Chapter 2 Keeley #2
“Thanks,” she says. “Feel free to play around if you think of something better. I was hoping to make it a little more intuitive, but drum parts aren’t my strong suit.”
I look sharply at her. There’s something about this that is rattling her confidence, and I don’t understand why. “You shouldn’t say that. It’s good. We can collaborate on it, though, if it would make you feel better.”
“Do you have time?”
Probably not, I think. I really should go home and practice through Bianca’s set list, even if I’m skipping out on rehearsal. Instead, I practically jump at the chance. It’s nice to be around Jane again. “My schedule is clear for the rest of the day. I’m here for whatever you need.”
This gig with Bianca is actually the last I have scheduled for a while.
I decided to clear my calendar so we can focus on the future of Glitter Bats.
Wade Ortega—who manages my drum career on top of his longtime work for Glitter Bats—suggested that move might be premature, but I felt good about my choice.
All I can think about is focusing on Glitter Bats, anyways, so it’s pointless to try to take on other projects.
We haven’t talked much about our next steps as a band yet, despite all the speculation from our fans. But that last show was so strong and tight, and now that we’re free of our garbage contract with Label Records, I’m confident there are good things in our future.
Hell, maybe we can talk a little about it tonight once we’re done recording. Riker is here, so he might as well make himself useful, and we could probably get in touch with Caleb and Valerie for a late dinner or something.
“Well, I have to go,” Riker drawls, ruining my unspoken plans in a way that makes it hard to hide my scowl.
“Oh…” Jane trails off. “I thought you were sticking around. I could use your ear.”
Riker glances between the two of us.
“Sorry, I gotta pick up a new pedal I special-ordered before the store closes,” he says, patting Jane’s shoulder.
“You do that,” I say. Again, my voice sounds too harsh, and I regret it right away.
Before the Glitter Bats got back together, I hadn’t spoken much with Caleb or even Valerie. But Jane, Riker, and I stayed in touch as best we could.
It was fucking hard. Our careers took us in different directions over the six-year break.
I was doing a lot of recording work, tracking drums for mostly pop, rock, and folk artists…
anyone who needed to fill out an album, really.
Meanwhile, Riker started working as a touring guitarist, and it meant he was on the road for months at a time.
Jane took the biggest pivot, first assisting on music for a video game company, then getting hired on as the composer for Shooting Stars, a now-cult-favorite space fantasy RPG with a soundtrack so popular it launched her career into TV.
Even though we were all still based in the LA area, Jane and Riker saw a lot more of each other than they ever did of me during the Glitter Bats hiatus.
I’ve started to wonder if there’s something going on there.
They’ve always been close. Still, it’s none of my business.
If he can make Jane happy, that’s all that matters.
Me being weird and cold to him is actually kind of embarrassing.
Riker raises an eyebrow. “You kids have fun.” With that, he shoulders his guitars and shuffles out of the studio.
“What was that about? Are you two getting along?” Jane asks.
“It’s Riker, who knows.” I shrug dramatically for effect. “Let’s just get started. If we have time, I can lay down some alternate takes and listen through them with you.”
“I really just need the one clean run-through,” Jane says. “I’ll get you out of here as quickly as I can. You already had to drop everything today to help me.”
I shrug, trying to keep it casual. “It’s nothing.”
“Well, I appreciate you. My goal was to get everything done by midnight,” she says. “Multiple takes would be a huge help in case I need to shift things around once I relisten to Kyle’s vocals.”
The Network really got lucky with the cast. Kyle Harris—precocious-child-star-turned-classically-handsome-Broadway-heartthrob—is both hilarious with dialogue and an obscenely talented singer.
The rest of the cast is stacked too, with industry legends like Rose Carrington and new up-and-comers like Josie Ramirez.
But there’s no way they’d have done as well as they have without Jane’s brilliant songwriting.
It’s really made the show, and I’m so fucking proud of her.
I grin. “Then let’s get started.”
Despite the tension lingering on her shoulders, the furrow in Jane’s brow softens at that.
“Sounds good. Why don’t you set up while I adjust some things here?”
I nod. In my haste to get to the booth, I nearly collide with Jane on her way to cross the tiny space, and she glances up at me, eyes wide. Heat floods my cheeks.
