Resonance, page 21
“How’d it feel?” Ryder tipped his water bottle to his mouth for a long swallow.
“Weird.” I consulted the buzzing sensation humming through me like a plucked string vibrating, noted the faint sense of dizziness. “Not bad.”
Ryder grinned as he shouldered off the wall and tilted his head toward the corridor that led to the green room. “Welcome back, D.”
I ducked into the hallway when I could, away from the cacophony of voices and scent of fried food, and pulled out my phone.
“Sooooo?” Owen answered.
“So… it was good, I guess.”
He chuckled. “‘Good, you guess.’ I’ll bet it was awesome. I already pulled up YouTube to see if anyone snuck some footage, but there’s nothing posted yet.”
“I froze for a second up there. Thought of you.”
“Oh, fuck off.”
“I didn’t mean that meanly, just that it’s one thing to talk about stage fright and another to be reminded of exactly how it feels. Still sucks.”
“Oh. Well, yeah.” Owen paused. “So did you snap out of it?”
Ryder’s PA, Barrett, opened the door and peered into the hallway until he found me and gave me a pointed look. I lifted two fingers and he nodded, closing the door. “Yeah. We used to have this trick between us, Ryder and I. If one of us was flailing, we’d say ‘Nita’s basement.’ She was a friend of ours, and we used to practice at her place a lot because we both lived in tiny apartments and she still lived with her parents. Anyway, kinda stupid, but apparently still works. I haven’t thought of that basement in years, but the second he said it, I could smell the dank air, see the old futon and beanbag chairs. Always quiet and dark down there.” I realized I was rambling and pulled up short.
Owen was quiet for a moment, then said softly, “I’m glad it worked.”
“Where are you?”
There was another short pause and hesitation in his voice when he replied, “At the shop. I stayed a little late. I got kinda lost in doing a new display idea I had the other day. Hope that’s okay.”
I pictured him sitting on the floor of one of the aisles, records scattered around him, the choppy ends of his hair all over the place, lips puckered in concentration as he sorted through sleeves. I pressed my lips together, but the smile I was fighting tugged the corners anyway. “Of course it is. You set the alarm, though, right?”
“I set the alarm,” he droned in a monotone, then exhaled a breathy laugh that went straight to my groin. “Did you wear the jeans tonight?”
“I wore jeans, yeah. Why?” I wondered if I’d committed some unknown fashion faux pas. But Ryder had been wearing jeans, too, and a button-down shirt to my tee. And Jesus, when had I cared about fashion anyway?
“No, the jeans. I snuck ’em in your suitcase last minute with a note because you left them out, which was the wrong move.”
I frowned. “I didn’t see them. I’ve just been pulling from the top of the pile.”
“Then you should look for them tonight.”
“Okay,” I said, and laughed. It was good hearing his voice. Even a day and a half out, it was apparent how much I’d gotten used to it as a constant attribution to the general ambience. And that I missed it already. It was too far away.
Barrett poked his head into the hallway again, and I nodded at his strained expression before telling Owen, “We’ve gotta go do some interview thing, and then there’s a party a radio station is throwing.” Already, I was craving a pillow over more meet and greets and handshakes.
“That sounds awesome. I hope you have a great time.” There was plenty of warmth and sincerity in Owen’s voice, but it still sounded stiff somehow. I wished I could lay my hand over his neck and feel his strong, rapid pulse beneath my fingertips.
“Don’t stay at the shop too late.”
“I won’t,” Owen promised. “Jezebel would have my ass.”
We got back to the bus well past midnight, Ryder swaying in a buzzed stupor toward the back, while I sought out the suitcase I’d stored in the bunk across from mine.
I dug through my neatly folded shirts and jeans until, in the middle, I discovered a pair with a piece of paper sticking out of the back pocket. Owen had written: “Wear these and the seas will part. People will make offerings of goats, anoint you with oil, and fall at your feet. I.e., these jeans make your ass look awesome. Leaving them behind was a severe oversight on your part that concerns me. Any family history of early onset dementia?”
I could hear his lilting ramble like it was right next to me, and I folded up the note with a smile, then tucked it right back into the pocket.
