by Kole, Lana
It wasn’t until she opened the door to the practice room that she heard it. But by then, it was too late to turn and avoid the one person she really didn’t want to see.
Emerson. Sitting in the floor, facing the trees, he strummed his bass with an absent look on his face. But once her reflection registered in the window, he turned around and she was met with that ever present nonchalance.
“Hi,” she said dumbly and backed away. “I can—”
“No, it’s okay. This is your space, after all,” he interjected dryly and stood.
“It’s the band’s space,” she corrected without thinking.
“I’ll practice at home,” he said, ignoring her comment and placing the guitar gently in its holder before striding toward her.
She stepped to the side, unable to do anything else but stare as he drew closer. The expression on his face was just one step up from polite. But it was forced. The cracks in his facade had split and widened a little more with each passing day, each time the music had stuttered to a stop because one of them tripped up.
It was so fake she couldn’t stand it, and frustration rushed through her. Days of irritation and confusion reached its boiling point, and she growled as he walked past her and put his hand on the knob.
“What is your problem with me?” she bit out. Slowly, she spun to face him.
His hand was still on the knob, his back straight, eyes turned forward. Tension lined his back and shoulders.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked.
Lyric ground her teeth together. “Well, we’re going to be touring together for the next six weeks. Might as well get it all out on the table now. Get it over with.”
When he didn’t answer, only stood there, she fisted her hands until her nails bit into her palms. “Is it because I’m an omega?” she asked quietly.
She’d written two albums. Sold out a tour. She took suppressants. They dulled her sense of smell and her own scent, but not her creativity. But still, her station as an omega was all that some saw when they looked at her. Was that all Emerson saw?
“It’s not because you’re an omega,” he answered, but it felt like a lie.
I’m not joining some spoiled omega’s collection.
Their very first conversation came to mind, and she rolled her eyes. “Your first words to me said otherwise. But say I believe you. That the fact I’m an omega doesn’t bother you. What does bother you then?” she questioned.
She didn’t have to prove herself to him. Emerson could either see her as a musician of equal—if not better—talent, and learn to work with her, or he could leave.
Despite how she’d felt the day she’d chosen the band, she would find another bassist if she had to.
As the silence dragged on, she wanted to shake him. She wanted to crawl inside his mind like a book and flip the pages of his thoughts and find out what the hell was bothering him.
Stupid alphas. Couldn’t they just use their words?
“That you’re spoiled,” he bit out.
Lyric rocked back on her feet and put her hands on her hips. “Spoiled?”
He waved his hand around the room. “Okay fine. At first, yes, I was jealous and a little bitter that you got signed and I didn’t. But I got over it. So yes. Spoiled. You get your pick of the most talented musicians in the city like some kind of pop princess, you audition them at a five-star hotel, you practice in this outrageously expensive private studio, you—”
“Want the best for my career? My tour? My band?” she growled, and leaned forward. “I’m sorry, are you seriously complaining because the rehearsal space is pretty?”
A tic pulsed in his jaw, but he remained silent, and her fingers clenched where she rested her hands on her hips. Leave marks on her skin or strangle the annoying alpha?
Decisions, decisions.
“I was hoping you’d prove me wrong,” he admitted, voice quiet and low. “That when we practiced and I got to see you in action, I’d be able to see the same omega who wrote ‘Finish Line.’ Who captivated the scouts and got signed from one performance.”
Lyric blanched. That was the most painful song to write. To sing. The hardest to get through without her voice breaking along with her heart. It was the seventh song on her second album, and it was rarely heard on the radio—if anywhere. The fact that Emerson picked that song to reference showed… she didn’t even know.
“That song is powerful, and I was hoping to see the same person who wrote it, who lived it. But instead, all I’ve seen is someone who won’t sing.”
Lyric’s eyes widened. What did he think she’d been doing in this same room for the past three days?
“Uhm, are you sure you’ve been in the right place? I’ve been singing.”
“You’re singing lazily,” he snapped. “After three days of rehearsing with you, I’m wondering how the hell someone like you produces such intricate, passionate music if you did it the same way you’re rehearsing with us.”
When he emphasized the word you, he motioned behind him to the microphone.
The notion of his words hit her a split second after she opened her mouth for a rebuttal, and she snapped it shut. He was right.
She was singing lazily, because… she didn’t want to be vulnerable around this alpha.
Singing, whether it be for a performance, practice, or to an empty room, was an intimate thing. Something that she chose to share with the world, yes, but it was also a piece of her.
Music had been there for her when she’d had nothing. Her best work had come from a dark place in her life, and each time she revisited those songs, she went back there.
Each practice was to prepare for the tour. She was supposed to put her heart and soul into each rehearsal, just like she was going to do on stage.
She knew the words. She knew the notes and the keys and the tempo changes by heart. Anyone could sing her notes, perform her songs with the band. But only one person could put her emotion into each song, knew the story behind each lyric.
She just had to be willing to do that in front of everyone, including the alpha before her.
