Page 32 of The Heart That Breaks
We do, and all three of us sing the lyric, and then Holden adds, “Don’t need to think this through.”
And then Dad chimes in, matching the words to the melody, “Even if I wanted to, pretend that it isn’t true.”
“Too late I love you.”
Dad and Holden both write the lyrics down, and we play the whole thing through again. Once it’s smoothed out, Dad throws out a line for the first verse.
“Found your note on the front seat of my truck.”
We strum through, singing it, and then Holden adds, “Said thanks it was fun, let’s not push our luck.”
Dad plays the melody through and I throw out, “You’re blamin’ last night on weakness and temptation.”
We play it through again, and Holden follows up with,“One too many wine spritzers and infatuation.”
And on it goes for another two hours until the song is not only hammered out but polished to what sounds to me radio ready. We play the whole thing through one more time before Holden sets his guitar down and says, “Does this ever get any less fun?”
Dad laughs and says, “Best job in the world.”
“Guess you’ll be listed as a co-writer, Nathan,” Holden says, looking at me with a smile.
“No,” I say. “That wouldn’t…”
“You wrote the hook. And a couple other lines. Of course you’ll get credit.”
Dad nods in agreement, and I see the pride in his eyes. I don’t know what to say. The only thing that seems right is, “Thank you. This was truly incredible.”
“No high like it,” Holden says. “To start with a line or a lick or hook and just take off from there and end up with something you know is dang good, well, it just never gets old.”
“No, it doesn’t,” Dad agrees. “Thanks, Holden. For the opportunity to write with you. Can’t tell you how much I appreciate it.”
“The pleasure’s all mine, Aaron,” Holden says, adding, “Nothing like writing with the best in the business, and it looks like Nathan here is going to be following in your footsteps.”
“I have a feeling he’ll be making some prints of his own.”
“I think you’re right,” he agrees.
Hank Junior gets up from his spot next to Holden’s chair and trots over to the door, barking once as if he’s ready for us to be done.
“Coming,” Holden says, getting up to open the door for him. Hank Junior takes off around the pool and lets himself into the house through the doggie door.
Holden walks us through the house and out to Dad’s vehicle, shaking our hands after we put our guitars in the back. “Let’s do it again soon,” he says and Dad tells him anytime.
It’s not until we’re a block or two away from the house that I look at Dad and say, “I can’t really think of any words significant enough to thank you for that.”
“No need.”
“How long would it take to get a break like that?”
Dad glances over at me, honest when he says, “A long time.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. And you were great. Heck of a hook.”
“Probably never would have thought of it if I had just been writing on my own. I can see why you like co-writing. It’s a kick feeding off the other writer’s energy and ideas.”
“It is. But don’t sell yourself short, son. You’ve got talent.”
