Page 99 of This Side of Beautiful

Cedrick was silent for a long time before saying, “You’re going to lose her if you don’t get help.”

“Help? What do I need help for?” Painful discomfort rose inside me, and I couldn’t temper my tone.

“You once told me that your parents didn’t really see you. They tried to make you something you’re not.” He met my glare with determined eyes. “I’ve been doing the same thing since we met. I adjusted to you and how you needed things to be a certain way, and the band followed because we love you. Acceptance also means being honest when you’re hurting others. Every time you have a panic attack, or whatever you want to call it, it hurts me, bro. It feels like you’re dying in front of me. It takes me a while to recover to see you like that. I walk on eggshells, hoping not to set you off. That’s not living for me or for you.”

I gritted my teeth. “I’m sorry I wasn’t lucky enough to have two parents who loved me unconditionally, sorry that my father hit my mother when he couldn’t control her and only seemed to love me when I did what he wanted. I’m sorry if that fucks with me.”

Cedrick dragged his hands over his face. “Stop blaming everything on your parents. You haven’t lived with them since you were sixteen. You can’t keep living carefully because you’re afraid to break. I can’t keep being there for you when you won’t help yourself.”

I slammed my guitar down on the balcony. “You don’t have to do shit for me.”

Cedrick swung his legs to the side of the chair and sat up. “Naw… naw, fuck you. You don’t get to tell me that I don’t have to do shit for you. I’ve been protecting you, looking out for you, and refusing to take projects because I knew you couldn’t handle it, or at least you believed you couldn’t handle it. You want my help when you’re struggling but reject it when I say something you don’t like. You walk around like this honorable man who doesn’t lie, smoke, drink, or fuck around, judging the rest of the world. But the truth? You’re scared to live, scared to truly get help, hiding behind your phenomenal talent. That’s a bad look, Landon.”

I glanced toward the door and back at him. This wasn’t Cedrick. “Be honest, it wasn’t Del. Janae put you up to this. Is that why she invited you to dinner… to have some sort of intervention for poor Landon?”

“No. This is all me. Janae made me realize how I didn’t push you to be better. She made me believe that change is possible.” He gestured to the door. “That woman was out there bad three years ago wilding out, cursing out people, breaking contracts, and fucking around on a man who seemed to love her. Now all she sees is you. She kept her word to us and to you. She’s shown up every single time. It hasn’t been easy when she’s snappy with us, Frankie, and Jeri, but she’s trying. Reaching out to her therapist and distancing herself from us when she needs to. Both of you are soaring right now, and if you don’t check yourself, she’s only going to fly higher and leave you to crash and burn.”

“You don’t think I know that?” I spat. “She needs me now, and one day she won’t. I’ll deal with that day when it happens.”

Cedrick narrowed his eyes. “You really prefer her helpless and needy and not strong and independent? Wow. You don’t want her to get better soyoudon’t have to change.”

My chest heaved up and down, and I wanted to protest, though my words were lodged deep in my throat.

He stood. “I’ve always looked up to you, even with your ways. Proud to call you my best friend and brother. Right now… at this very moment, I can’t say that because you’re nothing but a coward. Give my apologies to Janae. I lost my appetite.”

He walked back inside, and I slumped down in my chair.

Chapter Thirty-Three

janae

June 14

I shouldn’t have been there.This space wasn’t mine. It belonged to them. At least while we were in L.A. Still, I told myself I’d come to grab a jacket I left in Del’s studio, but that excuse fell apart the moment I stepped inside. The jacket could wait. What I wanted, what I needed, was tofeelsomething, to let the energy of this room reach me in a way nothing else had lately. Anything would do. As the days drew nearer to the biggest performance of my life and the reunion of me and my mother, my moods shifted rapidly. I was easily rattled, and sleep became a distant memory. I had to release. I needed a reprieve from the constant ball of emotion that threatened to consume me.

