Page 73 of Hard Rock Temptation
My heart ached again and my throat closed up, so painfully I thought I might choke on it.
I inhaled slowly, shakily. I went to my closet, plucked the dress off the hanger and stared at it. It was cute, something I might have found in any fashionable clothing store.
Without thinking, I pulled it off the hanger and shimmied into it. The dress fit perfectly, flattering to my shape and ending just above the knees. Looking at myself in the mirror, I felt a sense of pride, a familiar emotion I recognized from those times I received cheers on stage.
I smoothed out the dress along my chest and thighs, trying to brush away wrinkles. I’d made this. I’d created something cute, something cool. Something beautiful, even. It wasn’t music, but it was all mine, not shared with a group.
I eyed myself in the mirror for several long minutes, taking in every angle. I was already getting ideas for other outfits I could make. I had an old band t-shirt I could turn into a mini skirt. I had a large scarf I could turn into a top.
An itchy sensation came over me, the same sensation I got whenever an idea for a song came floating through my head. An urge to create. It was familiar, but different. And I liked it. I liked it a lot.
Slowly, as if moving underwater, I reached for my phone and typed in a few words.
Online fashion course for beginners
A little thrill went through me as I hit the search button.
Chris said I couldn’t make the band my whole life. But what else did I have? I’d never known anything else.
But maybe… this could be the start of something. Something that was just mine. No record label to placate, no bandmates to argue with, no fans to please.
I could create for the pure joy of it.
I could create, just for me.
And maybe,maybe, it was the start of something that would be enough for me to survive the ending of Until We Break.
THIRTY-TWO
MICAH
Finn’s words haunted me for days.
You always considered yourself the leader, right? Then lead.
It had hit me straight in the gut. I’d always been the one to take care of the others, and it hurt, deeply, that this time I wasn’t.
Not for the first time, I’d wished my dad was still here. He hadn’t been a music person, but he would have understood what I was going through. He might have been able to give me some advice.
But I was all alone with this. I’d been the one people relied on my whole life. But who did I have to rely on, when it all came down to it?
The door to the studio opened widely, startling me.
“Oh, sorry,” said the man who walked through the door. “Didn’t realize anyone was in here.”
My eyes went wide. The man was tall with blond hair and ice blue eyes, standing with a straight back displaying bothconfidence and ease. For a second I could have imagined him wearing a crown on his head, his bearing was so regal, even though all he was doing was standing in the doorway.
“August Summers!” I blurted, sitting up straight. I hadn’t really been doing any work, just staring listlessly at the mixing console in front of me, and I felt a surge of panic that one of the most admired musicians in rock music would see me wallowing in my depressed state.
“Oh, hey kid,” he said, eyes brightening. Then he laughed and shook his head. “Sorry, I shouldn’t do that. Micah, it’s good to see you again,” he said with a nod.
August Summers was a drummer, songwriter and producer for not only his own rock band Darkest Days but also for a multitude of other bands on our shared label. He’d even worked on a few songs with us for our debut album. I’d learned so much from this man.
“It’s good to see you again, too,” I said, trying not to stutter in his presence and remain composed. “Did you want to use this room? I can leave it to you.”
“No, it’s fine, I’ll go somewhere else,” he said easily. Then he gave me a look up and down, scrutinizing me. There was an oddly piercing look to his gaze, like he was seeing more than I would ever want him to. “Is something wrong?”
“No,” I said quickly. “Nothing, everything’s cool, I’m doing great.”
