Page 1 of Steal My Breath Away

CHAPTER 1Haley

Good morning, Chicago. This isHidden Trackson WJPK, coming to you from the basement of Havencrest University’s student center. I’m your host, Haley, and welcome to a brand-new year. We’ll be uncovering the unheard voices of the music world and exploring the stories behind the songs that inspire and heal.

Do you ever feel like you’re just going through the motions? Like you’re on a path, but you’re not quite sure if it’s the right one? Today’s playlist is for anyone who’s ever felt lost on the journey, anyone trying to find their rhythm in a world that sometimes feels out of sync. It’s for those of us struggling to find ourselves and stuck between who we are and who we’re supposed to be.

We’re going to start off with Eddie and the Hot Rods’s “Do Anything You Wanna Do.” Stay with us and remember—sometimes the most beautiful melodies are born from discord.

I cued up my next few songs and sat back in the studio chair. I’d been hostingHidden Tracksfor two years, playing an eclectic mix of lesser-known music from various genres including indie, alternative, folk, acoustic, and experimental tracks. My focus was on emerging artists and underground bands. It wasn’t easy to break into the music business, especially for solo singer/songwriters like me. I’d been singing since the age of four, playing guitar since I was eight, and I’d written my first song when I was ten years old. I’d grown up performing in school musicals, talent shows, and community events, with the occasional foray into local television and radio, but success continued to elude me.

I caught motion through the glass in the opposite studio and saw Derek putting on his headphones to prep for his show. Tall, thin, and always dressed in black leather, Derek had joined the radio station as a volunteer at the same time as me and we’d moved up through the station ranks together.

“Did you talk to Dante yet?” he asked through the mic.

Dante was one of the interim station managers, sharing the role with longtime volunteer Siobhan so he could spend more time developing his career as a session bass player. I’d been thrilled when he’d asked me to join his band, Dante’s Inferno, hoping the exposure would boost my career. He’d invited Derek to play keyboards, and another station volunteer, Nick, to play guitar. His friend Jules kicked ass on the drums. I’d never played with a band before, and the experience was beyond anything I’d ever imagined. Aside from the fact that we got along well and had fun together, there was a level of energy and excitement that I couldn’t match as a solo singer. We had a synergy that made every performance electric, and from the number of bookings we’d had since our first gig, Chicago thought so, too.

“He sent me a message asking me to come and see him after the show. What’s going on? Did a big-name producer call him up and ask to sign us?” My heart kicked up a notch. I knew the chances of that happening were slim at best, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t possible. I’d wanted to be a singer ever since I could remember. My dream had always been to pursue my music career in LA after graduating high school, but life didn’t go the way I’d planned. The summer before senior year, my brother Matt died while serving in the air force and my world spun off its axis. I didn’t want to be alone in a new city without any support. My mom had my stepfather, Steve, to comfort her. I gave up my LA dream and followed my best friend, Paige, to Havencrest instead.

Derek’s gaze dropped to the soundboard, and he shrugged, making the skin on the back of my neck prickle. “It’s better if he tells you.”

I would have pumped him for information, but my set wasalmost up, and I was about to move into the segment where I invited listeners to send in requests or stories about how certain songs had impacted their lives. I tried to catch his attention again to visually express my disapproval, but he knew me well enough not to look up again.

After the show was done, I headed straight for Dante’s office. When Noah had been station manager, the hallways had been crammed with boxes filled with old CDs, magazines, electronic equipment, and music memorabilia. He’d just walked away from everything last year, disappearing without saying goodbye. I was pretty sure Dante and a few others knew what happened to him, but if they did, no one was talking. Dante and Siobhan had taken over and cleaned everything up, including Noah’s disaster of an office. They had also modernized the station, framing the band posters on the walls, changing out the worn furniture in the lounge, and arranging proper storage for Noah’s extensive music library overflow.

To be honest, I preferred the chaos. I loved walking down the hallways and seeing something new each time. My bedroom in the house I shared with Paige and four other students was always a sea of clothes and books, half-written songs, and fast-food wrappers. Every so often, Paige would make me tidy up, and although I loved the sense of calm that came with being able to see the floor, I couldn’t keep it that way for more than an hour.

“What’s up?” I poked my head into Dante’s office. “I got your message. Derek came into the studio looking like someone had broken his keyboard.”

