Page 30 of Bound By Song

Fuck.

I push back from the desk, standing abruptly, my chair scraping against the wooden floor of the cottage’s tiny writing space. The notepad stares up at me, taunting.

I need a break.

I need a distraction.

I need to go toher.

My jaw clenches as I push that last thought away. It’s too soon. We agreed to give her space. To let her come to us.

But fuck, it’s hard.

I grab my guitar instead, letting the weight of it settle against me. My hands move automatically, fingers finding the right frets before I’ve even decided what I’m playing.

The melody spills out, dark and steady, something that matches the low hum of frustration in my chest. I don’t evenrealise I’m shaping the lyrics until my mouth opens, and the words slip free in a rough murmur.

“You can run, but I’ll still feel it

That pulse in your blood, calling me home

You can hide, but I still hear it

Your silence isn’t quiet when I know what it means.”

The sound fills the room, but it doesn’t feel like enough.

I need the drums, the bass. I need the weight behind it, the energy that only comes when we’re all in sync, when it’s real.

Before I can think better of it, I’m out the door, heading toward the studio.

Dane and Blaise are already there.

Dane’s behind the kit, sticks twirling absently in his hands, his foot tapping out a slow rhythm against the bass pedal. Blaise is perched on the edge of the sofa, his favourite bass in his lap, absently plucking a few notes.

They both look up when I walk in.

Dane takes one look at me and smirks. “You look like shit.”

“Didn’t sleep.” I cross the room, grabbing a spare mic stand and setting it up. “Got something, though.”

Blaise raises an eyebrow but doesn’t say anything, just shifts, adjusting his grip on his guitar like he’s ready to follow wherever I lead.

I nod at Dane. “Give me something slow to start. Let it build.”

He taps out a simple pattern, keeping it low, the deep thud of the kick drum setting the foundation. Blaise listens for a second, then slides in, his bass adding depth.

I close my eyes, adjusting the mic, letting the music wrap around me before I let the words spill out.

It’s rough, raw, but the second I start singing, I feel it.

And judging by the way Blaise and Dane fall into step with me, they feel it too.

It’s the first time in months that we’ve played something that feels real, and now we’ve managed it for two days running. I know it’s because of her.

And it gives me hope that we might just be able to mend this rift between us.

EVIANA

---