“Or we can just hang out at your place. No heat, no judgment,” I say, backtracking and trying not to choke on disappointment. I’m tired of being her dirty little secret. My body vibrates in anticipation of her answer. For every step that I take forward, I take two steps back, and Tina rearing her ugly head pushed me back the length of a football field.
“I can’t see either one of us walking away from this unscathed. I don’t know how to explain it.” She looks at me with questions bouncing behind her eyes. “I hated you for so long.” She sighs but continues, “All those old hurts are still there, but now I…”
“You what?” I say eagerly when her words stop because I need the validation. I need to know she wants me too.
“I…” She drops her head before meeting my eyes again. “How does that make sense? How is four years not enough time to get over you?”
If I had an answer to even one of her questions, I’d give it to her, but I don’t. I haven’t even answered those questions for myself. But I zeroed in on the “not over you” comment.
Thank fuck! I live under her skin just like she flows through my veins. It still stings to hear her say she hated me, but she said hated not hates.
“That settles it,” I say. “We’ll keep it on the low. I just… I want a place, any place in your life. We can be friends and let the rest fall where it may.”
Friends, my ass. Sin doesn’t want to be my friend any more than I want to be hers. She needs me to remind her of that. Our relationship has always me chasing her, convincing her that being caught was so much better than being alone, but at this moment I’ll say whatever she needs to hear.
“Friends?” She takes a step back out of my arms, holding out her hand. A smile on her lips making the lone dimple pop in her cheek.
I take a step forward reclaiming the space she put between us and stroke a thumb down her cheek. I lean forward and grin at Sin’s sharp intake of breath.
“Friends,” I say right before I kiss her, again.
NOW
“YES, THEY’RE TOGETHER! AFTER AN EMOTIONAL REUNION, SINCLAIR JAMES AND JACOB JOHNSON APPEAR TO BE BACK ON SOLID GROUND.”
—Las Vegas Review-Journal
“SECRET REUNION: EMOTIONAL RENDEZVOUS. JACOB JOHNSON IS MENDING BROKEN FENCES.”
—People Magazine
“BACK ON… JACOB JOHNSON, FIGHTING FOR HIS RELATIONSHIP.”
—Entertainment Weekly
Four Years Ago
Sinclair
A shrill noise yanks me out of a tentative sleep. I slam my hand over the button to silence the alarm clock and blink at the red numbers until I can make them out. The room is shades of gray, masked in the early morning fog of North London. I get to my feet only to trip over Miles’s tall frame on the way to the bathroom. When I turn on the lights, I cover my eyes against the harsh glare it creates against the all-white surfaces. I quickly shut the door, so I don’t prematurely wake the boys.
We arrived in England two days ago. The jet lag is kicking our butts. All four of us are once again cramped in a tiny hotel room because it’s all we can afford, but it’s worth it. All the seedy hotels, dirty bars, and crazy tours have been worth the sacrifice. Our music is finally getting some attention from the industry. We finally have just enough money to fly to London and make an EP at Chapel Studios .
The old church is known for its layered acoustics and the owner, producer Ray, is just as unique and special. He has an ability to hear the song through the music. He knows where the band is trying to go, and he paves the road to get you there. All my favorite albums have been recorded at Chapel Studios. For me it seemed like a distant goal. Something I’d hoped for but would never be close enough to really touch and now that we’re here, it is bittersweet.
Everything else in my life is falling to shit but the music. My music is better than ever. Maybe I should thank Jake for blowing up my life because I’m better for it.
It’s like the hurt spills from my heart and permeates my friendships, my music, my every waking thought, and I have no choice but to get it out. As a result, the songs that come are good, like radio quality, reaching millions of people good. That had always been the end game, but I always thought Jake would be next to me when it happened.
Some days I wake up, and I forget we aren’t together anymore. I pick up the phone to sing him the new chorus I just wrote or throw some word placement his way, and then it hits me that Jake isn’t my confidant anymore and he shouldn’t be my muse either. He can’t be the first person I call with good news or the person I expect to see cheering in my corner.