Why did it not faze her to imagine singing in front of an entire venue, but she froze up when she sang in front of Emerson?
“You’re right. I’m singing lazily,” she admitted.
Because of you, she wanted to say. But then she’d have to explain why.
Explain that she had the stupid urge to earn his approval while telling herself she didn’t need anyone’s approval. Explain her need for a promise that he would withhold his judgment.
He didn’t speak, shock blanketing his features, as if her response wasn’t one he was prepared for.
“I was singing lazily. But I won’t anymore. Tomorrow, I’ll do better.”
With that, she left the practice space as he stood there gaping.
She didn’t need to rehearse, didn’t need to practice her own songs. What she needed to do was get over herself.
People would always be judging her. It was part of being a musician. Critics. Bloggers. Radio hosts. They all had an opinion, and none of them were shy.
But somehow, Emerson’s words… hurt.
And at the same time, she wanted to show him how wrong he was.
No, she didn’t have to prove anything to him.
But she was going to anyway.
The next morning, she drew resolve around her like a protective cloak.
She was Lyric Ceran. She was a badass. She could totally flay herself open and sing for the band. On tour, she’d be doing it every night to a venue full of people. It wasn’t that much different to do it in the rehearsal space.
Her steps were quiet as she ghosted down the hallway to their room, her heart racing with each step. As she drew closer to the door, she realized it was cracked open, and voices drifted out to the hallway.
“Are you going to put your fudging attitude away and play today?” Adra asked, his voice deep and rumbly.
Emerson grunted in response, and
a dull thud sounded. “Ow, asshole,” he muttered.
“I’m not the one with an attitude. It’s Lyric,” he hissed.
“Yeah, we get it, you have a hate-on for her.” Desi’s sharp voice cut through the hallway. “But put it in your pants and be nice. Fucking alphas,” she muttered.
Lyric couldn’t fight her smile at the last comment but remained utterly still as she shamelessly eavesdropped.
“What the—A what on?”
“A hate-on. You know, you really wanna hate her so you’re looking for any reason to do so. Just get over it, man. She’s an angel and she’d fucking sing like one if you’d quit shooting daggers at her all day.”
“I’m not—” Emerson cut himself off and huffed. “I don’t know. I’m trying, but like—the omega that walks into the room every day doesn’t seem like the same one who wrote those songs, you know? And she’s not singing like it. So why? And speaking of, why the hell does she take suppressants? She’s an omega. Why doesn’t she own up to it?”
Lyric’s cheeks flamed as defensive responses began running through her head, but she kept her mouth shut.
“Sorry, I missed the part where it’s any of your business,” Desi retorted, deadpan.
“Okay,” Adra said, and she heard a chair screech over the floor. “It’s still early. Drink some more coffee and try to be in a good mood. We all need to do better. There are less than two weeks until we play the first show. Get it together.”
“What are we listening to?” a voice asked right beside her ear.
She jumped and let out a shrill screech. It echoed around the hallway before she choked it off with a gasp and spun to face—Nohen. Horror washed over her as everyone in the other room went quiet, and she glared.
A knowing grin split his lips and he nodded toward the rehearsal room. “Shall we?”
“You suck,” she snapped.
He winked.
With an eyeroll, Lyric gripped her travel mug tighter and walked into the rehearsal room. Quickly, she darted her gaze from one to the other to garner their reactions.
Desi was the only one with an unashamed grin on her face. Adra smiled softly, cheeks darkening in embarrassment, and Emerson had donned that stupid indifferent expression.
Irritation flared up inside her, but she pushed it away.
Today, she’d sing with no fear.
A tiny, stubborn part of herself wanted to show Emerson that she could do it. That she could sing with abandon like she had when she’d written and recorded two albums.
But to do that meant she had to be vulnerable. She had to open herself up to judgment and critique.
“Morning,” she offered softly. “I did voice exercises as I drove, so I’m ready when you guys are.”
Desi held up a finger and tipped her styrofoam cup back. And back some more. And some more. Until she sat it down with an inhale and smiled. “Caffeinated and good to go. Let’s kick ass!”
She punctuated her shout with a bang of drums, and Lyric couldn’t help but smile.
“Alright, let’s kick ass,” she echoed.
Emerson and Nohen repeated the sentiment, and they all turned to Adra.
His cheeks darkened and he scratched at his head. “Uh… Let’s do this!” he amended.
Lyric grinned at his PG version. “Why don’t we try something a little… different today. It’s no surprise we’ve been struggling this week, I know we can all feel it. So how about focusing less on playing my version of each song and play… our version?”
“Deal,” Nohen said.
Once Lyric had confirmations from the others, she turned and adjusted the mic stand. “Okay, let’s do… ‘The Light.’”
She stopped herself short of saying “Finish Line.” Part of herself wanted to sing that one just to shock the hell out of Emerson, but… let’s be reasonable.
She flicked her wrist through the air to signal, and Desi counted them in with a click of her drumsticks.
The drums opened the song with a light tap of the cymbals, the bass drum thumping along with the beat. Then Emerson with the deep, lulling bass line. Adra on the keyboard, a gentle, easy melody.
