Page 119 of The Drummer

Once again, I find myself flirting and sharing an urgent kiss with a goddess before I even realize what’s happening. This song is never going to get made with Callie hanging around.

Luke returns too soon and not soon enough. His smile when he sees our scramble to separate eases the tension at being caught. This has to be weird for him.

“I can come back,” he jokes.

“No, it’s fine,” Callie says.

They continue chatting, but my mind is already embedded in quantizing the keys track I just recorded. I put my left IEM in to listen back to the opening intro. I don’t like the strict timing. I think I want the first notes of the chords slightly ahead of the beat to sound more natural.

“You cool with that, Case?” Luke cuts in.

“Fine with me,” I reply, having no idea what I just agreed to. “Hey, so here’s the first take at the keys. Before I clean itup, I just wanted to see what you thought of the general direction.”

Luke puts his ears in and hands me the cable to plug into my laptop.

My heart races while he listens, my knee bouncing below the desk like I’m next up at the DMV. I’m always anxious about feedback, all artists are. But this is different. This is the past, present, and future converging into one rough layer of keys.

Relief plunges through me when an approving smile lifts his lips. He pulls his IEM out and glances at me.

“It’s good, Case. Maybe a little aggressive on the verses. I love the intro, though. I can totally hear the piano riff followed by the band coming in with the crash of the drums and guitars.”

Somehow I knew he’d say that. He always thinks my keys are too aggressive. This time he’s right, but it’s only because I’m using it as a base for the scratch track. Most, if not all of it, will come out in production.

“That’s what I was thinking,” I say. “One pass of piano for that first progression, and then all-in hard on the second.”

Luke’s brows arch like they do when he’s on board. “Yeah, I like that.”

It feels so damn good to slip back into our instinctive collaborative mode. Too good when it leaves an awkward silence after the easy exchange.

My head and heart belt the ugly truth I’ve been trying to ignore since this song started forming. I thought I’d be okay doing it on our own. That we could find a way to fill the gaping hole of Luke’s vocal. But this song is too good to hand to anyone else. Too special.

Too fucking important.

I squirm from the twisting in my stomach. “I’d love if you could help me with the vocal. You’d kill this one. You know you would.”

He winces at the surprise ambush, and so do I. He’s probablyjust as shocked as I am that I asked again after the disaster of the last time. I sense Callie’s concern as well.

God, I’m such an idiot. Why do I do this to myself?

I divert my gaze back to the safety of the screen. My chest feels tight as I pretend it hasn’t just been ripped open and gutted.

“Yeah, sorry,” I say quietly before this gets worse.

I don’t want an explanation or apology. I just want to kill this torturous hope once and for all. It hurts too much, and I just?—

“Casey…”

I can’t look at him. I hear it in his voice.

“No, I know,” I grit out. My jaw aches. My eyes. My throat. I don’t even know why. “Sorry, it’s fine. I shouldn’t have asked.”

It’s fine.

Such a bald-faced lie.

My heart feels like it’s been crushed and doused in gasoline.

“No, it’s not fine, Casey. It’s not fine.”

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