Page 67 of Feuds and Interludes
“Yes, sir.”
He barked out a laugh and then brought his knees back up as he watched me play.
“Yes,” he breathed. “Again.”
Once I played the part through three times, Morrison was ready to record. I put on the headphones and listened to the tracks Bran, Annie, and Boone had already recorded. I let myself get lost in the dreamy tune. It was one where you wouldn’t expect to hear a slide used, but that was the genius of it.
I played my bit and then looked up at Boone, who had his hands clasped in front of his chin. He was grinning like a loon, bouncing in his seat.
“Yes, yes, yes! That was…” Hemade the chef’s kiss motion, and as soon as I set the guitar down, he bent forward and threw his arms around my neck, sprawling onto my lap. I laughed as he practically tackled me and wrapped my arms around him.
Annie groaned, Morrisonawwed, and Leland laughed.
“All right, lovebirds. Shall we record the vocals?”
Boone climbed off me and pulled me up from the couch. “This is going to be fun.”
“Yeah, well, nofunny business in the booth,” Bran shouted. “There are children present.”
“I know you’re speaking of yourself,” Annie said. “I’m forty-six seconds older than you and I’m no child.”
“I was talking about Leland, but okay.”
Leland continued laughing. “Man, those two kill me.”
Boone grabbed his tablet and pulled me into the vocals booth. He handed me a pair of headphones and bounced on his toes.
“How do you want to do it?” he asked.
“I mean, I usually like a little more room to maneuver,” I cracked, knowing full well the mics were hot.
“Gross!” the twins shouted in unison.
“I promise, no funny business,” I said, raising my hands. “Why don’t you sing it through and then once I hear the part, we can decide on the harmony.”
He shivered. “I can’t believe we’re doing this,” he whispered. “I can’t wait to hear what we sound like together.”
We put on our headphones and Morrison played the track.
I was not ready to be in an enclosed space with Boone and that fucking voice of his. He closed his eyes and started off low and sultry with the first verse, and I broke out in goose bumps. Then he opened up when he got to the second verse, and I could hardly breathe. By the time he reached the chorus, there was so much emotion in his voice as he sang, my heart squeezed in my chest. I thought I couldn’t take any more, but then the section where I’d played the slide part came on and he opened his eyes and smiled at me, a bit out of breath himself.
When the lyrics came back in, he belted out his soul, emotions laid bare, and he climbed to a ridiculously high note, his voice cracking the tiniest bit more from emotion than from strain, it seemed, and then it abruptly ended on a gasp from him.
“Holy fuck,” I said when it was done. “Jesus, Boone.”
“I know, right?” He laughed, but then he coughed a few times, and he left the booth to get his inhaler.
I tried to catch my own breath.
My God, the man was talented. Hearing such a raw song had me thinking back to what Lydia had asked me, whether I’d grown. We were about to find out, because these vocals were notonly going to push me to my own limits, but I was going to be singing a song about fuckinglonging, in a tiny booth, with a man who had gone from my nemesis and rival, to my lover to—God—my fucking musical soul mate in such a short time, I thought I must be suffering from emotional whiplash.
Which had me inspired.
Before Boone made it back to the booth, I whipped out my phone, opened my notes app and typed in the thoughts going through my head and heart.
You’re so close I can’t breathe
I never want to leave