Dante ran a hand through his thick, dark hair. Tall and intensely handsome with an angular jaw, dark eyes, and a strong chin, he had a dangerous vibe that always made me nervous, but it hadn’t put off my friend Skye. They’d hit it off from the moment they met, and six months later, they were still going strong. “I’ve been offered a chance to do some session work with a band in LA and a gig with an international artist who is touring the US,” he said. “I’ll be in and out of the office to help Siobhanmanage things and to hire a new station manager, but I won’t have time for rehearsals or gigs.” He let out a heavy sigh. “I’m going to have break up the band.”

Whoosh.My heart didn’t just sink in my chest, it crashed, taking my breath away. With Dante’s star status—he also DJ’d WJPK’s biggest show—the band was my best chance of being discovered. Playing with Dante’s Inferno had been the best eight months of my life, and now it was over. Just like that. I’d be back to open mics, occasional gigs at the cocktail bar where I worked for stage time, and my usual Sunday-afternoon busking on Michigan Avenue.

Breathe. Breathe. You’re fine. Lock it away.The mantra had gotten me through my father’s death when I was twelve years old, and the loss of my mother’s emotional support when she’d poured her grief into a new career in politics. It had sustained me when Matt had followed his best friend Ace into the military and my mother had gotten remarried, to a man I couldn’t stand. And it had been holding me together in the two years since Matt died, when I’d felt totally and utterly abandoned.

“Congrats on the contract.” I mentally pushed the uncomfortable feelings into my mind’s black box where I kept everything that was too much to process. I was the happy one, the chatty one, life of the party, always on, ready for anything, capable of handling anything life threw at me with a smile. “That’s amazing. I’m really happy for you.”

“It’s been in the works for a few weeks,” he said. “I asked Skye not to tell you until all the paperwork was signed. I don’t want you to think she—”

“I would never think anything bad about Skye.” I cut him off with a wave. Skye was one of my closest friends. She was a journalism major who ran a news show at the station and wrote for theHavencrest Express. We worked together at the Buttercup Bakery Café, and I liked to think that I’d helped her and Dante through the ups and downs of their relationship with the psychology I’d learned in my classes.

“I’m really sorry,” Dante said. “I know how it feels to try and make it in the music industry. I’ve got all your demos and I’ll be sharing them where I can.”

“It’s fine.” I opened my mouth and just rambled while another part of my brain was putting a lock on my pain. “Really. I’m good. I’ve got lots of open mics and a few potential gigs lined up for the rest of the term. It was an amazing experience getting to be in the band with you and everyone else. It’s made me a better musician.”

Dante hesitated, frowning. “Are you sure? I’ve been in bands that have split before, and it was almost like a relationship breakup. It hit hard.”

Yeah, it hit hard. Too hard. I’d been riding the high of enthusiastic crowds and screaming fans for eight months, and the thought of going back to the grind of small, cramped bars and disinterested audiences was like a punch in the gut. The public validation that had come with my brief brush with fame had filled some kind of void inside me, re-creating the warm, fuzzy feelings I’d had when my whole family used to come out to watch me sing.

“I never expected it to be a long-term thing,” I lied. “It was only a matter of time before the world discovered your musical genius and stole you away.”

It was a master performance. By the time I’d crossed campus to the coffee shop on the ground floor of the main library where I worked with Skye, I’d even convinced myself that losing the band was no big deal.

Skye was already serving customers when I arrived. A former DII basketball player, she was almost my perfect opposite. Her long dark hair was thick and smooth whereas I had been cursed with a wild mane of curly chestnut-brown hair that fell past my shoulders in barely controlled chaos. My high, sharp cheekbones gave my face an angular appearance, and instead of the simple clean lines of the athletic wear she favored, my style was equal parts edgy and bohemian. I varied looks between festival goth,boho rocker, and ’70s hippie with a witchy twist. Today, I was channeling Stevie Nicks in my skinny jeans, a white boho-style shirt, and a fabulous long olive velour coat with a red silk lining that I’d found in a thrift shop. It was an utter travesty that I had to replace the coat with a horrific buttercup-printed apron for work.

“Dante just messaged that he’d talked to you.” Skye wrote the next drink order on a paper cup while I filled the espresso machine. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. It’s all good. I never expected it to last.”

“You don’t have to pretend with me,” she said. “I know how much you loved being in the band. Maybe the band could find a new bass player and start over.”

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