Blur (Changing Colors Book 2)

by Alcorn, N. A.

  While Jamie called it an early night, heading home before dusk, his fiancée was busy singing on stage with Dylan during the band’s show at The Howlin’ Wolf in New Orleans.

  We’re curious to see what the cameras for Mad Sounds managed to catch last night while Brooke and Dylan sang a cover of Major Lazer’s hit song, Powerful.

  Not exactly a song choice for two people who are claiming to be “just friends.”

  The next episode of Mad Sounds will air Monday night on C&E. Fingers crossed we’ll get to see highlights of Careless Cockups’ show in the Big Easy.

  Brooke

  We’re still in New Orleans, holed up in the studio for the past twenty-four hours working on recording the last song for the album, Blur. The lyrics strike a nerve with me. A deep nerve. I’ve think I’ve died a thousand deaths listening to Dylan sing them over and over again.

  It’s taking every ounce of strength to keep my ass in this studio.

  While Dylan is in the booth, Walter—one of the studio’s assistants—walks in holding six cups of coffee. Zach, Alex, and Jesse all voice approval from the giant leather sofa behind the soundboard. Walter laughs, handing them each a cup before heading my way and setting a giant latte in front of me.

  “You’re a godsend.” I take a sip of the much-needed caffeine boost.

  He grins. “Glad I could help. Anything else y’all need?”

  “Nah, Walter. I think we’re good. Thanks again for all of your help.”

  “How was that?” Dylan asks from the booth.

  Nigel presses the intercom button. “Hold on, mate. That was really good, but I wanna try a little something.” He turns towards me, smiling wide.

  “What?” I ask, confused.

  “Do you trust me, Brooke?”

  I tilt my head. “That depends.”

  “Oh, c’mon. You trust me. You trust my judgment. Admit it.”

  “Yeah, but…” I trail off, eyeing him with skepticism.

  “Do you trust my judgment?” he asks Jesse

  “Without a fucking doubt.”

  I sigh heavily. “Okay, what do you want to try? Or should I rephrase and say, what do you want me to try?”

  “It’s just an idea. One that needs your kick ass vocals.”

  My head shakes back and forth manically. “No way, dude.”

  Alex laughs. “Oh, come on, Tink, you can do it. You kicked ass the other night on stage.”

  “Exactly,” Nigel agrees. “You and Dylan blew my bloody mind singing Powerful.”

  “Come on, Tinkerbell, don’t be such an arsehole,” Jesse teases.

  I glare at him over my shoulder. “No one asked for your input, Jessica.”

  Alex and Zach chuckle.

  “Hey now! Only my brother can call me Jessica. Ain’t that right, Dylana?”

  Dylan’s laugh is heard through the speakers, and that’s when I gather Nigel is still holding down the intercom, ensuring he’s included in this discussion.

  “First, let me ask you guys this,” Nigel announces to the band. “What do you think about having Brooke’s vocals—”

  “Oh, hell no!” I interject.

  Nigel laughs. “Let me rephrase. What do you think about having someone else’s vocals on one of your tracks? Preferably a female.”

  “If it makes the song better, I’m good with it,” Zach responds without hesitation.

  Jesse and Alex voice their agreeance, too.

  Dylan clears his throat, urging everyone’s attention back towards the booth. “I’m down with Brooke, but you’d have to do some serious convincing if it’s some random chick we don’t know.”

  I glare at Dylan. He just grins back, shooting a wink my direction.

  Of all people, he should know why this song might not be the best choice for us to sing together. It hits way to close to home. And it’s been slowly killing me since we wrote the music for it back in LA.

  Nigel claps his hands. “All right. It’s settled. Let’s give Brooke a shot and see what she can add to this already fan-fucking-tastic track. No pressure, sweetheart. Let’s just play around for a little bit.”

  Twelve hours later and I’m standing in the booth with Dylan. He looks relaxed, happy, and I’m a ball of nerves ready to unravel any minute.

  What started out as an “idea” has turned into a new twist on Blur’s original track. Despite my reticence on singing the lyrics, I can’t deny it’s perfect and will most likely help skyrocket Careless Cockups success. It’s just one of those songs, the second you hear it, you just know, you fucking know it will rock the music world.

