Chapter 17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“Who’s ready to learn a chord?” Jamie asked the six rambunctious eight-year-olds forming a semi-circle around him inside his father’s recording studio on Thursday morning.
The main space was large enough to fit ten people comfortably. It was outfitted with light wood paneling on the walls and matching coffee tables, which made the cozy interior seem much larger.
One of the highlights of being a small-town celebrity was volunteering with his mother’s favorite charity, Sacred Heart Home for Children, a locally run orphanage. Since he was eighteen, Jamie hosted a monthly guitar lesson with the kids. It was gratifying to bring some positivity to their lives.
And, it helped keep his mother’s memory alive, even as some details about her—the sound of her laugh and the smell of her perfume—had begun to fade.
The kids smiled up at Jamie like he was a faultless hero, which he definitely wasn’t. He could, at least, broaden their world in a way that music did for him.
Fingers pressed into the fretboard, Jamie held up his acoustic guitar, which gleamed like lacquered licorice.
“C Major is made up of three notes. You put your pointer finger on the first fret of the B string, middle finger on the second fret of the D string, and ring finger on the third fret of the A string. Then, strum from the A string down.”
He strummed, and the pleasant harmony floated out from the hardwood frame. The kids erupted into oohs and aahs.
It seemed to make Brinton marvel too, which made Jamie smile even wider. They’d been exchanging amused glances as she and Sammi watched from a plush beige couch in the far corner.
After yesterday’s Turkey Bay trip, Jamie had told Brinton everything about his songwriting deal. Now, it was like a weight had been lifted. They still had a little over a week of interviews left, but he could handle anything now. At least, he hoped he could.
“Mr. Jamie, show us again,” shouted Freddie, a redhead with a bowl cut, through his gapped teeth.
Jamie had explained the same chord five different times, but he didn’t care if it meant he’d get to see Brinton’s eyes glinting with wonder.
Err, so long as the kids were happy.
Jamie passed Freddy the guitar. “Why don’t you give it a try?”
He helped Freddie get positioned, genuinely sentimental as the curved body dwarfed the boy’s slight frame.
“Looks great on you,” Jamie said. He slipped the strap over Freddie’s tiny shoulders, like his mother had once done for him. “Remember what I taught you?”
“Uh-huh,” Freddie squawked. Jamie tenderly guided Freddie’s slim fingers into place. Finally, he strummed, replicating the same harmony Jamie had moments before.
“Atta boy,” Jamie said, laughing right along with Freddie.
When he flicked his eyes at Brinton, she was giggling and writing in her notebook. From above, shelves of his father’s industry awards cast a golden aura around her. She was a rarity that belonged in the Louvre. He could admire her all—
“Mr. Jamie, look what I can do,” Freddie squealed before strumming hard and fast across all six strings at once. Three popped instantly from the assault. Jamie winced, his heart a balloon pricked with a pin as the other children bellowed in unison.
“I’m so sorry,” Freddy sobbed. “I didn’t mean it.”
“It’s all right, buddy. Please don’t cry,” Jamie said, rubbing Freddie’s back. He lifted the guitar from the child’s shaking shoulders.
Shit happened, and these kids had been through enough in their lives. Scolding anyone did more harm than good. Jamie knew from experience.
“Sometimes, you gotta break things to learn something new,” Jamie cooed.
Sammi sprung into crisis mode, crossing to where the kids sat. In her five-inch cork wedges, she crouched to their level. Her periwinkle sundress swished at her knees. “How about we go into the kitchen? I think Liza whipped up some ice-cream for y’all.”
Freddie’s tears magically dried. The children cheered as they leaped to their feet and followed her through the narrow door. Over her shoulder, Sammi winked at Jamie.
“You’re welcome,” she trilled.
Jamie nodded gratefully, then turned his attention to his guitar. He was a wartime doctor assessing a wounded soldier. Definitely on life support.
Brinton crossed to him slowly. “I’m sorry about your guitar.”
Rising from the floor, he laughed to himself, shaking his head. “Serves me right for bringing it out, but it’s my favorite. A seventh birthday present from Cash.”
“As in Johnny Cash?” Brinton asked, eyes darting between him and the mangled guitar.
“The very one.”
He laid it on a table, then sat in a rolling chair at the expansive soundboard. “But nothing I can’t fix.”
He gestured to the matching chair at his side, and she eased onto it.
“I forgot to thank you for this during our drive yesterday,” she said, holding up her voice recorder. “You’re way too kind. I don’t deserve it.”