“Sorry!” she squeaks. I swallow hard as I catch the scent of that goddamn vanilla perfume that lingers in the warmth between us.
“It’s fine. This is a tiny space!” I laugh. A little too loud, but I hope she doesn’t notice.
I’d give anything to pull her closer, to eliminate the inches between us, to feel those soft, generous curves under my hands…
“Right, I’ll just—” She nods past me to the water station, where she must have been headed.
Fuck.
I step back, gesturing to it. “After you.”
“Thanks.” Jane hurries past me to fill her water, and I step into the sound booth, shaking my head.
I hate playing when I don’t have a clear mind, but I’ll just have to grit my teeth and focus on the work. For now, I can show up for Jane, and maybe it will be enough. It has to be. So I just settle myself in the space that, for some reason, smells like cheap beer.
Doesn’t matter. I’m a professional. While Jane prepares to record, I look through the sheet music one last time. It’s a great song, and even more impressive knowing Jane literally just wrote this on the fly.
I glance at her, jaw tightening as she leans over to adjust something on the board. Despite the hellish day she’s had, Jane is still trying to get this done on time. Most people would have said no to rewriting a song in a week, even if it’s for The Network. I’d have probably demanded an extension.
“Ready to run it?” Jane asks into the talkback, her voice a little rough. I startle, swallowing hard.
Instead of showing how much being this alone with her is rattling me, I place my hands on my hips and smirk at her through the plexiglass. “I was born ready, Mercer.”
Jane cocks her head. “Prove it, Cunningham.”
A thrill buzzes across my skin, but it has nothing to do with her words. It’s just the thrill I get every time I play the drums…or so I’ll keep telling myself to get through this session without melting onto the floor.
I nod at Jane, and she presses play on the digital sample. I listen to Past Jane count off the tune and begin playing what she asked.
It’s an eighties-style power ballad, so I don’t have to do much—the wailing guitar that Riker recorded will do the heavy lifting—but I listen carefully to Past Jane’s cues, the click, and the instrumentation, doing my best to fill out the sound.
All of my nerves melt away as the serotonin rushes in with every thrum of the kick.
Something deep in my soul just knows how to find the beat, and no matter what kind of music I’m playing, drumming just makes sense the way nothing else does.
It settles my brain when everything else is loud.
And it’s why I’m so in demand in the studio, and why I love playing live with musicians across genres.
The rhythm flows with the blood in my veins, pulses with my heartbeat.
The track ends quickly enough, and Jane doesn’t say anything for a long moment. I peer over at her through the glass and see her shoulders shaking.
Shit, is she crying?
I rise to get out of the booth, but when Jane looks up at me, she’s laughing.
“Fuck, Mercer, was it really that bad?” I ask through my relief, even though I know it wasn’t. I played exactly what she asked. Her reaction is just confusing the hell out of me.
She shakes her head, then leans into the talkback mic.
“No, that was perfect…” She trails off, laughing again. “It’s just…do you know how hard I tried to get Trevor to do that? Three days, Keeley. Three of the longest days of my life.”
“I told you I was ready.”
She sighs. “I should have called you two days ago.”
My chest swells, and I soften my voice. “I wish you would have.”
She clears her throat, running her hands over her braid. “Well, thank you for showing up now.”
“Anytime, Jane. I’m always here for you,” I say. Then, realizing what I could reveal with those words, I clear my own throat. “But that was just one take, and I want to make sure it’s nice and clean. Let me run it a few more times and give you some options.”
“Thank you, seriously,” she says. I lean down and take a sip of my water, then resettle on the drum throne. It’s not my own, and it’s a little wobbly, but I do my best to keep my balance and stay focused. Soon enough, I hear the familiar, soothing tone of Past Jane in my ears counting me off again.
We spend the next two hours like that—Jane giving me notes, me trying different things. After the tenth take, she nods.
“I think that will do it.”
“You sure?” I ask. The last thing I should do is linger, but I don’t want to lose this moment with her, even though it’s all business.
We’ve been so busy since our last show, and I’ve missed my friend. That’s all.
“Yeah, you gave me more than enough great takes. I’m sure you have better things to do than sit in a sweaty studio.”