Page 32 of Composed
Cole • Now
Still Breathing – Green Day
Thechaoticcrashofcymbals greets me when I step into the basement studio.
“’Sup fucker!” Saint shouts, throwing an arm over my shoulder.
I shove him off and he tumbles into the leather couch. “Someone want to tell me I was dragged out of bed at the arse crack of dawn?”
“Don’t look at me.” Saint drapes his legs over the arm of the sofa.
Carter shakes his head, never lifting his sticks as he tickles the snare.
I turn to Axel and hike a brow.
He’s slouched against the wall, ink-sleeved arms folded over his chest. A black beanie is pulled low on his forehead, stubble dots his sharp jaw, and he smirks. “I’m going stir crazy around here. Wanna do something fun?”
Carter scoffs. “I’d say. I don’t think I can handle seeing you in another dress. Once was enough to give me nightmares for life.”
“Hey, I love your little darlings,” Axel says, sun-kissed cheeks rounding as his grin widens. “If they want me to throw on a princess dress and have tea parties while Daddy is busy, I’m going to do it.” He wiggles ring adorned fingers, pink, sparkling nails catching under the lights. “Plus the ladies love a man who wears nail polish.”
“Not your dad.” Carter grunts.
I snort. “You’re hosting tea parties with the girls?”
“Stir. Fucking. Crazy, dude.” Axel says, turning back to me. He softens chocolate brown eyes, blinking like a fucking puppy begging for scraps. “Do this one thing for me. Please.”
I tug at the chain hanging around my neck. “What did you have in mind?”
“Secret set.” He grins.
“Do bands even do those anymore?” Saint asks, head rolling as a white-powder-filled bag dangles from his fingertips. “I think the last one I went to was Taking Back Sunday and that was in twenty seventeen.”
“Yeah. Ash was at one last week. It’s where I got the idea,” Axel says.
No one speaks. Axel watches, eyes darting over us before he lands back on me. “What else have we got going on right now?”
Sweet fuck all.I’m no closer to laying a single lyric than I was when I rolled up home. And as long as it stays that way, Reckless Abandon lives in stasis.
“Come on,” Axel says.
He pushes off the wall, snatches up a Squier Affinity, and hooks the strap over his shoulder.
Plucking a string, he nods to Carter who kicks the bass drum. “You can’t say you haven’t missed this. No stadium. No set list. Just us, a couple fans, and our favourite tracks. It’s been years since we've been able to kick back like this.”
Saint jumps up. He sniffs, wiping his long black sleeve under his nose before he snatches up his custom 1947 Gibson. Plugging it into the amp, he cranks the volume and strums the opening lick of our first single,Jaded.
He looks at me, shoulders taut as his fingers dance across the strings. But I see it, the quick flicker of light across dull eyes. Carter settles into the drums, lips tilted ever-so-slightly. And Axel beams.
I pluck my phone from my pocket.
The screen is empty. I haven’t heard a peep from Hendrix since she called on Friday. Not that I’ve gone out of my way to contact her either.
Turns out, I haven’t a fucking clue what I’m doing.
If I thought ten years could pass and things wouldn't be weird, I was wrong.
I roll the drawstring of my hoodie between my fingers and my gaze darts to the lone microphone in the centre of the room. Maybe new songs aren’t coming. Maybe they were never meant to.