CHAPTER 24
Five days later at Grim’s, I moved mindlessly through inventory alongside Ivy. We bickered about a Jessup Polk song that had mysteriously appeared on Spotify a couple of days ago. She thought it was half-assed. I disagreed. Ivy didn’t know the difference between a melody and a harmony, but because we both liked to argue, we’d been hashing out the minutiae for the last half hour.
We could easily carry the debate over the rest of the afternoon, which was honestly way better than listening to her alternately bitch and gush about Zane. He’d stopped by earlier, lingered like a bad smell, and had called me Sprout twice. His stupid frosted tips had been bleached even whiter, and I was willing to bet if I’d taken a lighter to it, the whole thing would’ve gone up like a hay bale in mid-July.
Ru wandered in from the office and rested his arms over the back of a display case. “Lotta salt in here today. Can hear y’all chittering and hissing at each other like a pair of squirrels over an acorn.” He canted his head in Ivy’s direction. “You can go ahead and head out if you want to. Don’t think it’s likely to pick up any more. I’ll clock you out at the hour.”
She hopped up with a grin but couldn’t resist leaning down and poking her head in my bubble of personal space. “Half-assed.” To which I responded with a half-assed swat.
Ru watched her disappear into the shop’s hallway, then regarded me. “I don’t like seeing my Sunbeam all overcast.”
That earned him a tiny smile. “I’m not overcast, I’m doing inventory, which is the weather equivalent of, like, El Niño. I apologize. I’ll eat a burrito for lunch and fan the rainbows that shoot from my ass afterward in your general direction if it’ll make you feel better.”
He chuckled and came around the display, settling on the floor next to me. I handed him one of the inventory sheets.
“Thought we could all get together and watch that pay-per-view webcast they’re doing in a couple weeks at my place. You game?”
I gnawed on my lower lip, then nodded. “Sure.”
We worked beside each other the rest of the afternoon, Ru occasionally rising to change out the music playing through the store’s speakers, me occasionally helping a customer.
I’d finished for the day and was heading back to Dan’s when my phone rang. I fumbled it out of my pocket like greased lighting. I’d been hoping for a text or call from Dan all day. Hoping, but trying not to expect it, though I knew by now Hope and Expectation were the most volatile of BFFs.
But though the number on my screen had a Nashville area code, it wasn’t one I was familiar with.
I answered it warily, anticipating a telemarketer. There was this one who called me at least once a week trying to sell me an extended warranty on my car even though I kept telling her my car would laugh at that. And then probably fall apart in the process.
“Owen?” I didn’t recognize the voice, but they knew my name and boy did it sound sexy.
“This is Owen, yes…” And then it hit me and I had to clap my hand over my mouth to avoid a squee. One did not squee in the presence of Les Graves. I’d only squeed one other time in my life, the first time I ever got to go backstage after an Armageddon Eyes concert. The lead singer had made a face of such concern that I vowed never to repeat it.
The impending squee transmuted itself to a full-body jitter of excitement I had to tamp down because Les could be calling me for any number of reasons. I had the sudden, gut-twisting thought that he could actually be calling to tell me my music was an insult to real songwriters.
I dropped my keys trying to open my car door and gave up, leaning against the side.
“Oh good,” he continued, sounding pleased. “I kept the sales receipt you gave me your number on a few months back”—it was more like many, many months back, but who was counting, and they’d cut an album and gone on tour since I’d given him the paper with my number and some links to my songs—“but one of the numbers got a little blurred and I wasn’t sure.”
Do not hyperventilate.
“Oh, no worries. Glad to hear from you.” Ecstatic, shuddery, shivery with joy. And shit, I did accidentally “eep” there at the end. I was proud of myself for sounding so mellow up until that point, though. Les’s chuckle was like melted chocolate. I wanted to lick it up. No, stop, brain. He had a fiancé now. A very sexy one. Who could kick my ass in a heartbeat.