  So, that’s why I’m standing here beside Dylan, ready to sing harmony on a song I know he wrote with yours truly in mind. I’m starting to wonder what I wouldn’t do for this man.

  “You sure you want to record the vocals together?” Nigel asks.

  Dylan nods, determined. “I want this to be perfect. I feel like I can’t get it right unless I can hear Brooke.”

  “All right, mate. Have it your way.” Nigel fiddles with the soundboard, while the rest of the band make themselves comfortable on the leather couch behind him.

  Jesse gives us a thumbs up, grinning wide. “Dylan, Tink…Make some motherfucking music history.”

  Even though anxiety claws at my throat, I can’t stop myself from laughing at the giant smile plastered across his face.

  Nigel moves around a few dials, adjusting the volume. “You guys ready?”

  Dylan nods, sliding his headphones on, but I just stand here like a deer in headlights. Fuck. I’ve got to calm my nerves. Clasping my hands behind my neck, I stare up at the ceiling and searching for my happy place.

  My mind goes to Millie. She would be beside herself if she were here. I think about my sixteenth birthday and the way her face lit up when she heard me play La Vie En Rose on the guitar she bought me. This is a full circle kind of moment. This is the moment she wanted to witness with her own eyes. Which means I need to get it together and make her proud.

  “Need a minute?” Dylan asks, worrying etching his brow.

  I shake my head. Sliding on my headphones, I release a cleansing breath and shake the nerves out of my arms and legs. “The real question is, are you ready? I’m bringing my A-game, Bissette.”

  He grins. “Let’s do this, Sawyer.”

  “Brooke, Dylan, you guys good?”

  We both nod.

  Nigel flips a few more switches, and music filters into the booth. The band’s pre-recorded claps start, and then Jesse’s drums kick in.

  He points to Dylan who sings the first lines, low and deep, “Baby, don’t ignore our melody. I know what your eyes are tellin’ me.”

  Alex and Dylan’s guitars join in, followed by Zach’s bass, and the song picks up speed, building in power.

  Our eyes are locked as we sing the next two lines together, “I still feel you. I still need you.”

  Dylan’s voice is filled with emotion, while mine is more muted and echoed to reinforce the depth of his. His vocals increase in volume as he falls into the third verse.

  “Baby, that golden gaze. Transports me to our Paris haze.”

  My fingers grip my headphones, body moving with the music, and I join him for the next line. “Let it be me. Let it be me.”

  We’re singing our hearts out. His voice is the strong foundation, while mine verges on anguish. Our vocals are battling each other, feeding off the lyrics, and the climactic build of the music.

  The song is at its peak, and I’m wondering how much more Dylan can give. But he does. With his back arched and hands gripping the headphones, he’s in the zone. His eyes close as he barrels into the next verse. “I’m not going to waste one line. Because I know you’re not fine.”

  I sing harmony on the next line. My voice is haunted, lower, while his reaches this incredible force, a battle cry coming from the depths of his soul. “It should be me. It should be me.”

  The final chorus is mine. I dig deep, finding the strength to sing it alone. And wh
en we hit the final verses, “I still need you,” Dylan joins me, repeatedly crying out lines over top of me. Then he belts out this war cry, shocking my nerves and spurring goose bumps to roll up my arms. His voice hitches, and then quiets, “I still love you.”

  As the last note ends, Dylan opens his eyes. His smile is wide, equal parts exhausted and relieved. He holds up his hand, offering a high-five, which I take, grinning. His fingers lock with mine, our hands falling down to his side. “You’re a rock star, Little Wing,” he whispers.

  We stare at each other, taking in this moment. What we just did together—it was incredible. We crushed it on the first take. I wasn’t even hearing it from the sound booth, and I know there are probably little, if any, changes to be made to our vocals.

  Nigel hits the two-way speaker, and the sound of the band cheering outside the booth surrounds us. “What the fuck was that?” he asks, voice astonished.

  “Brooke’s A-game,” Dylan retorts, laughing.