I have a million questions I want to ask. That I should’ve already asked, like why Tina? Why the woman who was the complete opposite of me? Why choose someone I knew? If Tina is what he likes, then how could he ever be attracted to me?
I’d been with him for years, and I didn’t see it. If anyone had asked me if I ever thought Jake would cheat, I would’ve answered no before they could even finish the question. Now I comb through our past trying to find clues I didn’t catch because I had to have missed something. This shit didn’t come out of a vacuum. And I want to know why? What could I have possibly done to deserve this? How can he justify throwing everything we had away?
I jump in the shower and take my time under the hot spray of water. By the time I step out, the skin on my fingers have pruned and I feel flush from the heat. I wrap a clean white towel around my chest and sit on the lid of the toilet. We’re finally recording vocals today. The last couple of days have been isolation booths and instruments. Yesterday, Ray followed the sound of a snare drum for hours because according to him, “Something wasn’t right.”
Today will be Adam and me, for the most part. It’ll be singing and harmonies. It’ll be living in that creative space where the ugly truth of pain transforms into something beautiful. The songs from this album do that and then some. Jake is going to hear them, and he’ll know what inspired me. He’ll know that, once again, he played the role of my muse.
I stand and approach the steam-covered mirror, swiping my hand across the surface. My reflection is less foggy but still blurry. I lean close to glass, staring at my face. I don’t look different, same brown skin, same curly hair, same brown eyes. But inside I don’t feel like me. I feel ugly and stupid, and so fucking angry I want to break something or hurt someone. No, not someone, Jake.
I open the door bathroom door and peek out into the dark bedroom. The boys are all still asleep. I tiptoe to where I placed my phone and on the bedside table and hightail it back to bathroom. Once I closed the door, I stare at the device in my hand; it’s time. Well past the time. I dial a number that I have memorized by heart. The ringing is shrill against my ear. After three rings a deep voice says, “Jacob Johnson.”
My vocal chords freeze. This was a dumb idea. What was I thinking? Shit, shit, shit!
“Hello? Jacob Johnson. How can I help you?”
You can’t help me, Jake. Not anymore. Not with five thousand miles and a ton of hurt between us. I still can’t force myself to speak.
I go to hit the end button when he says, “Baby?” on a shuddered breath. That name, coming from those lips in that tone, shreds me.
“Baby, talk to me. Please,” he whispers.
I clear my throat a couple of times, but I can’t do it. The moment of truth, my moment of truth when I spew every ugly thing I’ve thought and felt since leaving is gone. In its place is an ugly gaping question. One word with limitless possibilities. Why?
“Tell me where you are. I’ll come to you. We can… We can… I’ll do whatever you want, but I need to see you,” he says, his voice a desperate plea.
“I’m not in Vegas anymore,” I murmur, forcing the words past the lump of emotion in my throat.
“Fuck,” he breathes heavy into the phone. “It’s good to hear your voice. I miss all that rasp and those dimples. I miss you, baby.”
My heart clinches. He should miss me. I just never thought I’d miss him too. Not after
the way things ended. “I shouldn’t have called, Jake. I gotta—”
“Don’t go,” he rushes out. “Not yet.”
“I have to. This was a mistake.”
“Just give me a couple of minutes.” When I don’t say anything, he must take that as permission. “I messed up, babe. I messed up, and I… please believe me when I say I’m sorry. I’m sorry and…”
My eyes burn with the rush of tears and a sob escapes into the phone. I hold a hand tight over my mouth, trying to suppress the next one. My throat aches with the effort and my shoulders shake as heartbreak once again pushes to the surface.
“Shhh, baby. It’s okay.”
“It’s not. Nothing is okay right now,” I say in broken, jagged words.
