Chapter 30 Collins #2
The song is beautiful—but it’s missing the drums. The rhythm that makes it sound complete. Whole. Just like Riley himself.
But before the song gets past the bridge, it starts over.
I remove the headphones and hand them back to Creed so he can keep working.
“It’s beautiful, Creed. Truly,” I say softly, wrapping one arm around his neck, “but it’s missing our boy.”
“I know.” He blows out a long breath. “This is how he usually works, though. He’ll listen to the track over and over, playing out different beats in his head until he finds one that he likes, but this time seems to be worse, because I think he’s trying too hard to work around his adaptive equipment. ”
“What is it about the equipment that isn’t working for him?”
“I don’t think it’s the equipment this time.
I think it’s his own mind. His tremors return when he starts to overthink things,” he explains, gesturing to the trash can, where I see several cylindrical foam pieces piling up.
“He says those don’t work because he can’t control how hard he squeezes them when he hits the toms or cymbals.
He’s got the shoulder strength to hit, but it makes no difference if he can’t grip the stick the right way.
He’s beating himself up over it, and it’s—it’s killing me to see him so fucking defeated. ”
I can feel Creed’s eyes on me. “You have that look, Stardust.”
“What look?” I feign innocence, batting my lashes at him.
“One that says you’ve got an idea and nobody gets to know until you’re doing it.”
A slow smile spreads across my face before leaning in to kiss Creed’s soft lips. “Then you’d be right.” I nod towards the door. “Can I go in there?”
“I don’t think there’s a place in this house I’d ever deny you entry to.” He kisses me back. “Just be careful of the cords.”
I give him a mock salute and push off his lap.
The door to the recording booth opens quietly, and Riley doesn’t notice my presence until I place my fingers beneath his chin.
He startles, his head jerking up and his soulful, dark eyes meeting mine.
They flare in surprise, but I notice that they look a little red-rimmed.
I can tell it’s from holding back his frustration of not being able to accomplish something—Riley is an emotional person like me, so failure isn’t an option.
When it happens, tears are kind of inevitable.
“Snow, what’s up—”
I lift my oversized tee just enough to flash Riley and stun him silent—because all I’m wearing beneath it are his boxers that I happen to find very comfortable—before I whip the fabric up over his head, too, and settle myself astride his lap.
We’re both trapped within the confines of this cotton and polyester blend, so it forces us even closer together.
To say Riley looks baffled over my actions is an understatement, but we both start laughing when he realizes that we’re stuck, and I’m not going anywhere.
His sweet eyes shine a little brighter, the heaviness receding just a little.
Good, my plan is already working.
“What, uh,” he starts, chuckling as his freckled nose brushes against mine, and he flashes me that fangy smile that I love so much before continuing, “whatcha doin’, Snow?”
“Mmm.” I pull my arms from the sleeves to wind them around his back and under his own shirt to come in contact with this warm skin.
I suck in a deep breath and steel my nerves.
These men have never given me a reason to be self-conscious or wary of my actions, but the self-doubt remains.
“I heard you were having a rough day in here.” I place a kiss to the two faint scars on his cheek.
“So I thought I’d try to help you out of your funk. ”
He chuckles as his arms band around my waist, and he tips his chin up to meet my eyes once more. “I must admit, this is working quite well so far.”
My hands roam to his back, my nails gently tracing a delicate path along the scars there, leaving goosebumps in their wake.
“Tell me what’s going on,” I hedge softly. I know what the problem is, but I want to hear it from him. Getting Riley to open up is the only way to figure out how to help him. “Tell me how to help you.”
He shifts a bit stiffly, and that’s when I notice that he’s very hard beneath me.
My cheeks flush fiercely, and so do his.
I hadn’t intended for this moment to be purely sexual between us, but my heart flutters over the fact that I’m affecting him.
I continue to run my nails over his back, up to his shoulders, down to his waistline, and back again.
Riley swallows, then sighs, looking defeated.
“It’s my hands, my arms,” he starts to explain, his hands mimicking the motions of mine.
“I still don’t have the best grip strength, and this adaptive equipment doesn’t help.
The grips are loose. And I can’t—” His hand flies to his temple, and he raps his fingers against his skull a little too hard for my liking. “I can’t find the rhythm…in here.”
My sweet Riley. He holds himself to these impossible standards and gives himself no grace when he fails. When I look at him, when I watch him play, all I see is artistry and perfection. Especially when he learns to just let go and have some fun with a beat, rather than be technical about it.
“Can I try something?” I ask, shifting in his lap a little so I can lean back.