“Hey, listen, I’m sorry it took me so long to get around to listening to your stuff. A lot of shit went down and…”
“Oh yeah, I saw. I mean I heard. Well, I heard and I saw. Ru and I were actually watching your Facebook live thing while we were in the shop, and I’m pretty sure my heart melted right out of the toes of my shoes, which was great, because I’d been wondering what the hell happened since when you two were in the store in Gatlinburg, it was all very grrrrr and then…” Jesus, take the wheel and put on the brakes. I sucked in a breath. “Anyway, I’m glad it worked out.” I’d clearly had a rambling relapse. No one was ever gonna wanna put me on a stage at this rate. I was a disaster. When Les had been in the shop in Gatlinburg, I’d repeated myself incessantly upon meeting him for the first time and then slapped myself in the face a little too hard.
“Owen?” He paused, I think sensing I needed that break to collect myself. I dragged in another breath and let it sit in my lungs, hoping it’d soak up some of the word napalm. Then he continued. “I think your stuff’s pretty damn good. Ev listened to it, too, and agrees. Do you know what you want to do with it?”
A tiny beam of starlight broke through the heavy cloud cover gathered in my chest and twinkled. “I hadn’t really planned ahead that far, I just saw the opportunity while you were in the store and took it.” And made an idiot out of myself. But we didn’t need to rehash that in verbal technicolor.
“All right, good to know. And that’s no problem, okay? I’m gonna be honest, though, the sound quality is utter garbage.”
The hopeful twinkle winked out, but I shouldn’t have been surprised. “Yeah, I know.” I hated the whispery tone that leaked into my voice. “I recorded it myself on my computer, and I don’t have Pro Tools or anything close to professional, just this crappy recording app I downloaded.”
“Yeah, and it sounds like it. But again, that’s all right. Hang on—” I heard some static like he was trying to muffle the phone, then a few wisps of conversation… babe… Owen… yeah. Then more static.
“Owen.” Evan’s voice boomed through the speaker, and oh god, I was in aural heaven, two of the sexiest men in music coming through the airwaves directly into my ear. Inexplicably, my dick gave a celebratory twitch. I had no idea adrenaline boners were actually a real thing until that moment. “Is he tearing off your wings?”
I laughed. “Kinda. No, not really. He’s right. The sound quality sucks.”
“See?” That was Les. “I’m not tearing off anything…” More muffling, then a dark chuckle from Evan. Les cleared his throat. “Anyway, we were thinking you should rerecord some of those songs with better equipment.”
I wondered if there was a bottom somewhere my heart could rest against. So far it seemed to be sinking into an infinite abyss. “Yeah, I know. I’m saving up for some studio time, but it’s definitely gonna be another few months before I’m there.”
Evan again. “Actually, we could help you with that. We’ve got recording capabilities at our place. Not all the bells and whistles you’d find in the pro studios, but we can help you get some clean cuts if you want.”
The abyss vanished and my heart squeezed anew. It was getting a full workout today. “Really? That’d be amazing. Um… how much does something like that run?”
“Your—” Les started, but Evan cut him off.
“Don’t fuck with him, dude.” And then he addressed me. “No charge.”
“Are you shitting me?”
“Nope.”
And I was back in the clouds again, soaring in a diamond sky of starlight.
“We’ve got some downtime right now. We could schedule some time soon, sound good?”
“Sounds amazing.” My eyes welled up, and it was all I could do to keep my voice from becoming quavery. I was not gonna cry on the phone with the legends that were Porter & Graves. No fucking way.
I’d probably just do it in person.
I’d started doing this thing when I’d get back to Dan’s at the end of the day, and I guess it was kind of weird because I was used to living by myself at my old place, but at Dan’s the solitude was such a stark highlighter of his absence that I found myself making as much noise as possible when I got there.
I’d toss the keys up and down or jangle them in my hands once I walked through the door, make a lot of noise setting my things down, or coo overly loudly at Jezebel until her ears pricked and she looked at me disparagingly for my transparent affection. In the kitchen, I turned on the radio and rattled pots and pans indiscriminately as I made dinner. But somehow filling the sense of emptiness with sound worked. For the most part. Kinda.
