Page 43 of The Masks We Wear (Satan’s Angels #1)

Brody

We’re in the middle of bumblefuck, Tennessee now.

No hate against the state, it just isn’t for me.

It’s more Ivory’s forte than mine, considering the girl loves cowboy hats and cowboy boots.

Me? I’m a city girl through and through.

I wear sneakers with nearly every outfit and crop tank tops with baggy jeans.

I won’t lie though, the nightlife in Nashville is fun.

We used to get wild here before we had to get sober.

I miss the fun we had, but not the drugs or alcohol we had to consume to have it.

No, I’m completely content where I am right now, in the studio Selene rented for us to work on the album.

When we left Michigan three days ago and came to Nashville, we had six songs that we still needed to finish.

Now, we only have four left. We’ve consumed an ungodly amount of energy drinks, staying awake all throughout the night working.

Selene extended our time in Nashville, hoping we would get more done in the studio between shows and it wasn’t a bad idea on her part.

Aria, Ivory, and I are communicating so well and putting our heads together to form good ideas.

If one of us doesn’t like an idea another presents, we address it like adults and offer a solution or a tweak to the idea that everyone likes.

I’m falling in love with music all over again and I never fell out of love with it.

I think being on good terms with the girls definitely helps.

I find myself worrying less and less with each passing day about being kicked out and replaced.

The only thing that truly bothers me is the hate we seem to be getting since we got sober.

Selene demands we don’t look at social media and that the hate comments are good because the legal team can use them to prove we’ve improved our behavior and found reason.

That doesn’t mean it doesn’t still bother me.

“Oh, I like that,” Aria compliments Ivory’s riff on her bass. I love it too.

I glance at Harvey over my shoulder to find him looking exhausted. I frown, feeling guilty for making him stay here with me. I check my phone to find it’s two in the morning. How did we lose track of time? We’ve been here since five in the evening. I look up at the girls, “Are you guys tired?”

Ivory chooses this exact moment to yawn, covering her mouth with the back of her hand. “I’m fucking wiped, B.”

“Same,” Aria adds.

Ivory sets her bass down and grins at us both, “We made two whole songs today, guys. All we have to do is record them and then we just have four more to worry about. We’ve got this,” she encourages us.

The admission that I have a song I’ve been working on myself is on the tip of my tongue and every time I open my mouth to share it with them, the words never come out.

I’ve made more progress on my song’s lyrics, not so much the instrumentals since I haven’t had much time alone in the studio.

I have nearly the whole thing written, I think I’m just missing a verse or two.

“We’ll have four more done by the last show.

Tomorrow, we’ll record these ones and have them done and sent to the label. ”

Ivory and Aria walk closer to the door, ready to leave. When I don’t move, they quirk their heads at me in confusion. “Didn’t you want to wrap things up?” Aria asks, confused.

I nod, “Yeah, I just want to do one more thing before I go but you guys don’t have to stay. I’ll catch up with you tomorrow morning.”

They shrug, too tired to argue or ask questions before they wave their goodbyes at Harvey and exit the studio. Once the door closes behind them, Harvey sits up straighter in his seat, “What is it you need to do?”

I look between my drum set, the piano, and Harvey, biting my lip.

I want to stay a little longer and work on my song.

I haven’t had any time to myself to work on it since I’ve been wrapped up in both the deal with the label and spending time with Harvey.

I shake my head when I make my decision.

I do want to work on my song, but it isn’t fair to keep him here when he’s exhausted.

He’s been here with me for hours, and he deserves to rest. “Nothing, we can go.”

He raises a palm in a “stop” gesture. “No, no. You have something you want to do and leaving isn’t it. What is it?”

I cross my arms over my chest, “I wanted to work on something but it can wait. You’re tired and you’ve been here all day.”

He relaxes on the couch, getting comfortable, “Go ahead. I’ll wait.”

“Harvey-”

I start but he cuts me off, “Brody, I know you much better than you think which means I know you well enough to know that there is a song at your fingertips that needs to be played, needs to be heard and if it doesn’t, you won’t sleep.

So I have no problem sacrificing some more of mine if that means your peace of mind will be ensured and besides, I like watching you play. ”

I melt at his words. Why does he have to make it so impossible to not catch feelings for him? Ugh. Stupid ass babysitter, worming his way into my heart with his perfect face and perfect words. “But you’re exhausted.”

“I’m a big boy, I can handle staying up late.”

I smirk, “Are you sure? Pretty sure I heard a nurse from the assisted living facility down the street calling for you. You know, since you old people need to be in bed by eight? I’m sure they’ve formed a whole search party by now to find you,” I tease him.

He full on laughs at my joke, “Always so damn witty.”

I preen, “That’s what I do.”

He rolls his eyes at me, still fighting off the remains of laughter, “Go play your instruments and leave this old man alone.”

I chuckle as I turn on my heel and drop into the seat of my set.

I pick up my sticks, twirling them around between my fingers as I let the creativity flow through me.

I listen to the lyrics in my head, the piano interlude, all of it, humming the melody until the sounds of the drums start to play with them.

I look over my shoulder to find Harvey’s eyes on me so intensely, analyzing my every movement, every sound.

Usually, I don’t like having anyone but Aria and Ivory around when I’m creating, finding it too distracting.

But Harvey doesn’t distract me, his presence only seems to spark my creative genius.

I turn back to the set, rapping on the cymbals and then the bass drums.

I lose myself in the beat, my body taking over as I hit the toms, the snare, all of them in a beautiful melody of chaos and destruction.

The song has a consistent beat to it, only picking up in parts I know Aria and Ivory would have guitar riffs.

Between verses, I form a transition of hitting the cymbals and before I know it, I have the blueprint for the entire drum part.

I hear the piano in my head and leap out of my seat, my legs taking me to the piano bench before I can think better of it.

I play the interlude I started in my home studio, the night Harvey finger fucked me on the bench, but this time, I add to it.

I add a dark note, making the song sound almost gothic and evil.

It pairs well with the light hearted melody I have and then I play it again two more times to perfect it and commit it to memory.

I feel Harvey’s eyes on me the whole time and it only fuels my fire, the light inside me not wanting to be put out.

I turn to look at him over my shoulder and his eyes are wide awake.

He looks like he just drank a cup of dark roast and is just starting his morning.

Did my music wake him up? “Am I being too loud?” I can’t read the expression on his face, it’s too neutral.

He has that familiar crease between his brows but I can’t tell if he’s pleased by the music or if he hates it.

The possibility of the latter makes my stomach drop.

I think I’d rather my fans all hate my music than Harvey.

His opinion is important to me and I’m practically hanging off the edge of my seat as I wait for his response.

“No,” he says, his voice low and husky.

I feel my palms starting to grow clammy. Why isn’t he saying much? “Did it sound bad?” I ask, my voice sounding squeaky and unconfident.

The corner of his lips curve into a faint smile, “No, quite the opposite. I’ve never heard anything like that before.”

Oh? “And?” I press him for his opinion.

“And it sounds good. Really good, Brody. Have you played that for the girls?” He asks.

I deflate, shaking my head. “No.”

“Why?” He looks almost disappointed.

I sigh, “Because I’ve never written a song completely on my own before and I don’t know if it really sounds good or if you’re just saying it does to make me feel good.”