Chapter 19 The Call of Music
THE CALL OF MUSIC
ENZO
Fuck all this feeling bullshit. I’m done. Listening to everyone sitting around pouring their emotions out like we’re in some kind of group therapy circle isn’t my style. I need action—something real, something to remind us why we’re even here in the first place.
Music.
That’s what we do best, and I’ll be damned if we let the train wreck of this past show take that away from us.
I lean back in my chair, exhaling an exaggerated sigh. “You know what? Fuck this,” I mutter loud enough for everyone to hear. Everyone turns to look at me, their conversations halting mid-sentence. “We need to play. Not talk. Not cry. Let’s get back to what we’re actually good at: music.”
Marcus raises an eyebrow from behind his coffee cup, his blond hair still damp from the shower. His usual stoic demeanor appears slightly wary. “You serious?”
“Dead serious,” I say, standing and stretching. “Enough of this touchy-feely shit. Let’s jam.”
Dylan grins from his perch on the arm of the couch, twirling a drumstick between his fingers. He’s been carrying them around in his back pocket constantly, like he’s also itching to play. “Hell yeah. Anything to break this emotional constipation we’ve got going on.”
I nod, even though his comment makes me want to roll my eyes. At least he’s on board.
Jax, still standing at the sink washing dishes, groans and scrubs his hands across his face. He looks exhausted, but there’s something in his expression—a flicker of interest. He won’t admit it, but he needs this as much as the rest of us.
“C’mon, Jax,” I call, crossing the room to grab my bass from the corner.
Sliding the strap over my shoulders, I embrace the familiar weight.
My fingers skim the fretboard, the grooves like an extension of me.
As familiar to me as my own skin. My fingers tap across the strings as I return my gaze back to Jax.
“We’re practicing. Get your ass over here. ”
He glares at me, but wipes his hands across the towel near the sink. Then he walks towards the center of the living room, his movements sluggish. He’s still pale, still too thin, but at least he’s upright. That’s progress, right?
“Fine. But if I screw this up, don’t come at me,” he mutters.
I smirk. “We’ll see.”
Jax’s attitude during our session will dictate my reaction. I refuse to give him another free pass.
Marcus picks up his guitar, running his fingers along the strings and tuning a couple of them with practiced ease. He glances at me, and we share a look—a silent agreement. We’re doing this. We need this.
Dylan drags a small case into the living room, flipping it open to reveal his practice kit. It’s a compact version of his full drum set, perfect for tight spaces. Within minutes, he’s got it assembled and slides into place, spinning his sticks dramatically.
“Alright,” Dylan says, smirking at Jax. “Let’s see if you remember how to sing without choking on your own tongue.”
Jax flips him off, but his lips twitch. It’s not a full smile, but it’s the closest we’ve seen in days.
I knew this was a good idea.
Lily perches nearby on the couch, her blonde hair falling in soft waves around her shoulders, watching us with a mixture of curiosity and concern.
She hates the tension between us, but knows this is how we work through things.
She wants us to come together, and for once, she might just get her wish.
“You’re up too,” I tell her, pointing with my bass.
She blinks, looking startled. “What?”
“Yeah, Lil,” Dylan chimes in, grinning. “You’re gonna have to replace Jax if he keeps screwing up. Might as well start practicing with us now.”
Jax scowls but doesn’t argue. He knows he blew it at the last show, and there’s no point pretending otherwise.
Lily laughs nervously, brushing her hair behind her shoulder. “I’m not stealing Jax’s spot. No way.” She taps her fingers against her chin, then tacks on, “But… I’ll sing if we write a new song. One with a part for me. That’s my condition.”
Marcus’s lips curl into a smirk as he strums a few experimental chords, like he’s already looking to find a new rhythm. His lips twitch into a smirk. “A new song, huh?”
The room shifts. That spark, that magic we’ve been missing, starts to build as Marcus plays again, adding to the chords he just played.
I pick up the bass line, letting the rhythm flow through me and add to the melody Marcus has created.
Dylan catches on, tapping out a steady beat, his drumsticks thumping against his drums with precision.
Jax leans back, eyes closed, humming softly as he pieces together rough lyrics.
And then Lily joins in.
Her voice is tentative at first, barely above a whisper, but it blends seamlessly with the melody. She adds her own words, weaving them into Jax’s in a way that feels natural, almost effortless. I don’t follow the meaning of what’s said, caught up in the tonality alone.
When Jax stumbles, Lily doesn’t hesitate. She takes the lead, her voice growing stronger with every note. Jax watches her, then jumps back in, his voice finding its place beside hers. The way they harmonize—it’s raw, unpolished, but undeniably powerful.
Something new. Something real. Something… perfect.
The hair on my arms stands up. Holy shit.
Lily’s voice surprises me. It’s clear, with a husky undertone that cuts through the room. I glance at Marcus, and he looks just as blown away.
Even Dylan, usually quick with a joke, pauses mid-beat to mutter, “Holy fuck.”
Jax, for once, doesn’t seem like his usual broody motherfucking self. He’s smiling, really smiling, as he and Lily trade lines. It’s like he’s rediscovered a part of himself he thought was gone.
When the song fades, stunned silence hangs in the air for a beat.
“Shit, Lily,” I say, breaking the quiet. “That was… unexpected.”
She blushes, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Thanks. But I’m still not replacing Jax. I just wanted to play around and sing.”
Dylan grins wickedly. “Nope, sorry. You’re officially ours now. Can’t back out now. Welcome to Electric Wounds, Lily.”
Before anyone can react, he leaps out from behind his practice set, scooping her up and tossing her over his shoulder.
“Dylan!” she squeals, laughing and swatting at his back.
“Dibs!” he yells, carrying her toward the hallway. “You’re mine for the night. Better luck tomorrow, suckers!”
Marcus and I exchange amused glances as they disappear.
Dylan’s antics might be ridiculous, but they lighten the mood in a way only he can.
As I set my bass down, the sound of a door slamming down the hall echoes into the living room.
A spurt of jealousy tugs at me, but I push it aside.
We’ve all been through hell this past week.
I’m not going to fault Dylan for wanting Lily to himself for a while.
And Lily… Lily’s becoming an essential part of our group. Dylan may have acted like it was a joke, but she was ours. No take backs.
I glance at Marcus, his blue eyes thoughtful as he watches the empty hallway. “Ready to make this band whole again?” he asks quietly.
“Fuck yes,” I reply.
With Lily, with the music, with all of us together—we’re going to make this work. One song at a time.