Chapter 21 Amber #2
“Lindz hates me. Especially now that we firmly passed thirty. My metabolism still runs like it owes someone money.”
“Lucky girl. I swear I’ve gained at least ten pounds since I’ve been home. For once, I don’t give a shit.”
“That’s because you’ve got your own lumberjack holding you down for a good chop.”
“There’s a visual.”
“The heat in your face says I ain’t lying.”
I couldn’t disagree so I kept my mouth shut. “So, what are you guys doing in New York? I know you’re doing the Christmas deal, but I thought you guys were still on an international tour?”
“We start back up in February. We ended up adding dates for Australia and New Zealand as well, so we needed those paper pushers to figure out dates. The sooner the better, I’m bored as fuck.”
“You always hate to be off tour.”
“Since we figured out how to record on our tour bus, I never really need to stop. Works for me.”
“Don’t you get tired?”
“Nah. I’m revved when I’m on stage. All those people screaming and singing back to us...man, there’s nothing like it.”
I used to think the same, but by the end of this last tour it had felt too much like a job. And that wasn’t fair to the fans.
“You’re all set.”
I smiled at the barista and handed over my card.
The girl got brave enough to ask for a picture and James made her year with a few badass poses before we left with a large handle bag full of food and two hot coffees.
Having James blast my business all over Haven wasn’t high on my list so I pointed her back to the house instead of cruising around town like I’d planned.
“This town is...cute.”
“It’s not exactly your style.”
“No, but I can see the appeal. I’d literally shrivel up and die, but it works for you. At least based on the beard burn on your neck and that you don’t look like a ballerina on meth anymore.”
“Geez, James.”
“What? I saw the videos from your last show. The fans only saw that you were kicking ass, but I am well aware what the edge looks like and you were well past it on the way to crashing into the cliffs.”
“God, you saw the videos, too? You hate my music.”
“I don’t hate your music. It could just use a harder guitar edge if you ask me.”
“You think everything needs more guitar.”
“Because I’m correct.” She hopped up into the Jeep and started backing out of the spot before I had my seatbelt on. She paused at the turn onto Destiny. “Speaking of. Play those songs for me.” She handed me the cord for the CarPlay system.
“Now?”
“Yeah. If it’s playable in a car thing the song is already halfway there.”
“They’re so rough.”
“Who cares. Lindz sounds like a dying cat when she makes voice notes. Can’t be worse than that.”
I plugged in and found the voice notes I’d made for myself. The first one was the roughest and I cringed listening to it without any production to clean it up.
James tapped on the steering wheel as the song cycled through to the end. She made a twirling motion with her finger for me to repeat the song. Her husky voice picked up the lyrics on a third way through. It was so sharp versus my cleaner vocal style.
She rearranged a few of the words and I itched to write them down, but she changed them four more times and every single one was amazing. It annoyed me how limitless her prose was, right off the cuff.
I poured over my lyrics sometimes for hours to find one word.
By the time we got back to my house, she was pulling her earbuds out and taking over my phone.
I rolled my eyes, grabbed our bag, and followed her to the door.
She had her eyes closed as she listened intently.
When I opened the door, she ran inside, passed by my mother and father, and went right into the music room.
My mother’s eyebrows rose. “She didn’t even say hi?”
“Sorry, she was on fire in the car. Let me just go get her.” I set the bags down and ran after her.
James had been to my house a few times, but never with this kind of singular focus especially when there was food in the room. I pushed the door open to my music room and James was already at the piano.
It wasn’t her usual medium, but then again she hadn’t stopped to get her instruments.
She was scribbling on the sheet music I always kept on the piano. I was about to urge her back into the kitchen when she held up a finger and spit out the singular most hauntingly perfect bridge I’d ever heard.
I dropped down on the bench beside her, my bones rattling.
James finally snapped out of her trance. “Think that’s it.” She left me there at the bench, the door still open.
“Hey, Mrs. D. Looking good,” I heard her say.
Her throaty laugh faded as I stared at the sheet music. All the words I’d poured over simply rearranged with a hook that had been missing.
The hell of an ocean of streets between us.
Daring him to leave me.
Daring myself to hold onto blind faith.
I scrawled “Blind Faith” across the top of the paper.
The one thing I was so freaking afraid of.
While my career had been soaring, all of my personal relationships had crashed and burned without fail.
Blind faith was asking a whole lot from me.