Nohen strummed a single chord every few beats, letting it ring through the room. Just as it would trail off, he’d strum again.
Lyric let the music seep into her, each beat and chord paired with Adra’s soft melody.
The bass line was a constant reminder of who was watching, and a stubborn part of her didn’t want to disappoint Emerson. Which pissed her off. She didn’t owe any part of herself to another person, but if she wanted to give it her all every night on stage, she needed to give a tiny part of herself to the band.
The music flowed around her, lulling and gentle and hypnotic. The familiarity of the song called to her, beckoning her closer. Lyric parted her lips and let her voice out, and at first—she recognized it clearly—she could hear what Emerson had been talking about.
The lyrics left her lips, but there was no emotion in them. She could be singing page seven hundred and forty-three of the encyclopedia, and no one would be able to tell the difference.
After the first verse, Lyric blinked her eyes open and studied the soundproofed walls. They were alone. It was just her and the music.
The music that still played sweetly around her—if mechanically. She wasn’t letting herself connect to the lyrics she’d poured on the page from her very soul, and the others in the room weren’t connecting either.
Lyric was the one who had to bridge the connection.
Letting her eyes drift closed again, she focused on the music. As it drifted around her, she forced herself to remember exactly why she’d written this song. When.
And how. In scribbled notes kept hidden beneath her mattress.
It swelled as the next verse approached like the tide, the water chilling her toes and shocking her into movement. It stung, but instead of backing out and seeking the safety of the warm sand, she took a step forward. And then another. She let the music surround her like freezing ocean water, let herself get lost in it, almost suffocating.
Then she sang.
The second her voice poured out of her, the entire room changed. At first, she could sense the surprise, almost feel their glances dart from her back to the others before back again. But then, as she let the emotion flow out of her into the lyrics, it all… merged.
Meshed. Flowed together.
“The Light” was a song about hopeless, loneliness, and fear. About never finding the light at the end of the tunnel.
And as Lyric remembered that terror, that anxiety, she did so knowing she had found the light at the end of the tunnel. That knowledge gave her the courage to keep singing, to keep spilling her soul into each word.
The second verse dipped right into the chorus, and as the music swelled, Lyric’s voice did too. The notes were high, but as she hit them, she was higher.
Her fingers clenched tightly around the mic stand and she gripped her other hand around the mic so firmly she could feel the indentions she’d leave.
She swayed with the music as the chorus dissolved into a dancy instrumental section, and she blinked her eyes open again. Risked a glance to her right.
Nohen’s fingers danced over the frets as he smiled down at his guitar, but as if he sensed her gaze, he glanced up. Relief filled her at the excitement in his eyes, but also… the somberness. As if he’d only just realized what the song was about. Or if he could sense the sadness she’d felt when she’d written it. Or maybe he even… understood.
Lyric pulled her gaze away, wanted to be brave enough to seek Emerson’s, but instead she faced forward and sang the chorus and vocal outro. Her voice trailed off with the rest of the music, and she sucked in a deep breath.
Time froze for a moment as silence filled the room in place of the song, and Lyric forced herself to turn and face the others.
“How was that?” she asked, a feigned air of confidence emitting from her.
“That was fucking awesome,” Desi
praised. “You killed that.”
“We all did,” Lyric amended, and Desi shrugged.
“Eh. We follow your lead.”
Lyric swallowed as she realized just how true that was. If she didn’t learn how to be vulnerable in her performance, how could she expect them to? If they had to go out on stage and give the crowd their all, she was going to lead the way.
“That was the best one yet,” Adra added. “Good job.”
She offered him a silent nod and a soft smile.
Pointedly, she ignored Emerson’s gaze until last. She grabbed a bottle of water to give herself something to do with her hands as she finally let her eyes trail up to his.
He didn’t say anything, but for once the nonchalance was gone. In its place was understanding.
No judgment, no irritation, no coldness.
“What’s next, princess?” he inquired.
That was a good question.
Forcing the stars out of his gaze, Nohen shook his head and glanced down at the guitar. It created beautiful sounds, but only at the command of his touch. And they’d just played their first truly amazing song as a band. He could feel it in his chest, in the energy in the room.
Whatever had been holding Lyric back since day one was gone. She was still hesitant, still shy of something, but the longer they practiced, the more confident she became.
“We’re totally kicking ass today,” Desi announced as they finished the final song of the set.
They’d been playing for a few hours, going straight through the set list and then retouching a few songs they’d stumbled over.
By they, Nohen really meant he.
At least that was what it felt like. Truthfully, while they all were finally riding the same wave of inspiration, finally all in sync with one another, it was still a new set of songs they were all learning. He was hyperaware of every mistake he made, every note he skipped or jumbled, and every beat he came in early on.
Damn Lyric for weaving such an intricate tapestry of music.
While this had been the best practice they’d had so far, it was far from perfect.
Which was exactly what Lyric had been stressing over so much that first morning. He’d be damned if he was the one who ruined it.