Jezebel weaved between my legs as I made mini meatloaves, and I fed her tiny meaty bits as I sat in Dan’s den with the TV on and ate. Afterward, I dragged out my guitar and notebooks, flipping through songs and trying to decide which ones to record with Les and Evan versus any newer stuff I had that might be worth adding in.
Around 10:00 p.m., a knock yanked me out of the zone, and I listened with my guitar resting on my lap, head cocked, to be sure.
But it didn’t come again. Instead, I heard the creak of Dan’s front door and then a booming “hello” that shook me.
For a fraction of a second, I thought it was Dan, that he’d left the tour behind and come home early. Shoving the guitar aside, I leapt up, belatedly realizing that didn’t make any sense. “Hel—” I paused to correct the annoying reediness in my voice and tried again as I crept toward the front of the house. “Hello?” I searched fruitlessly for a weapon of some kind. I didn’t imagine burglars usually said hello, but what did I know.
From the entryway, a man eyed me up and down. I returned the favor cautiously. He was tall and lanky, someone who could easily slip around corners unnoticed, with chocolate curls that dusted his cheeks and curved over his collar. A square jaw was speckled with stubble.
Jesus, he was a younger, dirtier, more feral version of Dan. The tension limning my shoulders relaxed and then drew tight again. “Are you…?”
“Aiden, Dan’s brother.” He canted his head. He had the same keen manner of looking at a person that Dan did, like they scoured over the surface of physical appearance until it thinned and revealed what was beneath. “Who’re you?”
“Owen. And I don’t think you’re supposed to be here.”
“‘Supposed to’ is relative, Owen.” Oh yeah, they were definitely related. Aiden gave me a crooked smile. Completely charming but with less inherent warmth than Dan’s.
“I dunno, it sounds pretty finite to me. He didn’t say you were coming, and…”
“Didn’t know I was coming and yet, here I am.” He scratched his jaw, then thumbed over his shoulder. “Spare key was under the rock. If Dan had been serious, he’d have removed it. He’s done it before. So I consider it a fluctuating directive. This time in my favor.”
“Honestly, he probably left it there anticipating me losing the house key at some point.” I regarded Aiden suspiciously as he spun around and took two steps back toward the porch to haul in a suitcase and a guitar case.
Aiden shrugged as he dropped them. “Whichever. It was there and I’m here. And still a little confused about who you are and why you’re in my brother’s house.” He aimed a finger at my tee. “Agree with the sentiment, though.”
I glanced down distractedly at the shirt, which read, “I like long walks away from other people,” then whipped my gaze back to him as he started dragging his suitcase toward the room I was staying in. “Hey! That’s my room.”
“Funny, pretty sure I spent a lot of my childhood occupying it.”
I trailed behind him. “I can’t stay in Dan’s room, that would be weird.”
“So, not his boyfriend, then?” Aiden flicked a look of casual assessment over me. “Not his usual type, I guess.” I bristled at that. “Houseboy? Struggle to see him getting into that, either.” He chuckled to himself.
I felt my cheeks pinking angrily under the scrutiny and his demeanor in general. “Do people actually like you?”
Aiden tossed his guitar case carelessly on the bed, making me wince in empathy for it, then turned to me, giving me a disarmingly frank stare. His eyes had the same alluring depth as Dan’s, but there was a stoniness to them that Dan lacked. “Not many, nope. You?”
“I have plenty of friends.” I sniffed.
He did that up-and-down look again, recognition finally dawning. “Owen… you’re one of his employees at the store. He trick you into housesitting for him out here in the sticks?”
“No, my apartment flooded and Dan offered to let me stay for a while and then…” I struggled with how to finish the story because my mind kept trying to detour to kitchen sex, then den sex. Walking together. Shower sex. Playing together. Morning sex. A lot of sex. “Tour!” I blurted, then left it for Aiden to patch all that together as I pulled out my phone. “I’m calling him.”
“Anything I can say that’ll convince you not to do that?” Aiden proposed it smoothly, like he wasn’t attached to the answer either way but had to try. And it had an effect, I’ll admit. Like Dan, he had the kind of aura that beckoned and a velvety cadence to his voice that made you want to say yes immediately. Damn genetics.
