19. Nineteen
Nineteen
Nate
Rachel’s wrath over our early exit from the gala burns out faster than expected, especially when she realizes having Lacey stay through Wednesday works perfectly for album launch preparations. It’s a win I’ll gladly take, especially since it means more time with Lacey.
Today, I get to share my world with her.
“Are you sure I won’t be in the way?” Lacey asks as we pull into the studio parking lot. She’s wearing ripped jeans and one of my old band t-shirts, looking nothing like the company’s princess and everything like the woman I can’t stop thinking about.
“You’re never in the way.” I kill the engine. “Besides, everybody’s been asking when you’re coming to rehearsal.”
My words seem to reassure her, though there are still hints of insecurity in her eyes.
“Though I should warn you—practice can be intense.” I reach over, brushing my thumb across her cheek. “This is my world, Lace. You sure you want to see it?”
The vulnerability in her eyes shifts to determination. “Show me everything.”
The moment we walk into the studio, Sam jumps up. “Finally! Lacey Monroe graces us with her presence!”
“Ignore him,” Cass calls from where he’s tuning his guitar. “He’s just excited to have a new audience for his terrible jokes.”
“My jokes are great,” Sam protests. “Tell them, Emily.”
Emily, perched on a stool near the soundboard with baby Presley, just rolls her eyes. “Don’t drag me into this.”
Luke’s already at his keyboard. “We have a full audience today.” His hand going around Lila sitting next to him.
Vince strolls in last, guitar case in hand. “Can we actually start practice, or are we just going to stand around all day?”
“Someone needs coffee,” Sam stage-whispers. “Vince is grumpy because he’s the only band member without a significant other.”
“I like it that way,” Vince grouches as he gets out his guitar. He glances over at Lacey. “You any good on the drums?”
She tilts her head sideways with a grin. “No, but I can hold a tambourine.”
Cass laughs. “That’s more than Vince can do before noon.”
Vince flips him off without even turning around.
I guide Lacey to a comfortable spot near the girls before taking a seat behind my drums. I roll my shoulders, shaking off the weird, restless energy buzzing through me.
It’s fine. The guys and I have done this a million times. Only, I’ve never had Lacey watching me before. She’s perched on the edge of her seat, those brown eyes following my every movement, and suddenly, I want to show her exactly what I can do.
The familiar weight of my drumsticks centers me, and I feel the shift happening—the one that always comes when it’s time to play. This is the one place where I come alive.
I know every beat, every transition. I don’t have to think—I just move.
We start with a warm-up, an old cover we all know by heart. The energy builds naturally, everyone falling into rhythm as I keep the beat. This is what I love—the way the music flows, how we can read each other’s cues without words.
Cass’s guitar thrums through the room, Vince’s riffs slide effortlessly between the notes, Sam’s bass keeps everything grounded, and Luke layers the keys with just the right amount of texture.
Cass exhales, shaking his head. “Damn. That felt good.”
Sam grunts his agreement, reaching for his water bottle.
We tear through one of the new songs, and by the time we hit the final note, my pulse is thrumming in sync with the music.
The new album is different from our previous work—rawer and more personal. The first song we play full-out is one Luke wrote after meeting Lila. It’s about falling for someone unexpectedly, about plans changing and walls coming down—a love song.
When I glance at Lacey, I find her watching me intently. Her eyes are wide, taking everything in, and there’s something in her expression I’ve never seen before.
“Holy shit,” Vince says when we finish. “That was tight.”
“Language,” Emily reminds him, gesturing to little Presley, who is wearing miniature earphones that muffle the noise, making us doubt she can hear anything anyway.
“Holy... shiitake mushrooms?”
Sam throws a pick at him. “Better.”
We move through the set list. This is where the real work happens—the repetition, the fine-tuning, the moments when we stop mid-song to adjust a bridge or rework a chorus. And through it all, I keep us on track—the heartbeat of our music.
During a break, I walk over to Lacey and hand her a bottle of water. Her eyes are bright with excitement.
“You’re amazing,” she says softly. “I mean, I knew you were talented, but watching you work...” She shakes her head. “It’s different.”
I pull her up from her chair, not caring that the others are watching. “Different, how?”
“You come alive,” she explains. “It’s like... you’re still you, but when you’re performing, there’s another layer. This high-voltage intensity.” Her fingers trace the collar of my shirt. “It’s incredibly hot.”
I lean down to kiss her, but Sam’s voice interrupts. “No making out in the studio. House rules.”
“Since when?” I demand.
“Since Emily banned me and her from doing it,” Sam explains with a shit-eating grin.
“That’s because you knocked over a $5000 microphone,” Emily reminds him dryly.
Ignoring the new house rules, I turn my back to everyone and kiss Lacey anyway, leaving her breathless.
We get back to work, but I’m hyper-aware of Lacey’s presence, and every time our gazes lock, the temperature in the room seems to rise.
Hours pass like minutes as we play. By the time we wrap up, the sun is setting, and we’ve nailed every one of the new songs. Cass and Luke sang the lyrics with such power and raw emotion that I know the new album will go gold.
“That was fantastic,” Lacey says as we pack up. “Thanks for letting me watch.”
“You’re part of our family now,” Cass tells her. “Come anytime.”
The word ‘family’ hits differently than it would have a few months ago. This thing between us might have started as a contract, but watching Lacey fit so naturally into this part of my life feels right.