“But it will be. When you’ve done all the things, accomplished all the goals. You’ll find your way back to me. Until then, spread your wings, Sin. Spread ’em wide and far, and when you’re ready, if you’re ever ready, I’ll be exactly where you left me. Waiting for you. I’ll always wait for you. I lo—”
I hang up the phone before he can finish that sentiment and I break down, crying like I did the first night. I cry until my tears are dry, until the gapping chasm in my chest doesn’t ache quite as much. I cry until I’m numb.
I pull on my clothes with slow, tired movements and leave the conversation with Jake within those walls. Adam is already awake, sitting on the side of the bed, his sleep-tousled look not that different from his day-to-day. He cocks his head to the side his eyes search mine but he doesn’t ask if I’m okay anymore because he knows I’m not.
“Morning,” I say
“Good morning,” he says, emphasizing the word good. His concerned gaze takes a quick inventory of my features. The tension eases slightly around his eyes when I offer a half smile. He’s worried. They all are. I’m in a dark place and I can’t get free.
“This is it, Sin. Today is about to change everything for us. You know that, right?” he says, practically buzzing with unspent energy.
“I thought you didn’t care about the fame.”
“You know how I roll, Sin. That’s never been my motion.” And it hasn’t. It’s one of the many reasons why we work well together and why we’re so close. We both get just as much satisfaction playing for each other as we do playing for crowds.
“So, what’s with the fame speech?”
“It was far from a speech, Sin. But we gotta be real. The new stuff is next level. It’s going to draw people in. Anyone that has ever broken up with…” I see regret flash across his face. We don’t talk about Jake. The night I showed up at his house an unraveled mess or the fact when we’re in Vegas, I still crash on his couch. He starts over again. “Anyone that has ever experienced a loss will cling to these songs. I just think we both need to be ready for it, yeah?”
“Indeed.” I chuckle.
Adam and I head out the door. Dan and Miles are still asleep. They’ll record later this afternoon. Ray wants the drums to sound fuller, so he’s tossed around the idea of recording in the court yard because the ambient sound will fill the bottom of the beat.
We enter the main recording studio, which is in an old church hall. It has the towering ceilings with the wooden beams and heavy velvet curtains that hang against the back wall. Plush rugs cover the scuffed up wooden floor. Drums, a baby grand piano, amplifiers, and speakers are set up at varying depths. Electrical cords run the length of the room, and the control booth is in a corner, removed from the studio, making it easy to forget that an engineer is working the boards.
Ray is already at the sound board when arrive. He absently waves before turning his attention back to knobs in front of him.
What are we doing first?” Adam picks up Hidalgo, the guitar he prefers to use when recording, from the stand.
“I’m thinking “Exquisitely Broken,” but I was thinking about it in the shower this morning and I want to try something. Kay?” I pick up my own guitar and settle the familiar weight over my shoulders.
“What you got?”
“I need to hear this, hold up,” I say, kicking off my shoes, I sit on the studio floor, legs crossed, guitar resting in my lap. I reach over and adjust the microphone typically used to collect sound from a handheld instrument to catch my voice.
Adam settles across from me. At first we’re just fooling around with the melody. But the then I start to sing. Adam’s voice harmonizing with mine, echoing my words and the more I sing, the harder it gets to force the words out.
I try to hold back the tears that well in my eyes, but I can’t. I can’t make them stop. My voice is thick with the tears and my natural rasp is more gravel and grit. Hold it together, Sin. Get through this song. You have to get through this song. My voice breaks at weird places, the pronunciation of individual words sounds garbled. I’m messing this up. I’m finally in The Chapel studios and I’m messing it all up. The tempo is totally off, because I can’t rein the emotion in, can’t get a harness on it. As soon as the song is over, I jump to my feet and half walk, half jog to the courtyard.
I lean on the stone wall and bend at the waist, forcing myself to simply breathe, breathe out the pain and the confusion and leave it on the ground. I need to get back in there. I rub my hands across my eyes and get the gumption to walk back inside.
“Sin… come over here for a sec, will ya?” Ray calls.
