26. Chapter Twenty-six
Chapter Twenty-six
Alec
With my pick nestled between my teeth, I casually fine-tune my electric Squier on my lap, resting both feet on the footrest.
Aimlessly, I pluck the pick from my mouth, running its tip effortlessly along the strings. The melody caresses my senses, filling the air with ethereal notes. Its enchanting rhythm reverberates deep within, blending with the rhythm of my heart.
It’s the only thing that keeps me from going under.
My mind drags toward Summer. A sting sits in my chest, and I can’t be sure if it’s rage or worry. Not knowing whether she’s safe at her house right now.
So, instead of doing what Summer told me I should do—calling Samantha back and scheduling a meeting with Chase—I came into the studio to drown myself in the muse. To block out the agony thrumming in my bones, knowing I fucked up the band more than I’d like to admit.
As I allow myself to drift into the melody of the music I create, I think about everything I have done. How my plans have changed all because of one girl, and I’m not even mad about it.
The door opens but I pay no mind, fixing my guitar and strumming again. Closing my eyes and listening to the beautiful melody.
“What the fuck, Alec.”
My muscles tighten, screwing up the most essential note of the song I spent months writing. With the pick resting between my fingers, I pinch the bridge of my nose with my knuckles. Frustration slithers into my pores, coasting its way deep into my skin.
“Samantha,” I say, opening my eyes to look at her.
My jaw clenches tighter when I see Samantha’s arms crossed at her chest and her foot tapping against the wooden floor, James and Tyler by her side.
There was a reason I didn’t answer her call, and it was precisely this.
“So, you screw up one of the biggest opportunities for what? Not to mention, you’ve done nothing but dodge every single one of my calls.” She drops her arms to her side. “What’s going on with you?”
My eyes follow Tyler as he steps over the colorful wires along the floor and onto the red carpet. He leans close to me, whispering, “She’s pissed. Called me twenty times until I was stuck with massive blue balls.”
Rolling my eyes, I shake my head. “I need time.”
“Are you shitting me?” James bites, stepping forward. “What is more important than what we’ve built here?”
My eyes drag to him, cocking my head. “I said I needed fucking time. Is that too hard to believe?”
He huffs, dragging his hand across the stubble on his chin, and shakes his head. They have every right to be disappointed in me. I’ll admit that.
“You’ve fucking changed, man,” James implies.
Maybe I have, but is that such a bad thing?
Ignoring him, silence fills the room. It’s tense. But after a hot minute, Samantha lets out an aggravating sigh. “All right. Can we at least practice for Tale’s Gate since there are no other shows scheduled? Can we at least focus on that?”
I don’t want to practice, but who am I to disagree with the logic of what we should do?
James’s mouth forms a thin line, nodding but he doesn’t remove his eyes from me. Samantha looks at Tyler, waiting for his approval; it doesn’t take long for him to agree. She then stares at me, her lips pursed and eyes as sharp as a dagger.
Running my thumb across my jaw, I nod. “How about we add a couple of new songs?” I suggest.
With how much of a loss we took for not going to Denverson, pitching a couple of new songs isn’t a terrible idea.
Sam’s eyes widened. “Are you serious? Tale’s Gates is in two weeks,” she states, but I ignore her initiation and move toward a stack of papers I placed on the music stand when I came into the studio.
“Look, they’re good. Can you just look over them?”
James plops down on the wooden stool I was just sitting on, casually propping one foot on the footrest. I hand him a sheet first, and he looks over it carefully. The expression he holds gives me enough to go on; it’s clear that he’s not opposed to this idea.
“Given Alec’s fuck up, this might actually work,” he says.
Ignoring the dramatic eye roll Samantha directed toward James, a smile forms upward on my mouth. I pass Tyler a sheet next to Samantha, giving them time to review the new songs.
Samantha looks at me, her brown eyebrows arched. “You really think we can pull this off?”
A snarky smirk forms. “Have you met me?”
“Unfortunately.”
