Chapter 33 Hendrix • Now
Chapter thirty-three
Hendrix · Now
Hold On – Good Charlotte
I jerk upwards when the door swings open.
My neck cracks, my spine aching as I stretch the kinks from my back.
Saint strolls into the flat, a take-out mug in hand, plastic brown bag in the other. He scans over me, my finger-combed hair, my make-up-less face, the clothes I haven’t changed out of in days.
He puffs a short breath. “Shit, Rix. Have you even slept?”
I massage my throbbing temples and take in the mess I’ve made in the living room.
Paper covers every surface. A leaning tower of cardboard boxes on the far wall, a smaller pile at the side of it. More mugs, with days old coffee and tea stains adorning every inch of the black oval coffee table.
It’s been three days since I’ve seen or spoken to Cole.
I texted him after he stormed out, but our thread has only stayed silent since. Not even the flicker of a read receipt to show he’s seen it.
Silence is something I’ve grown used to over the years, but it’s really starting to grate on me now.
So, instead of wallowing, I got to work.
“Does a ten-minute catnap at two am count?” I ask Saint with a grimace.
“It doesn’t count,” he says, handing me the coffee.
I pop the lid off and inhale.
“Thank you for this.” I push my sleeve up past my watch, my nose wrinkling as I spot the early hour. I peer up at him. “Do you reckon you can round up Ax and Cart and get them into the studio this morning?”
“What I reckon is that you need some decent sleep, and then we’ll talk about maybe getting in the booth.” His eyes are hard, his lips straight, as if daring me to argue with him.
Pretty sure he’s forgotten who he’s talking to.
“I can sleep when I’m dead.” I smirk. “What I need is for you guys to get your arses in the studio,” I toss a black folder onto the couch next to him, “and record this for me.”
“I didn’t think you and Cole finished anything yet?”
“We haven’t.”
He hikes a brow, but says nothing as he props the folder on his lap and flicks through it.
I twist my fingers in my lap.
A muscle in his cheek tics, and he peers at me through hooded lashes.
I hold my breath.
His eyes dart between the notebook, the boxes, before finally landing on me. “Rix, what are you doing?”
“Something I should have done a long time ago.”
I push onto my knees, shuffle across the floor, and tug down one of the cardboard boxes. I peel the lid before emptying the contents onto the floor.
Knots form all through my body as Saint shuffles closer.
“This is…” He brushes a thumb over his chin. “A lot.”
I shake my head, a tired laugh bubbling in my throat. “It’s everything.”
Everything I held onto in the hopes one day Cole would come banging down my door to ask for it all back.
Ticket stubs from all the shows Reckless Abandon played before they got signed. Old CD recordings of songs that never made it onto their albums. Piles of notebooks filled with all our ideas and dreams for the future.
Every friendship bracelet, handwritten note, and photo Cole and I ever took as a couple—everything we shared with Saint, Axel, and Carter as a family.
Every moment of our lives for five years lives in the boxes lining their live room wall. And if Cole and I are ever going to move forward, collaboratively, personally, it’s time to let it all go.
“Why?” Saint asks, gunmetal eyes locking on mine.
I tilt my head, rolling a frayed festival wristband between my fingers, as a sad smile curves my lips. “Because I’m tired of disappointing him.”
“Run that riff again,” I tell Axel.
He scowls as he fingers the strings of his bass.
Carter grunts from behind me.
Both of them came in with faces like thunder this morning. Probably because Saint dragged them out of bed before the sun rose at my request—for Axel, anyway. I’m not sure Carter has any other expression these days.
At least, not when I’m around.
I slide the fader, cranking the volume only for Axel’s section as I run Saint’s already recorded riff in the background. Amps hum, vibrating softly through the floorboards, and I tug my headphones off one ear.
I twist the EQ dial, the bass pulsing steady in my chest.
A smile lifts my lips as the two sections weave seamlessly.
It’s been a long time since I’ve worked like this. As a mixing engineer, most of my job is done post-recording. When the artist is finished in the booth, I get the raw sounds, and my job is to polish and perfect.
I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t missed this.
Axel strums the last chord.
I press the talkback. “Nailed it. Out you get.”
The chair spins beneath me as I kick my legs up.
I pull the sticks out of my hoodie pocket and hold them out to Carter. “You’re up.”
His gaze slants when he snatches them.
I tug my lip stud between my teeth, my chest tightening.
If he notices they’re from a concert they played two years after I left, he doesn’t say a word about it. Just shoves them in his back pocket and marches into the booth.
I release the breath stuck in my throat.
Nothing quite as embarrassing as admitting you snatched up all the picks, drumsticks, and set lists you could find at the concerts you hid in the back of.
Saint rolls up beside me, an ankle propped on his knees, mischief sparkling behind his blown pupils.
I fiddle the dials, watching him from the corner of my eye.
I swat his hand away when he reaches for the pan knob. “Don’t touch my board.”
He holds his hands up and pushes his lips out into a pathetic pout.
I roll my eyes, shifting my weight on the chair as Carter rolls the snare.
I twist the volume until it’s nothing more than a soft trickle in my ear.
Out of the three of them, Carter is the most proficient at what he does.
They’re all incredibly talented, but Saint and Axel are like over-excited puppies. They mess around, taking far longer to record than necessary. Carter doesn’t play around in the booth. He gets in, gets the job done, and gets out.
Put the man on a stage though? All bets are off.
That’s where he thrives.
I give him a thumbs up when he kicks the bass a final time. “No need to redo, that’s solid.”
He nods, pushes back his stool, and steps out of the booth.
“Now what?” Carter asks.
“You all go do whatever rock stars do on their days off,” I tell him, rolling my neck side to side. “And I make this diamond sparkle.”
Saint snorts. “That’s a terrible metaphor.”
“Better than me saying make this shit shine.” I smirk, and spin to face them all. “Now get the hell out of my studio.”
Axel ruffles my hair as he passes. “Our studio, Rix.”
“Mine for now. You can have it back when I’ve written you one hell of an album.”
“Alright then.” Axel quirks an eyebrow at me before turning to the guys. “You heard the lady. Let’s move.”
They walk toward the door, Saint watching me over his shoulder with an all-too-knowing look before he slips out of sight.
Carter pauses as he reaches the threshold. He taps his sticks twice on the frame, his shoulders taut. I hear him inhale, then blow it out, before his neck cocks, ever-so-slightly. “Good to have you back, Rix.”
He disappears round the corner, and my chest deflates as a soft breath escapes me, my lips curling to a bright smile.
It’s good to be back.
Now if only I can get Cole to talk to me, and maybe we can finally figure this whole thing out.