Riley nods, his brows slightly pinched in confusion, but he listens intently anyway.
I flip one of his headphone cuffs upside down so that it’s facing outward and press my body closer to his.
I’m careful to keep it away from his injured ear.
I can’t help but place a soft, quick kiss to the damaged cartilage.
A small claim to show that I love every part of him, still.
I cup the back of his neck with one hand, bring my other around to his chest, and find his heartbeat beneath my fingertips.
I turn to look at Creed through the studio window and see him biting down on his fist, while his other hand is hidden between his legs, no doubt hiding his growing erection.
It’s obvious his crazy ass is sitting in blissful agony right now.
He’s never once shied away from making his affections known.
I give him a crooked smile over my shoulder. “Play the song?”
He leans forward, pressing a button, and his voice fills the room. “Anything my girl wants.”
A moment later, their new song begins to play in the headphones. Leaning down, I press my ear to the exposed cuff and start to listen as the melody starts to build.
Creed’s voice causes chills to break out along my skin, but I refocus my attention on the sound of the chorus.
The melody loops and starts over, but this time, I pull my focus to Riley’s steady heartbeat and feel it mix and intertwine with the music playing in our ears.
I start to tap my fingers against the back of his neck, matching the beautiful rhythm of his every heartbeat.
It’s a bit offbeat, but every so often it syncs up.
Riley’s breath hitches when he realizes what I’m doing.
He catches on, and one of his hands slides up to cup the side of my throat, his first two fingers resting delicately against my pulse point.
His foot starts tapping the pedal of the hi-hat, adding a few extra beats to match the song’s rhythm. He does this for several minutes, creating a unique metronome effect.
“Can you feel the beat, yet?” I ask, my words a low hum in his ear.
His face turns, slightly buried in my neck. “I’m starting to.”
His voice sends a shiver up my spine in the best way.
The first hit against the drum and bass pedal takes me by surprise because my whole body does this little bounce in his lap. I grip his neck a little tighter because just as the chorus hits, Riley starts to play. It’s not as loud as I’m used to hearing, but he’s fully playing.
All I can do is hold on tight as he rides out every line of the song in such a beautiful, unique way. He doesn’t let my presence on his lap stop him from creating the perfect beat to this new song.
I’m speechless. The talent that oozes from Riley is unmatched, and I don’t think it’s biased for me to argue that he’s one of the best drummers in the music industry. What he’s doing right now is nothing short of genius.
It’s a total bonus that I get to be a part of it.
When the bridge hits, I can hardly hang onto him.
I don’t think he realizes just how loud he’s playing.
How strong his grip is. How perfect each and every hit against the drum set is.
Riley’s completely lost in the song, and when I steal a glance at his face from the corner of my eye.
The light reflecting in his dark irises has my heart thumping wildly in my chest, and emotion clogging my throat.
Tears are now freely streaming in constant rivulets down my cheeks as he finishes the song.
The moment he hits the cymbals that last time, a hiccuping sob pushes past my lips, but it’s instantly smothered by Riley’s lips when he slams them against mine.
The drumsticks hit the floor, and his arms pull through the sleeves so he can cup my face as he deepens the kiss.
He’s shaking. Vibrating. I can feel the adrenaline and joy pouring out of him so heavily that it threatens to pull me under in the best way.
“Thank you,” he breathes against my lips, his chest heaving. “Thank you.”
He repeats the phrase, whispering the words to me in between kisses. Both of our faces are wet from crying, but I don’t care. Riley found his passion again, at least for now. He got out of his own head and just played. It was perfection. It was raw. Unique. Beautiful.
Riley’s hands are steady as he cups my thighs and lifts to stand. He carries me with ease across the room and out of the studio. Creed’s already waiting for us by the door, and when I look at him, he’s got this wild grin on his face, and his pupils are blown wide.
“That was fucking hot,” He bites his lip and pulls us into his arms, sandwiching me between him and Riley. He peppers both of us with kisses anywhere he can reach. “And I recorded the whole damn thing. It was fucking perfect, Ri.”
Riley flushes at the praise. He shrugs a shoulder like it’s no big deal. “Just took a little snow to find the perfect rhythm.”
My heart swoops in my chest at his words.
God, I love him.
We all exit the studio together and make our way to Creed’s room, where we all fall into a heap on the mattress.
Riley and I are still trapped together in one shirt, and Creed has entangled himself around us.
And that’s where we all stay for the next several hours—just because we can.
Listening to the new song on repeat, talking, telling stories, laughing, and just basking in one another’s company.
Things feel good right now, and that scares me.
Because the last time I felt like this, it was all ripped away.