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CHAPTER SIX

SAINT

“ I love that bridge,” Skip declared. “It’s fuckin’ Taylor worthy.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” I murmured with a smile. “Love TS or hate her; everyone knows she’s the queen of the bridge.”

“After releasing that, you will be, too,” my producer muttered, holding a headphone against his right ear. “That melody is fire. What the fuck’s got into you today?”

My eyes drifted toward the window, where I could see Jacob sitting in the green room, typing on a laptop.

I knew exactly what had inspired me. Jake had been my muse since the night I met him. There was no rhyme or reason to it, but then there didn’t have to be. Emotions and feelings had no rhyme or reason anyway.

“Who knows?” I shrugged.

“That arrangement’s been bugging me for days,” Skip went on. “Something about it wasn’t right, but I couldn’t work out what was annoying me. That change of key in the middle is genius. It really adds the layer we were missing. ”

“Sometimes it’s the simplest things,” I agreed. “It came to me last night, so I tried it out on my mixing desk at home, and bam, suddenly it just came together.”

“I think that song’s finished now,” he told me.

Slowly, I nodded. “Yeah. I’m happy with it, too.”

Jacob looked up, and our eyes locked. His smile took me by surprise, and without thinking about it, I beamed a smile back.

I’d been watching him on and off ever since we’d arrived at rehearsals a few hours earlier.

The sight of him there, focused and lost in whatever he was doing, stirred something inside me.

Jacob had struck a chord that kept resonating and refused to be ignored. It felt like we’d never been apart. The familiarity of his presence still settled me. Jacob was a paradox—tall, strong, and alpha as hell, but still almost childlike, mischievous, and unpredictable.

It was his mix of strength and vulnerability that drew me in from the moment we met, along with the rawness just underneath the surface that threatened to burst free when I least expected it.

Thrilling.

Enthralling.

Consuming.

An enigma that hijacked every thought and feeling.

Reaching for my pen, I opened my notepad to a clean, blank page and began to write. My mind was already elsewhere, formulating words and melodies simply because I couldn’t help myself.

Art was created when I was inspired.

My poet’s soul reared its head, and I became lost in the words buzzing around my brain like bees desperate to get out.

I poured my heart out, not even noticing when, one by one, the rest of the band arrived or even when Talia stuck her head around the door to say hi.

By the time I was ready to tear my focus away from the song I was writing, the afternoon sun had moved across the sky, and my stomach rumbled from hunger.

The door to the sound room opened, and I glanced up to see Jacob move inside, holding a takeout juice drink and a big plastic bowl of salad.

“Eat,” he ordered.

I took the food from him, asking, “What’s the time?”

“Coming up to three. Your boys have been jamming out in the rehearsal room. They told me to leave you to write, or else you’d turn into a Banshee.”

I chuckled. “The only time I get snappy is when somebody interrupts my writing process. When I’m in the zone, I like to stay there, or else I lose my train of thought.”

“You’re being okay with me now,” Jacob pointed out.

“I just finished,” I explained, opening the top of the clear plastic container and grabbing the plastic fork that came with it. “This looks good. Thanks.”

“Have you eaten anything today?” he asked.

My heart fluttered at his concern. “Only the big pile of eggs you made me this morning.”

He grinned. “Anyone would think I was one of those weird feeders.”

“Aren’t you?” I challenged, eyeing the salad pointedly.

“If I were, that salad would be tacos,” he muttered, nodding toward my lunch. “Not shrimp and goddamned chicken rabbit food.”

“I love shrimp and chicken,” I muttered, forking a heap of food into my mouth.

“So do I when it’s from a Chinese restaurant.”

I chewed my food and swallowed. “I love Chinese food, too.”

He flashed me his sexy grin again, “We went to a Chinese place after the festival, remember? ”

“Yeah,” I breathed before turning his words from the day before back on him. “I remember everything.”

Jacob’s gaze flickered as it held mine, and for a moment, I was transported back to the time we spent together.

A flicker of resentment ignited inside me.

We were both there that night, and I knew he felt the same things I felt. It hurt knowing how easily he’d carried on with his life when, without my music, I think I would’ve fallen apart.

Jacob cleared his throat, his face taking on a guarded look as he stepped back.

“Enjoy your lunch,” he said, his entire aura suddenly distant. Then I watched him turn around and leave, his easy demeanor replaced by a tension I couldn’t explain.

