Page 16 of Hard Rock Tease
"Nope."
"Good." He cursed again and ran his hands through his hair. "What did you tell him?"
"Nothing. Just that I'm working with you."
Noah whipped his head around, glaring.
"That I'm just a consultant," I clarified. "No one knows I'm actually writing the song for you."
"Quiet!" He darted his eyes back and forth, as if making sure there was no one else in the hallway who might overhear.
"Why don't you just tell the others?"
He ignored me. "Come on. We're leaving."
"If I was in a band and had friends to rely on, I'd ask them for help."
"Friends. Right."
"Are the other guys not your friends?"
"More like overbearing siblings," he muttered.
"Is that such a bad thing? Don't you like having people who look out for you?"
"I can look out for myself."
"There's nothing wrong with relying on people."
"The only person I can rely on is me." He started gathering up all the music sheets he'd been scribbling on. "We're done for the day. I'll text you the address to my place. Be there tomorrow."
He strode out without another glance, leaving me wondering what I had said to make him leave in such a hurry.
Chapter Seven
Ilistenedto more Darkest Days songs on my way to Noah's place. I couldn't have imagined the pain I heard in his voice. The words he'd written had to mean something more than what he told me they meant. It had to be more than just marketability.
There was no way Noah Hart could have written such heartfelt lyrics simply because he knew they would sell. Those words must have come from somewhere deep inside of him. I needed to find out what kind of person Noah was when he wasn't throwing up all those guards and putting barriers between himself and others.
I needed to get to know the real Noah Hart. That was the only way I'd be able to write a song that not only resonated with the audience but that also reflected something of the man himself.
It was going to be an impossible task. Noah was so prickly. He never seemed to let anybody in, even his own bandmates. I wondered what had happened to him to make him like that. Was he always that way? Was he like that as a kid?
I didn't know anything about Noah. Not his family, or where he grew up. Nothing. For all the information available online, there didn't seem to be much people knew about Noah Hart. There were rumors of trouble with his family, and people talked of a younger sister, but no one had seen his family or heard from them. It was as if he had appeared on the music scene like a ghost with no past.
If I tried to analyze the words in his lyrics maybe I would find a way to get inside that head of his. I wanted my first real music job to go well. If I wasn't able to work with Noah to write a song, or if I wrote a song and it wasn't up to his standards, or even worse, if we wrote a song and his fans hated it, that would be the end of my professional reputation. I didn't want my first impression in the music industry to be a failed one.
Noah's building was a high rise condominium right in the middle of downtown. It must have cost millions. When I walked in the concierge greeted me by name and gave me directions to head up to the penthouse floor. Noah must have told them to expect me.
He was already working when I opened the front door of his apartment. He'd kept it unlocked for me. The music was similar to what I'd heard him composing that first day, but it sounded sadder, more mournful.
I stood inside the doorway, not wanting to walk into the room and disturb him. A grand piano sat in the corner of a huge living room, with plush carpets and dark hardwood. The decor was warm and homey — unlike anything I would have expected from someone as abrasive and closed off as Noah. I half expected to find an austere living space with minimal furniture in a modern style. Instead, his living room was warm and inviting. It was at odds with everything I'd come to know about him.
Noah played the song we'd been working on slower, in a lower key, and with more cautious movements. It made the whole thing sound more forlorn than what I'd originally envisioned. It wasn't a bad sound. In fact, I thought it was even better than the way we had worked on it the day before. I hadn't realized how happy the previous song had sounded until hearing Noah play it slower. This song fit Darkest Days' style much better. Noah could never be considered an upbeat or cheery person. The slow, deliberate notes were emotionally devastating, just the way his lyrics were. He was somehow able to take the feeling of his lyrics and put them into music.
I wondered why he was having so much trouble finishing a song if this was the kind of stuff he was able to compose. The song he was playing on his piano right now was good. All he needed was some help fleshing it out and it would be perfect for their new album.
With a thundering crash Noah slammed his hands on the keyboard. I jumped back, heart pounding. He dragged his hands over his face, staring at the floor. His eyes looked blank and unseeing, as if he were struggling with some invisible inner demon.