The room was unnervingly quiet. I’d expected to find the guys here, rehearsing or cracking up over one of their never-ending inside jokes, their noise filling every corner of the room.

I started messing with the equipment nearby, a simple setup hooked to a laptop. The guys had been working on something, and as I tapped a few buttons, the sounds filled the space. I isolated Landon’s electric guitar riff first, steady and haunting. It sounded reflective and deliberate, full of unspoken depth, just like him. Then came Santiago’s acoustic guitar. Its warmth and carefree rhythm usually grounded the band, but tonight it felt fleeting as I silenced it. Charles’s saxophone followed. Its smooth elegance cut through the track like a voice trying to be heard above the clamor. Finally, I pulled Brian’s drums. The layered percussion unraveled as I muted the kick, then the snare, and finally the high hat, leaving the rhythm bare. With everything else stripped away, Cedrick’s piano was last. His chords vibrated with a quiet intensity, almost defiant, as though they didn’t want to fade. But I needed silence. It was time for my voice to carry the weight alone.

With each layer peeled away, I hit a few buttons to bring in synthetized strings, curious to hear how they might blend with a hint of percussion. Then I brought the beat back, tapping the pad to create a rhythm with presence. I looped the track, letting the sound build in intensity, though it still needed something more to ground it. Returning to the track the guys had laid down, I added back Brian’s drums, adjusting their pace and rebuilding the beat piece by piece. The steady thrum of the kick drum laid the foundation, the snare crackled with tension ready to snap, and the high hat added a sharp, driving edge. The pulse came alive, demanding more, propelling me forward.

The mic stood idle, its sleek silhouette outlined against the amber glow of the sunset filtering through the drapes. I stepped closer through the dimness, fingers brushing the cool metal, a steadying contrast to the turmoil bubbling within. My breath hitched. It had been ages since I allowed myself to let go. Not for applause. Not for Landon. Not for anyone. It was for me, free from the crushing weight of expectation.

The weight in my chest pressed harder. The arguments, the silence from Landon, the sideways glances from Cedrick, the burden of trying to prove I wasn’t the mess everyone thought I was. My past. My present. It all swirled together until I felt like I was choking on it. My fingers adjusted the mic stand instinctively.

I grabbed a pair of headphones hanging from a hook and slid them on, closing my eyes as I stepped to the mic. I didn’t turn it on. This wasn’t about hearing myself or being heard. The headphones isolated me, wrapping me in the sound of the music I was building, amplifying each layer while shutting out the rest of the world. This moment was for me, unguarded and unfiltered, free from the heaviness of an audience. Words began to tumble out, my truths flowing in a way that felt unrestrained and unrelenting. The mic was purely there to comfort me, like an old friend catching every note and pause. With the loop building, I added a deeper layer. A drumbeat here and a hint of strings there, letting the music carry me to places I hadn’t dared explore in years.

I started with a soft, rising melody, my voice carrying a haunting hook that hovered in the stillness of the room. It wasn’t loud or bold. It was just a gentle plea, each note trembling as it found its place. Then the words began to form, laced with the kind of pain that only grows with time.

“Don’t be afraid, littlegirl, stand tall. They tried to clip your wings, makeyou feel small. Age ain’t nothing but a number,they said. But who saw the cracks where innocence bled?”

My voice cracked. A tear slid down my cheek, but I didn’t stop.

“Mama had dreams, but the rentcame first. Left me searching for love in a worldthat’s cursed. They called me a name, put shameon my skin. But I’m breaking the chains, letthe healing begin.”

A quiet presence in the room startled me, and I opened my eyes. Cedrick stood near the edge of the space before moving toward the piano, his gaze unreadable. My first instinct was to stop, to shut down, but he didn’t say a word while settling on the bench.

His first notes were quiet, hesitant, as if he were seeking my permission. When I didn’t stop, he leaned into the keys, playing with a rhythm that danced between smooth and jagged. His chords wove into my delivery, lifting the words as though pulling something visceral and aching from both of us.

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