Page 61 of Love is a Drum Beat
Dax frowned. “You didn’t like the song?”
Marco threw a pen at the plexiglass separating them. “That’s not the point.”
“I fail to see a point at all.”
Marco sighed. “Dax… you aren’t supposed to be able to do that.”
“Do what?” Dax gave him a lazy half grin.
“Don’t you smirk at me, you frustrating… I don’t even know what to call you. Are you a musician? Or a singer?”
Dax shrugged. “All the above? I still don’t see why you’re mad at me.”
“Because no one does that. You’re upending my entire world here. There’s a routine. Write the song. Craft the instrumental bits. Record the lyrics.”
“Music isn’t a routine, Marco. Sometimes it just is.”
“Get out of the booth, Dax. Right now.”
Dax’s brow furrowed as he stepped through the doorway and looked down at Marco.
“Sit down.” Marco scowled. “We are going to work on the rest of that song. Do you know why you’re frustrating, Dax?”
“I assume there are many reasons.”
Marco snorted. “Because you have so much talent and aren’t an egotistical jerk.”
“And that’s frustrating?”
“Very. Because I want to strangle you for that brilliant song you just sang. And at the same time, I want to hear it again. So, just sit down, and we can figure out the rest of this song. But I will never forgive you for this.”
“It seems like such a small thing to cause such hatred.”
Marco shook his head with a sigh. “No one in their right mind could hate you, Dax. We just envy your genius.”
Dax had never been comfortable when compliments came his way. “I just want to make music.”
* * *
There was a certain contentment that came with finishing a song. It was a personal record how long it took to go from Dax’s brain to a legit track for his album, and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t proud of himself.
Dax had never been good at any sport or other non-music activity. He wasn’t the most socially adept guy. No one would envy his sparkling personality.
But the music… that was where he derived his confidence.
He waved to Marco who’d given him a ride home and a healthy dose of jokes about Dax preferring to take Ubers than driving himself.
A smile spread Dax’s lips as he unlocked his door and stepped inside, expecting to find Jo out of bed in his absence—as if he was the only one demanding she stay there.
But she wasn’t in the kitchen or the living room. In fact, nothing looked touched. There were no fingerprints on the stainless steel fridge—prints Jo seemed incapable of avoiding.
The pillows on the couch looked just as he’d left them, not scattered between the couch and the floor.
The doorbell rang, pulling Dax from his search of Jo. He crossed the room and yanked it open. A delivery man held out a bag with three Styrofoam containers in it. Dax took it and dug into his pocket, handing over a tip.
Once the door shut, he walked to Jo’s room and tapped lightly on the door. There was no response, so he nudged the door open. Jo lay on her side in the dark room. He wanted to let her sleep, heaven knew she needed the rest.
But he also needed to make sure she was okay.