“Ready to go home?” I ask, taking her hand.
“Wait.” Lacey tugs my hand, pulling me back toward the drum kit. “Show me that thing you were doing earlier—that crazy fast pattern during the last song.”
I grin, settling back behind the drums and pulling her to sit between my legs. “You mean the paradiddle-diddle?”
“Is that what you call it?” She laughs, leaning back against my chest.
“Here.” I guide her hands, my chest pressed against her back, feeling her breath catch as I adjust her grip on the sticks. The scent of her shampoo fills my senses as I lean closer, my lips nearly brushing her ear. “Remember how I showed you the way to hold these?” Her body relaxes into mine, and I have to focus on the lesson instead of how perfectly she fits against me. “It’s all in the wrist rotation. Right, left, right, right, left, left.”
I guide her through the motion, my hands over hers, our bodies moving in sync. The pattern starts slowly and deliberately, but she picks it up quickly. She’s always been a fast learner.
“Faster now,” I murmur near her ear, increasing the tempo. The sticks blur as we build speed, and I can feel her pulse quickening with excitement.
“Wow,” she breathes as we nail the rhythm. “That’s what you were doing?”
Lacey turns in my arms, her eyes bright with enthusiasm. “You’re really good at this.”
I arch a brow. “You expected me to suck?”
She rolls her eyes. “Of course not. I just meant you’re really, really good. How do you do that for hours?”
“Years of practice.” I kiss her quickly. “And a lot of ice packs.”
When we finally make it to the car, Lacey’s still buzzing with energy. “I get it now,” she says as I pull onto the highway. “Why you come alive up there. It’s like... it’s physical and emotional all at once.”
I glance at her, struck by how perfectly she’s described it. “Yeah, exactly. The rhythm gets in your blood. Everything else just... falls away.”
“Even me?” She’s teasing, but there’s something else in her voice.
“You’re part of it now,” I admit, reaching for her hand. “When I’m playing, I can feel you watching. It changes the energy.”
“Good changes?”
“Definitely good.” I bring her hand to my lips. “Everything’s better with you here.”
The truth of it hits me as I say it. Everything is better with her—the music, the laughter, even the quiet moments like this.
The drive home is silent and comfortable, both of us lost in our thoughts of the day.
When we reach the house, I turn to her. “Walk with me?” I ask, heading out the sliding glass doors to the beach. “After intense rehearsals, I sometimes need to decompress.”
She smiles, understanding. “And this is where you do it?”
“Mostly, sometimes I just get in my car and drive.”
The cooling sand shifts beneath our feet as I pull her close, her body fitting perfectly against my side. The sunset paints her skin golden, and when she turns those dark eyes up to me, full of warmth and something deeper, I almost forget to breathe. The waves crash behind us, but all I can focus on is the way her fingers trace patterns on my chest and how her breath catches when I brush my thumb across her lower back.
“You know,” She breaks the comfortable silence. “I used to think I knew what passion looked like. I mean, I’ve played opposite some of the most talented actors in Hollywood. But watching you today...” She shakes her head. “That was passion.”
I pull her close, walking with my arm around her waist. “How so?”
“It’s pure. Unscripted. In acting, everything is directed—every expression, every movement. But you...” She stops, turning to face me. “You were on fire… and free.”
A slow, dangerous smile spreads across my face. “Yeah?”
She groans. “Don’t get cocky about it.”
I chuckle. “Too late.”
“I’m learning more about you, Nate.” She lowers her voice, studying me. “I knew you were private, knew you hated attention. But the way you are in the studio? The way you command a room when you play?”
Her voice drops even lower. “I didn’t expect that.”
I swallow hard. It’s not like I don’t hear compliments. People tell me all the time that I’m talented, that I’m good. But this is Lacey.
The last rays of sunlight catch in her hair, making her glow.
“Maybe that’s why this works,” I say, gesturing between us. “We ground each other, and yet we’re both still free to be ourselves.”
She laughs. “Very poetic for a drummer.”
“I have hidden depths.”
“That you do.” Her expression turns serious. “Thank you for sharing this part of yourself with me today. For letting me see the man behind the curtain.”
I brush a strand of hair from her face. “Thanks for wanting to see it.”
She rises on her tiptoes, kissing me softly. The waves crash behind us, keeping time like a metronome, and I lose myself in the moment—in her taste, her touch, the way her body fits perfectly against mine.
“Sometimes,” she says quietly, “I forget this isn’t real. The engagement, I mean.” Her fingers trace patterns on my chest.
My heart stutters and then speeds up. “Maybe some parts of it are real.”
She lifts her head, and there’s something vulnerable in her eyes that makes my chest ache. “Which parts?”
Instead of answering, I pull her closer, one hand sliding into her hair. The moonlight shines above us, but all I can focus on is how right this feels despite every logical reason it shouldn’t.
“The important parts,” I murmur against her lips. “The parts that should scare me.”
She pulls back slightly. “Scare you?”
“Yeah.” I rest my forehead against hers. “Because this wasn’t supposed to happen. You weren’t supposed to make me feel...”
“Feel what?”
But we both know what. It’s in every touch, every shared look, every moment when the pretense falls away, and we’re just us. And maybe that’s what scares me most—
How easy it would be to fall completely.