Her words wrapped around him like a blanket fresh from the dryer. “You’re welcome, but I think you do.”
Shit, was that too much?
“I mean, not that I can tell you what you deserve.”
She smiled graciously, perhaps reading his mind. “I know what you mean. And I appreciate it.” Flicking on her recorder, she pointed to the soundboard’s infinite illuminated buttons and switches. “So, how does all this work?”
He exhaled, relieved that she wasn’t freaked out by his bush-league flirting. Jamie wasn’t trying to do it, but it kept happening. “Slide closer, and I’ll show you.”
As she rolled over, he felt a magnetic pull he knew didn’t come from the wheels beneath him.
He cleared his throat, hoping to regain his bearings.
“This is an audio mixer. Essentially, it controls the levels of different sounds you’re recording.
So, for example, vocals, guitars, and keyboards are recorded on separate channels and then routed through the mixer.
An audio engineer uses these levers called faders to blend everything… It’s called the optimal mix.”
“Sounds complicated,” she offered. Her eyes lingered on the tiny, ridged knobs.
“It is, but it’s also fun, kind of like a puzzle.” He pressed a button, and a melancholy acoustic guitar riff filled the room. He pressed another, and his vocal track followed. It sounded robust and a little charred on the edges.
“Can I show you?” he asked.
“Yeah, show me everything.”
He placed one of her hands on a channel fader and put his on top. Jamie inched her fingers up gradually, until the guitar overpowered his vocals and electricity ricocheted where their skin touched. At some point, he stopped breathing.
He shot her a furtive glance. She was holding her breath too.
“Wow,” she breathed.
Did she feel that too?
“Yeah, it sounds imbalanced,” Jamie said, silently cataloging where his fingertips gripped hers. He savored the naked contact. “The vocals and guitar need each other, in the right proportions, to sound good.”
Eyes on hers, their fingers still intertwined, he guided the faders back down, blending the outputs into soothing harmony.
“It’s beautiful,” she whispered.
So are you, Bee.
He’d keep that part to himself. He couldn’t risk scaring her off, because she was there to help him. Professionally.
Then, that reflux-inducing chorus slithered through the speakers: You want love/But I need space/Baby my heart beats/At a different pace/I can love you right/But only for tonight.
When Brinton jerked her hand from beneath his, it felt like a piece of him had gone missing. His optimal mix.
“These lyrics are…” She let the words hang in the charged air between them for a few uncomfortable moments. “Did Melvin write this about anyone in particular? Like…Kendall?” She looked down at the floor. “It’s for the article,” she added quickly, but the mulberry flush on her cheeks betrayed her.
Lordy, she was adorable. He paused the recording.
“This song isn’t about Kendall,” he said.
“Or someone else? I guess with your ‘Heartbreak Prince’ nickname, there’s probably plenty of…inspiration out there.”
He breathed shakily. Time to unearth another truth. “I know you’ve heard all the stories, and, yeah, I’ve dated a lot of women. But those relationships weren’t real. My team thought I needed the press after my breakup with Kendall.”
She was quiet for a few moments, and his heart did a fifty-meter dash in his chest. What if she pushed him away, now that the latest lie had come to light? What if, upon further inspection, she decided that his dreams weren’t worth saving?
But when she looked at him again, her expression was stripped of judgment. He didn’t expect it, but he was grateful.
“Was it real with Kendall?” she asked.
“I didn’t feel the same way about her. I wanted her to be happy, but I didn’t—I couldn’t love her, even though she loved me. The more I tried, the more I knew it wasn’t there.”
Brinton looked down at her hands, as if transported to a painful memory of her own. “How did you tell her?”
He tipped his head back and winced. Frankly, he’d been an asshole about it. But he didn’t want to hide that from Brinton.
“I said I wasn’t looking for love, which, at that time, was true. But I should have told her sooner, should have been kinder.” Jamie sucked his teeth. “I never properly apologized. Hence, the legend of the Heartbreak Prince.”
Her shoulders grazed her ears. She probably thought he was nothing but an industry himbo. Honestly, that was fair.
“Well, everyone has a chance at redemption, right?”
Jamie smiled weakly and nodded. She wasn’t the type of woman he deserved. She was honest, hardworking, and fearless. He struggled with all three, so why was he kidding himself?
“What are you looking for now?” she asked.
Was this an opening? He wanted to reassure her that he genuinely liked spending time with her, in whatever way she’d let him. But the part of him that feared truly baring his heart—and inevitably hurting her when he fucked it all up—throttled his confidence. He needed to ease into it.
“For the record, I’m not seeing anyone right now.”