Chapter 12
Chapter twelve
Rhys
Rhys Writes A Song
"Zara, just, make it happen okay." I say into the phone as I pace my bedroom at five a.m. I barely slept after dropping Duncan at home.
Every time I closed my eyes, our night together replayed.
"It's already the end of the school year Rhys," Zara pauses for a yawn. "A lot of these offers start in September."
"C'mon there's got to be a summer camp or something I can support. Think of the headlines, heartbroken rock star channels his sadness into helping children." I wince as I finish because that's not a great headline at all.
"Needs work." Zara mutters, unimpressed. "But, does this mean you've written a whole album already? How is that possible? You've only been there three days."
"Not a whole album, no." I say thinking about the guitar riff I developed an hour ago inspired by Duncan's belt coming off. And the piano melody I played for my mom yesterday.
"But something? Is there a lyric or a title I could leak?"
"Not yet."
"Okay, get off the phone and get back to work. I'll make some calls and see what I can do to get you in D.C. as soon as possible."
"Thank you Zara."
"You're welcome."
I end the phone call and set my phone down on the bedside table.
Duncan was spot on, naming himself You Know You Want It.
I really do.
Everything about him is appealing. The memory of his body will haunt me. And his playfulness, the intensity he hides just below the surface, the way he is with his family, will keep my heart warm until we’re reunited for Yes Day in a few hours.
I have no idea what to expect from him today. Except that it’ll be unexpected.
It was left open ended which is not something that happens in my life.
Schedules, stylists, spin.
And I made an agreement with a man without my publicist weighing in or having it come from her in the first place.
But I knew in my gut I couldn't let last night be the only night I spent with Duncan Paisley.
The man has a depth of feeling I’m not sure he even understands.
His humor is less of a mask than it is the contrast to the hard, demanding parts of him. He's balanced. Almost perfectly.
And I want to be the guy to draw even more of him out into the world.
I reach for my guitar. My fingers naturally find the chords I riffed earlier. Words start to form behind my closed eyes.
I quickly start a voice memo, knowing it’s best to record the early stuff to pull from later.
Settling back, I strum, hum, and exhale to let the words find their way out.
"I knew before you did,
How badly you wanted more.
I knew how good it would feel,
To kneel at your feet on the floor.
Fuck."
My eyes fly open and I shake my head.
I can’t write something so explicit.
And furthermore, Duncan cannot be the subject of my song.
I exhale and regroup.
With a crick of my neck I start to strum again. Forcing myself to remember how terrible it felt the moment I first saw the pictures. A heat fills my belly and I channel the fire into lyrics. Sing it first, revise it later.
"When this all began,
It was tough to say who started it.
But by the end,
Clearly you’re the one who ended it.
Everything I thought we built.
Everything I thought we had.
Gone between a blink and a kiss,
A flash. A crash. Then dread.
Best you’ve ever? But you walked away.
Do you regret it?
Do you want to come back?
Admit to me you wanted it?
What would you do now?
Wisdom of hindsight on your side?
Would everything be different?
If you saw yourself through my eyes?
Moving through this day without you,
Knowing it can’t be what it was.
A pulsing heartbeat keeps me moving forward.
Towards the future I keep rewriting.
Best you’ve ever? But you walked away.
Do you regret it?
Do you want to come back?
Admit to me you wanted it?
Brown eyes fluttering closed, shutting me out.
Hands twitching, resisting.
Lips curling into the hint of a smile.
Hope in the palm of my hand…"
I pause.
Mike Kerr has blue eyes.
I slump back, my guitar falls to the bed beside me. My hands rub down my face, still clutching the pick between my fingers.
Again, Duncan has found his way into my song.
A knock sounds at the door and I sit up to see my mom wave.
I sit up and end the recording. When she sits next to me she leans forward and taps the Transcript button to have my song written out for her.
How’s the writing going? She signs.
It’s muddled. I admit.
You want to talk about it? I shrug sullenly and she chuckles quietly. C’mon. She elbows me in the side. It can’t be all that bad.
With a cleansing breath, I start to sign. I’m supposed to be writing a heartbreak album. The label is creating this entire campaign around the breakup.
My mom nods and then her eyes pinch with suspicion. But you’re not heartbroken?
I am, or, I was. I’m just not sure I want to write twelve songs about a boy who cheated on me.
When I’m finished signing I clasp my hands between my knees, leaning over my guitar. My mom rubs soothing circles along my back and I let my head fall forward.
After a few quiet moments she taps my hands and I turn to give her my attention.
You shouldn’t give that boy another thought. He lost the greatest thing that could have happened to him. You can still write a heartbreak album, but maybe you focus on the idea of heartbreak. Write songs for people who felt what you did. Write songs for being the person who leaves.
The person who leaves? What would that even feel like? But the idea is a good one and I smile as I sign back to my mom. I think I can do that.
I know you can Red. She signs my nickname and ruffles my hair that has turned more brown than the fiery red it was when I was younger. You coming down for breakfast soon?
Yeah, I’ll be down in a bit.
She pulls me into a side hug and kisses my cheek.
I watch her leave and check the clock.
Three more hours until I meet Duncan for our Yes Day.