitar and plays the modified version.
Without the rest of the band behind her, it sounds so intimate that Abigail can't keep her mouth shut while she watches. She plays it three times until she stops and turns to Abigail.
"There's something I haven't told you about this song," Taylor says, leaving the guitar leaning against a speaker.
"What is it?"
Taylor grabs another stool, drags it over to where Abigail is, and sits facing her, hands tucked between her knees.
Abigail is nervous; she can't help it. She feels Taylor is too close, that she should ask her to move back because there's no need for only a few inches between their knees for her to talk—but she doesn't.
"Ethan didn't write it with me. It's mine alone; I wrote it about two years ago. He heard it when I was practicing at home and suggested some changes like he always does. And then, somehow, he started calling it our song," she says with a shrug.
Abigail nods, feeling a stab of anger shoot straight through her.
"What kind of changes did he suggest?" she asks, though she has a hunch.
Taylor drops her gaze to her hands and gives a sad little smile.
"The main guitar progression you changed today. That was his contribution. What you did was basically put it back in its original state."
"I see."
"You must think I'm an idiot," Taylor says.
"I'm not thinking anything," Abigail replies.
Taylor looks up and opens her mouth. Her expression is incredulous and a little mocking, and Abigail can't help but smile.
"In any case, the only thing you need to care about regarding what I think is that I believe in your voice, in you, and in your talent. You sing like music runs through your veins, and no one can take that from you, not even your brother. Is that clear?"
Taylor stares at her. It's striking that words like that come from a woman as controlled and contained as she is.
"Yeah, it's clear. Sometimes I think you see something in me I didn't even know existed."
Abigail doesn't know what to say to that, nor does she know what to do when Taylor climbs down from the stool and steps between her legs, or when she slides a hand around her neck, grips her firmly, and kisses her.
The kiss is loaded with all the tension they've been piling up over these two weeks.
Taylor slides her hand back, settling it at the nape of her neck as she tangles her fingers in her hair, and Abigail realizes she can't and doesn't want to stop her.
Her body responds and her lips part as her hands search for Taylor's waist, pulling her in as if she belonged to her and someone had taken her away.
"I love your mouth," Taylor murmurs against her lips, "and I missed it," she confesses before sliding her tongue against Abigail's, who feels a current race through her whole body.
Taylor's restless hands are suddenly everywhere. Abigail feels them on her neck, they pass down her sides after squeezing her breasts, and slide over her back, dragging a sigh out of her.
"Are you wet?" Taylor asks, pressing against her. "I'm dying to fuck you."
"Are you ever going to shut up?" Abigail murmurs, climbing down from the stool.
Taylor smiles against her mouth and moves the stool aside to pin Abigail's body to the wall.
"I can't. You're so sexy..."
Abigail knows she should stop this, that she should remind herself of all the reasons why this is a bad idea, but Taylor's mouth is on her neck now, biting, and her mind goes completely blank.
She knows Taylor is going to mark her, give her another one of those fucking hickeys that stand out on her skin like a strobe light, but she'll deal with that problem later.
And then they hear the door.
Taylor rockets back and Abigail turns to the side, bracing her hands on the stool without knowing what to do with them.
"Sorry, I left my phone here," David says, appearing in the studio.
Abigail grabs her planner and opens it, pretending to look for something. Taylor just stands in front of her, as if waiting for instructions.
"Got it, see you," David says, heading out again.
"Fuck," Taylor says, pressing a hand to her chest, "I almost had a heart attack."
Abigail doesn't say anything, but she doesn't need to because her face says it all. She closes the planner and heads for the entrance to grab her bag and leave, but Taylor stops her right before she goes out.
"Wait a second."
"What?" Abigail's voice sounds like thunder.
"For fuck's sake," Taylor snaps, "we could talk about this, couldn't we?"
"Talk about what, Taylor? I can give you a long list of reasons why this shouldn't happen again," she says, pointing at her stool, "but I'm sure you already know them, so don't waste my time."
Taylor looks at her, frustrated, not knowing the right way to communicate with Abigail Stone.
"Fine..." Taylor sighs, grabs her guitar, and leaves the studio at the same time as Abigail, only they each go in a different direction.