I don’t miss the dramatic tone. It has me chuckling, and then Sam smiles, always agreeing to whatever I have in mind despite her agitated state.
Looking at Tyler, I nudge my head. “What do you say, Ty?”
He shrugs his shoulders. “You know I’m down for anything. These lyrics may just be the best you’ve written.”
My hands clap together with a loud smack. “Great. Let’s start then.”
As we all take our positions, I meticulously begin tuning my guitar, ensuring that each string produces a harmonious sound. James follows suit, making adjustments to his bass. Meanwhile, Tyler twirls his drumsticks between his fingers, confidently stepping on the bass pedal.
Each note is perfect, filling the studio with a beautiful sound and drowning out my internal thoughts. Satisfaction waved through at how the guys picked up the new song on cue. That’s what makes us so good at what we do.
We stop playing as the door flings open, slamming into the wall with a loud clatter.
“Alec Sokolov. You cold-blooded fucking liar!”
Our heads dart to the door, my eyes narrowing. My chest tightens the moment my eyes land on Summer’s red-rimmed eyes. Instinctively, I swing the strap to my guitar over my shoulder and place my guitar on the stand.
“Summer…” I walk toward her, but she raises her hand to stop me from moving closer and cuts me off.
“Don’t,” she scoffs. “So, what was this between us? Was it all a part of a conniving little scheme? Oh, let’s win the cop’s daughter’s heart to have your charges dropped? You fucking used me.”
I was dreading this moment. Sadness sneaks in, taking over everything else I’ve felt today. She wasn’t supposed to find out this way.
Her chest rises. Tears stream down her face, leaving it wet and puffy. Mascara smudges her under the eyes. My heart drops into my stomach. The words rip right through me, cutting me open like a knife.
“Oh, let’s not forget lying about fucking her.” She points to Samantha with a disgusted look on her face.
“Now, wait a minute.” Samantha steps forward to intervene, but I grab her arm, stopping her.
Sam’s head swings in my direction, and I shake my head in a silent gesture, letting her know I’ll take care of this. I know what Summer’s father wrote up that day he knocked on the window when I was with Sam, and I know how it looks. I just need to explain to Summer that it was the only way her father could keep me held at the police station.
Despite the fact that I snuck into a bar at eighteen to begin with. I would have only gotten a slap on the wrist, possibly fined. The lie he spilled only prolonged my stay.
“Can we talk about this elsewhere?” I ask Summer, keeping my tone as calm as I possibly can.
The last thing I want is to have this conversation in front of the band, not wanting to hear Samantha mock me for not listening to her about staying away from Summer in the first place.
James, Samantha, and Tyler are all silent. Their eyes ping-pong between Summer and me as if they are enjoying the show. The air is hot and sticky, scratching my throat in the most uncomfortable way.
Summer chuckles, her eyes crinkling at the edges. She crosses her arms at her chest and says, “There is nothing to discuss.”
Shaking my head, I step forward. “Pretty girl.”
She steps backward, pointing at me. “Don’t you fucking call me that! I’m not your pretty girl, and I’m sure as hell not your fucking sunshine.”
My heart lodges into the center of my throat. The pain and rage she is feeling is visible, so prominent I can almost feel it myself.
“Let me explain, please.”
“You know, Alec. I really thought you were different. I should have known better.” The pads of her fingers fail to dry her face before her arms fall to her sides. “Jokes on me.”
“Summer, please.”
She shakes her head, her lip pinched tight. “Fuck you, Alec Sokolov.”
Saliva propels from her mouth. I deftly sidestep, narrowly avoiding the droplet before it meets the floor beside my shoe. Fuming with frustration, she storms out of the studio.
My hand grips the nape of my neck, feeling the tension coiled tight in my muscles.
“Dude… she just spit on the fucking floor,” James says.
My jaw tightens, my eyes darting to him. I want to slam my fist into his face for a second, but I decide against it and walk out of the studio after Summer.
I have fucked up enough in my lifetime. I need to make things right with her.
I need to tell Summer everything.