  We walk out of the booth, stilling smiling and laughing.

  A slow clap draws my attention to the side of the room, and I’m face to face with Alistair. He’s standing beside the black leather couch, eyes scrutinizing the hands locked between Dylan and me. My first instinct is to drop Dylan’s hand, but I force myself to play it cool.

  “I didn’t know you were in town.” I gently let go of his hand and walk over towards Alistair.

  “Surprised?” He cocks an eyebrow. “That was quite the display in there.”

  “It was bloody brilliant!” Nigel chimes in. “You can thank me later, Alistair,” he jokes. “I’m a huge fan of Johnnie Walker and Christmas bonuses.”

  Alistair smirks. “This was your idea?”

  “Of course it was my idea. I’m the genius behind most of the hit records under Wallace & Wright.” He smiles, winking. “Besides, after hearing these two sing the other night at The Howlin’ Wolf, I knew I needed to get them together on the album. They are magical. I’ve never seen two people so in-tune musically.”

  “I’ve noticed.” He glances at Dylan and then back at me. “My future daughter-in-law has quite the voice. I’ve been trying to get her on an album for years now. I’m glad someone finally convinced her.”

  My spine straightens in anticipation. For what, I’m not sure, but the intensity in Alistair’s stare makes me extremely uncomfortable.

  “Let’s take five,” Nigel tells the guys. “I think we’re about done here, and I need to call my wife and make sure everything’s good back home.”

  Everyone files out of the room, but Dylan stays back. Even Dean and Thomas left us sans the watchful eyes of their cameras.

  Shit. I wish he would go. I wish he’d leave before the wrath of Alistair begins. Hell, I’d even prefer Dean and Thomas to Dylan at this point. At least they would ensure Alistair being a little more mindful of what he says or does.

  I already know what’s coming before he says anything, and since Dylan is still here, standing beside me, I know his presence is only going to make this worse.

  “I’m glad you finally got to see the guys in the studio,” I offer, trying to relieve some of the tension.

  “I was in the neighborhood signing a new country artist in Nashville.”

  “Nashville isn’t exactly down the street from New Orleans, but I’m happy you were able to make the trip.”

  He shrugs. “Figured I’d make a surprise appearance. Keep the band, Nigel, and errant fiancées on their toes.”

  My jaw gapes. “Excuse me?”

  His face hardens. “Just want to make sure my future daughter-in-law knows her place.”

  Dylan bristles beside me, but remains silent.

  “Knows her place? What are you talking about?”

  “I’m just doing what my son doesn’t have the balls to do, sweetheart.” He flashes a cruel smile. “His mother might be a bit of a whore, but she was always a secret whore. Just want to make sure you’re being discreet when fucking around behind Jamie’s back.”

  Dylan’s hand grips the nape of my neck. “Careful.”

  “Careful?” Alistair lets out a humorless laugh. “You staking claim, Bissette? You might want to be the one considering the term careful. Your band is under contract with my label. I have the power to make or break you.”

  Dylan doesn’t back down. “I’m not staking claim.” His eyes turn fierce, voice dropping to a harsh octave. “I’m merely pointing out that you’re way out of line. I won’t tolerate a man speaking to woman like that. It doesn’t matter who the fuck it is.”

  Alistair’s attention moves to me. “You’re causing quite the predicament, Brooke. You’ve got the lead singer of my band calling me an asshole.”

  “We’re not your band. Sure, we’re under contract with you, but you don’t own us. We can walk any time we want.”

  Alistair’s brow rises. “You planning on walking?”

  “You planning on continuing being an arsehole?” Dylan snaps.

  “That’s enough.” I step between them, refusing to let this go any further. The last thing I need is Dylan screwing up his band’s career over me.

  I can smell the alcohol permeating from Alistair’s pores. Figures he enjoyed a few cocktails before his visit. It definitely explains his cruel words. Generally, he’s more careful in the way he belittles people, but alcohol tends to make his mouth loose and his words harsh.

  “You’re right,” Alistair answers. “It is enough. Brooke, you’ll finish out the US stops in New York and Seattle, and then you’ll come back home to LA instead of going to Europe with them. I shouldn’t have pushed you into this tour while you and Jamie are busy planning a wedding.”