It was like he’d closed the curtains on his emotions, and I was on the outside trying to see in, only to be shut out.

I stabbed at my food, trying to shake off the unexpected ache in my belly from the surge of emotions. Maybe I needed to purge my feelings into a song and just move the fuck on already.

I felt my throat start to tingle.

God only knew why I kept trying to flog the dead horse that was Jacob Irons. It may have felt right, and our connection may have been stronger than I’d ever experienced before, but sometimes, what felt true and honest, in reality, was very wrong.

And after two years, it was time to start accepting it.

I spied Boomer’s approach through the glass window. He opened the door, poking his head around it. “Are we gonna rehearse the new arrangement? Skip’s gone over everything with us, and we’ve got it down. We just need your eight-string and some vocals. ”

Boomer's easy energy lightened the heaviness in the room, and I forced a smile, pushing away all thoughts of Jacob. “On my way.” Then, grabbing my salad, drink, and notepad, I followed my friend to the rehearsal room.

“How do you like the changes?” I asked, walking over to Sam to give him a one-armed hug, then fist-bumping Jonny, who was already sitting at his drum kit.

Just being amongst my bandmates lifted my spirits, and suddenly, I felt lighter. This was what I needed to focus on. Whenever I stood up with my boys, my troubles melted away until all that was left was the music.

When we started the band, we swore we wouldn’t sell out and that everything we did would be about the music.

Back then, we were na?ve, sweet summer children who looked at the world through rose-tinted glasses.

Over time, I learned that along with success came expectations, and I found most of the pressures fell on me.

This business was harder for women. We had to work twice as hard as the men to achieve the same accolades, and even then, we were judged harsher, criticized more, and had to endure so much overt misogyny that some days, I just wanted to walk away.

Because of that, I tended to pick my battles wisely. I lost weight in order to help the record company cash in on my image. I listened to the stylist who was forced on me, and I smiled sweetly in interviews whenever the journalists asked the boys about the music while asking me about my love life.

It was worth all of that because if I did as I was told, I found that creatively, the record company left me alone. But then, it was in their interests, seeing as I made them millions of dollars .

I knew if I worked hard and played their game, one day I could dictate my terms, and it would be the record company who’d have to fall into line with my wishes.

I could eventually set up my own label and have full control of everything, but until then, I had to keep on keeping on and smile my way through all the bullshit.

Jonny counted us in on three, and I felt a semblance of peace wash over me.

Boomer began to play the opening riff to the song I’d rearranged earlier, and the resonating beat kicked in.

I closed my eyes and began to strum the accompanying chords while Sam slapped out the bassline. Then, I stepped up close to the microphone, opened my mouth, and began to sing.

—————

“Lovin’ that new bridge, Saint,” Jonny said approvingly from the couch opposite. “That key change really elevates it.” His hand dived into a bag of Goldfish crackers, and he tossed a handful in his mouth.

“Thanks. I don’t know why I missed it before, it seems so obvious now we’ve changed it.”

Boomer nudged me from my side. “I’ve told you before. Stop doing that.”

I laughed. “I accepted the compliment.”

“You did, then you followed it up with a jibe at yourself about missing the key change. Remember when you taught me that songwriting’s a process, and sometimes it takes time for every component to fall into place?”

“Okay,” I acquiesced good-naturedly. “You’ve made your point.”

“Good,” he muttered .

“Are we all going to the Dischordium party tonight?” Sam asked. “I’ve asked Jolie to come with me. It’d be good if you all met her.”

I grimaced slightly.

The party would be cool, but I was exhausted. Songwriting always took it out of me emotionally, and with Jacob and the rest of the security team hanging around the studio all day, I’d had to concentrate more to keep my focus.

A couple of times, Jake had walked past the window, and I’d forgotten the words or bummed a note, which wasn’t like me at all.

All I wanted to do was go home and curl up in front of the TV, but I’d made a commitment to show my support, and after everything Noah had done for me and the band recently, I didn’t want to let him down.

“I’ll go, see their set, then leave. I want to get some sleep tonight because I want to spend tomorrow working out the arrangement for the new song I wrote earlier.”

“Thought we were having a rest day tomorrow?” Jonny cut in. “Was gonna party tonight. It’s been a while since I’ve gotten wasted.”

Boomer barked a laugh. “It’s been three days, dude.”

“That’s what I said,” Jonny muttered indignantly. “A while.”