“Yeah… of course,” I say. He and Adam are sitting at the sound board, heads close together. I walk the short distance and see them both staring at a laptop. A black and white video is on the YouTube page.
Ray presses the play icon and I hear my voice, shattered and tender.
I hadn’t even been aware we were recording audio or video.
“I record every session. The playback helps me pick up on things like posture and vocal anomalies that might actually workout in a song. But this… my God,” he says still looking at the video, rapt. “This is better than anything I could have put together.” Ray spares me a glance before looking back at the screen. “This right here is what it’s all about. The emotion is… Wow, Sin. I couldn’t even focus on the nuisance of the song. Your voice sounds like encapsulated heartbreak.” Because my heart is broken. It’s broken and bleeding, and I don’t know if it’ll ever be right again. “And your face reflects that pain.”
My eyes meet Adam’s over the console, and we share a sad smile. “I checked with Adam before I put the footage up on my YouTube page and look at this.” He points at the number of views. Sixty thousand views. We have sixty thousand views? We’ve never seen numbers like that, ever.
“How long has this been up?” I ask.
“You were outside for a couple of hours,” Adam answers.
“Hours?” I repeat.
“Yeah.” Adam nods. “We mixed the vocals. Added some layers while you were out there. And it’s fucking fire, Sin. It’s going to get big. Bigger than any of us imagined. No one has this sound right now. It’s good. Really good,” he says his eyes bright with excitement. “Miles and Dan will be here in a few. When they add in the drums and base line, I think it’ll be…”
“A Grammy,” Adam and Ray say together.
I chew the inside of my bottom lip. “You really think so? I thought it was super rough… I don’t know, maybe we take a second—”
“No,” Adam and Ray say once again in unison. Adam studies me for a long silent moment. I fidget with the bottom of my T-shirt, waiting for his response, but it doesn’t come. And then Miles and Dan crash into the room, loud voices reverberating around the space.
“Daaaaaaaaaamn, Sin-a-sticks. You did that.” Dan barrels forward, his dark hair flopping over his brow. The Mario Bros T-shirt, a couple of sizes too small, exposes his navel when he picks me up and swings me in his arms. He smacks a sloppy wet kiss on my cheek. “When I get in there with the drums, that shit will be sick.”
“You’ve already seen the video?” I ask, looking first at Dan and then Miles.
Miles nods. “I copied the link from
YouTube and put it up on our FB page. And it’s blowing up, Sin. In the time it took us to get here from the hotel we’ve gotten thousands of likes and comments.”
“Serious?” I ask because I can’t believe it.
“Would we lie to you?” Dan asks, looking up at me and batting his lashes.
“Hell yeah, you would,” Adam says with a chuckle.
“Not about this.”
I don’t know who moves first, but the four of us end up in a circle, our arms wrapped around each other, our heads bowed.
“This is the break, guys. The one that changes everything,” I whisper, afraid to jinx it by saying the words too loud.
“Not everything,” Adam says. “It doesn’t change us. We’re family. And family comes before everything else.” His voice is solemn, and the weight of those words raise goose bumps on my arms.
“That’s right, blood don’t make family,” Dan says.
Miles, a man of few words even on the best of days mutters, “Family.”
The session is long and grueling, and by the end, I’ve been through the ringer. It’s like my body relives the shock of Jake’s betrayal every time I sing the words. I have to fight the spasms in my legs to remain standing, the ache in my throat as it tries to close, and the tears that have dropped every single time without fail.
Every session for the next three weeks goes pretty much the same, but at the end, we have a full album. One that everyone who participated in the making knows is a once in a lifetime creation
NOW
Sinclair
“So, Sin-a-sticks, I hear you’ve been keeping secrets. When did you start bumping uglies with the evil one?” Dan says, falling in the chair across from me. Adam chokes on a drink, spewing the clear liquid from his mouth in a wide arc.
Exquisitely Broken (A Sin City Tale Book 1) Page 21