  Perplexity scrunches my face. “Huh?”

  “I’m doing what I should have done from the beginning. I’m giving you some time off so you can plan the wedding and actually spend time with your fiancé.”

  Seriously, I’m so confused. How did we go from me being a whore to him giving me time off work to plan a wedding?

  “Camille should be calling you soon about venues. She’s been on quite the wedding warpath the past couple of days.” He chuckles. His mood impersonates a pinball machine, bouncing from one extreme to the next.

  But that’s the thing about addicts who refuse to admit they have a problem. Their behavior can move from volatile to happy in a matter of seconds. Believe me, I know this from experience. My parents are textbook drug addicts.

  Alistair is an alcoholic. He’ll never admit it though.

  “Jamie and his mom sat down and have narrowed down a few wedding spots and dates. I’m sure he’ll be excited to update you. I’ve been partial to a spring wedding.” He winks, grabbing his suit jacket off the couch and slipping it on. “I’m heading out. Tell Nigel to send me over the final cut from this session. I think that song should be the one we capitalize on for the album’s February release.”

  As Alistair strides out the door, my feet are frozen to the ground. What just happened? I glance at Dylan. His face is still locked in a hardened expression.

  His eyes meet mine. “That’s the family you’re marrying into?” he asks, voice incredulous. “Are you fucking kidding me, Brooke?”

  My eyes widen. “I’m not engaged to Alistair. I’m engaged to Jamie.”

  “Yeah, but it’s not like Jamie was here to defend you from that twat. He’s back in LA planning your wedding with his mum, while you’re here being berated by his arsehole of a father.”

  “I doubt he even knows Alistair was making a stop in New Orleans.” Suddenly, I feel defensive. Dylan doesn’t know anything about the type of relationship Jamie and I have. He doesn’t know what Alistair is really like. He doesn’t get it at all.

  Because you won’t fucking tell him, my mind shouts.

  “I can bloody guarantee, if that man was my father, he would know he couldn’t talk to my fiancée like that. He insinuated you were a whore, Brooke! The guy that’s going to be your father-in-law, called you a whore in front of me!”
/>   “He’s an alcoholic, Dylan.”

  He’s getting angrier by the second. “I don’t give a shite what he is. There’s no excuse for a man talking to a woman like that. None!”

  “Dylan, I appreciate the way you defended me, but honestly, this is none of your business. There’s more to it, okay? You don’t know the half of it.”

  “Because you won’t let me know.” His tone is venomous. “Because you’re intent on hiding behind your walls and secrets.” He moves towards me, face mere inches from mine. “If you were mine, I guarantee no one would get away with treating you like that. I would never let that happen. And I’d make damn sure you weren’t so bloody sad all the time.” His fingers trail across my cheek. “Seeing you this way, sad and unsure. Witnessing the light dimming in your eyes. It’s breaking my heart, Brooke. Your happy moments are few and far between these days. I know you put on a good front. I know you’re trying to act like everything is okay, but I know it’s really not okay. That much is evident.”

  His thumb moves across my bottom lip. “What’s going on?” His voice is a whisper. “Tell me what’s really going on. Let me be here for you.”

  “Stop.” I turn my head away from his touch. I can’t do this. It’s too much. He’s too much. “This isn’t your place, Dylan. My happiness isn’t your concern.”

  He jerks back as if I’ve slapped him. His eyes bore into mine for several uncomfortable seconds. “Fine. Have it your way, Brooke. Have it your fucking way.” He steps back, arms opened wide. “I hope you have a wonderful life being married to a coward who lets his dad belittle and disrespect you. I’m sure your holidays and family get-togethers will be bloody cheerful.”

  And then he walks away from me without a second glance in my direction.

  Who’s Golden Gaze?

  Clips from Careless Cockups’ Studio Session Leaked.

  EntertainUSDaily.com

  Careless Cockups were in New Orleans this past week, and while they did play a gig at The Howlin’ Wolf Saturday night, they also spent time in the studio, finishing up their final track for the untitled debut album.