Page 79 of Composed
Hendrix • Now
Konstantine – Something Corporate
Alampflickersandcasts the live room in a golden glow.
Cole leans over the grand piano, the soft tinkle of keys echoing through the room.
He hasn’t said much since he found me here three hours ago.
He hasn’t said anything at all, really.
He hasn’t asked what promise I’m keeping, or how long I plan to stay. He just kicked off his Docs, unbuttoned the top two buttons of his crisp black shirt, and grabbed his Les Paul before sitting opposite me in silence.
We stayed like that for hours, until he moved onto the piano.
I hug my arms around myself, breathing in the lavender perfume lingering on my jumper as he plays the melody I started composing last night.
It sounds different on the piano. Less gritty, more heartfelt.
It sounds right.
It’s something I hadn’t considered in all this, incorporating his piano skills. Even though I was the one who told him he should use his classical training in his music all those years ago.
I prop my hummingbird in my lap, roll my shoulders, and tug the pick from my mouth.
Cole drops into the minor. I play a major.
He cocks his head, eyes never straying from the sheet music as a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Can’t just follow my lead, huh?”
My stomach flutters at his voice.
It’s deeper in the early hours of the morning, a little sleepy, a little raspy, a little too familiar.
I school my expression. “Technically, it’s my lead, since I wrote it.”
“Can’t argue there.” He chuckles, his fingers moving at a faster pace.
I pick up mine, trying to mirror him, but I lose it as he shifts into a higher octave, one I can’t possibly match. And he knows that.
I groan. “No fair. You have more range on a piano.”
“All’s fair in love and war, baby.”
Air lodges in my throat.
I drop the guitar onto my lap, grab my water, and drain the remnants in one while he plays on as if he didn’t just send my world on its axis with a single word.
“What do you think about dissonance here?” he asks, adding a major seventh where I’d written a minor. “Have it on the guitar, it would add grit, and give Saint a show-off moment, which he lives for.”
“I don’t see why not. It could work. We’d need to test it out, but I don’t have my electric here.”
Cole tuts, fingers lifting before he spins on the stool and straddles it to look at me. His fingers curl around the leather seat.
I force myself to watch him and not trace the jewellery wrapped around them.
“Have you looked around?” He smirks. “Pretty sure we have almost every guitar you could ever want in here.”
I nod. “Sure, but they’re your guys’ guitars.”
