Page 50 of The Masks We Wear

I start but he cuts me off, “Brody, I know you much better than you think which means I know you well enough to know that there is a song at your fingertips that needs to be played, needs to be heard and if it doesn’t, you won’t sleep. So I have no problem sacrificing some more of mine if that means your peace of mind will be ensured and besides, I like watching you play.”

I melt at his words. Why does he have to make it so impossible to not catch feelings for him?Ugh. Stupid ass babysitter, worming his way into my heart with his perfect face and perfect words.“But you’re exhausted.”

“I’m a big boy, I can handle staying up late.”

I smirk, “Are you sure? Pretty sure I heard a nurse from the assisted living facility down the street calling for you. You know, since you old people need to be in bed by eight? I’m sure they’ve formed a whole search party by now to find you,” I tease him.

He full on laughs at my joke, “Always so damn witty.”

I preen, “That’s what I do.”

He rolls his eyes at me, still fighting off the remains of laughter, “Go play your instruments and leave this old man alone.”

I chuckle as I turn on my heel and drop into the seat of my set. I pick up my sticks, twirling them around between my fingers as I let the creativity flow through me. I listen to the lyrics in my head, the piano interlude, all of it, humming the melody until the sounds of the drums start to play with them. I look over my shoulder to find Harvey’s eyes on me so intensely, analyzing my every movement, every sound. Usually, I don’t like having anyone but Aria and Ivory around when I’m creating, finding it too distracting. But Harvey doesn’t distract me, his presence only seems to spark my creative genius. I turn back to the set, rapping on the cymbals and then the bass drums.

I lose myself in the beat, my body taking over as I hit the toms, the snare, all of them in a beautiful melody of chaos and destruction. The song has a consistent beat to it, only picking up in parts I know Aria and Ivory would have guitar riffs. Between verses, I form a transition of hitting the cymbals and before I know it, I have the blueprint for the entire drum part. I hear the piano in my head and leap out of my seat, my legs taking me to the piano bench before I can think better of it. I play the interlude I started in my home studio, the night Harvey finger fucked me on the bench, but this time, I add to it. I add a dark note, making the song sound almost gothic and evil. It pairs well with the light hearted melody I have and then I play it again two more times to perfect it and commit it to memory. I feel Harvey’s eyes on me the whole time and it only fuels my fire, the light inside me not wanting to be put out.

I turn to look at him over my shoulder and his eyes are wide awake. He looks like he just drank a cup of dark roast and isjust starting his morning. Did my music wake him up? “Am I being too loud?” I can’t read the expression on his face, it’s too neutral. He has that familiar crease between his brows but I can’t tell if he’s pleased by the music or if he hates it. The possibility of the latter makes my stomach drop. I think I’d rather my fans all hate my music than Harvey. His opinion is important to me and I’m practically hanging off the edge of my seat as I wait for his response.

“No,” he says, his voice low and husky.

I feel my palms starting to grow clammy. Why isn’t he saying much? “Did it sound bad?” I ask, my voice sounding squeaky and unconfident.

The corner of his lips curve into a faint smile, “No, quite the opposite. I’ve never heard anything like that before.”

Oh? “And?” I press him for his opinion.

“And it sounds good. Really good, Brody. Have you played that for the girls?” He asks.

I deflate, shaking my head. “No.”

“Why?” He looks almost disappointed.

I sigh, “Because I’ve never written a song completely on my own before and I don’t know if it really sounds good or if you’re just saying it does to make me feel good.”

He shakes his head as he rises from his seat on the couch and walks over to me in a few strides. He sits on the bench beside me, his warmth seeping into my side. His thigh presses against mine and I instantly want to rip all of my clothes off and let him have his way with me, but I remember how anxious I am over his opinions on my music and stay where I am, fully clothed. “I didn’t hear the whole song but from what I heard, you just completely came up with a new concept that Satan’s Angels have never done. I don’t think any other bands have ever done what you just did,” he nods his chin at the piano as he speaks, “Brody, you’re easily the most creative and talented person I’veever met. The way you play the drums amazes me and so does the way you play piano. You play the instruments like they’re a part of you and not many artists can do that. Hell, a lot of artists don’t even write their own music, but you can do it all because you truly love what you do and I love to watch you lose yourself in it. On top of being the best damn drummer and the best pianist I’ve ever seen, your voice is out of this world,” he tucks a stray strand of hair behind my ear as he continues, “Your voice is sirenic, when you sing, you captivate everyone with just your voice because it’s so beautiful and God only knows when you’re gonna lure me to my death,” he jokes and I breathe a laugh.

My eyes practically glisten as I look at him, as I listen to his words. Nobody has ever said anything like this to me before. I never imagined someone saying these words would feel so good but it does. My heart swells with emotions for him and he only prods it more as he adds, “So back to your concern about me just saying nice things about your song to make you feel good, no. I didn’t lie to you to make you feel good. I told you the truth so that you would see yourself the way I see you.”

“And how do you see me?” I ask, curious.

He leans in closer to my face and whispers, “Unmasked and fucking perfect,” before I can respond he closes the distance between our lips and kisses me. This feels different than all of our other kisses. Those kisses were wrapped in hunger and lust. This kiss is sweet and pure, intimate in a way that Harvey and I haven’t yet been together even though we’ve had sex many times. No, this feels completely different, like it means something different for us both, but whether it’s the start or the end, I’m not sure. I know I don’t want us to end but the ticking clock that is the end of the tour looms over us like a dark cloud. Besides, even if it was possible for us to continue past our time, Harvey is set on us going our separate ways when the time comes.

He pulls away after a few minutes of us getting lost in each other and gives me a small smile. He looks forward and raises his fingers, bringing them down slowly to press a few keys on the piano. The sound comes out so out of tune, I’d rather chew on the sole of my fucking shoe than hear it again, but I can’t help the fit of giggles that overtakes me. “Okay, don’t ever do that again,” I laugh.

“Why?” He raises a playful, challenging brow.

“Because it sounded horrible. If you want to learn a few notes, I can teach you,” I offer, wiggling my brows.

He rolls his eyes, “I just pressed them to hear the sound they would make, that’s all. I have no interest in listening to any music aside from yours, nor do I have interest in playing music.”

I give him a thumbs down, “Booo.”

He gives me a look of feigned annoyance and I smile at him, knowing his stiff expression won’t hold well against my dimpled smile. As expected, it falters. “Do you want to hear real piano playing?” I ask.

He nods, “Of course.”

“Give me a song you like,” I demand.

---