“Hymn of the unforgiven”
“(You think this is what I wanted? You, you think it’s all I am?)”
“So tired of the pleading”
“(I can’t do this anymore. I’ll never be, no, no never be.)”
“You say I’ve stopped believing”
“(Tell me what I’m waiting for. You took it all. Took, took, took it all.)”
“Just want to stop the bleeding”
“(Who will wait for the abandoned, the hymn of the…)”
“Unforgiven.”
Chills rush through me when their vocal volley breaks into an instrumental explosion. Max unleashes on the drums. Julian and Travis wail on their guitars, while Julian continues screaming into the mic.
“Unforgiven! Unforgiven! I’ll be the unforgiven!
Unforgiven! Unforgiven! I’ll never learn my lesson!”
Throughout the final choruses, I can’t keep my eyes off them. I’ve spent my life watching musicians perform, but never have I seen them transform the way this band does by the time the song comes to a dramatic end. No one moves for at least five seconds after the last chord, hovering in the moment, all of us in silent agreement that something incredible just happened.
“That was it,” Julian breathes out finally. The rest of the band releases a collective sigh as smiles light up around the room. “Yeah,” he repeats, nodding to himself. “That was it.” He crosses his gaze to Viv, who grins back.
“We found our sound,” she says with confidence.
He nods once in affirmation. “Now we just need a name.”
CHAPTER 9
JULIAN
What a difference a rehearsal makes. After our first one, I was worried we’d made a huge mistake. After today, pretty sure we have something legit.
Viv and the others are killing it, breathing life into my songs in a way I never considered when I wrote them. That’s a real band. When an idea plus collaboration equals art. It’s what I’ve wanted my whole life.
Even in the prime of Eastern Crush, Rob had been such a control freak that he never let us be creative and make good songs better. There was no collaboration. It was the Rob Patrick show, which turned out to be the Rob Patrick pretending to be Mason West show. Except, the real Mason West would have let us tweak his songs into something phenomenal. Maybe that’s what angered him the most about the whole thing. The fact that we time-stamped his music into something stale.
I climb the stairs of my building, eager to get some writing time in before Hadley’s family thing tonight. I’m kicking myself for agreeing to that now. As fun as it sounded to piss off her celebrity parents by pretending to be her boyfriend, the full inconvenience of the joke is starting to settle in. Do I really want to give up a night of writing for a joke date?
I think about Hadley’s reaction when Viv relayed the plan she’d concocted. Okay yeah, that alone was worth it. She pretty much choked on air, shot a scalding glare at Viv, and then her face got all red and blotchy when her gaze landed on me. That was my favorite part. I have no clue why Hadley finally agreed to it. She must hate her parents more than me. Plus, maybe the thought of playing her boyfriend stirred the tiniest spark in me, even if it isn’t real. This could be pretty freaking enjoyable.
Music pounds down the hall as I push through the fire door onto our floor. Not a good sign. I had cut out of rehearsal as soon as it ended to get home for Naomi. Clearly she beat me here.
Inside the apartment, I find her schoolbag at a strange angle on the floor, some of the contents spilling out in a macabre testament to a bad day. I look around for other clues but don’t see anything obvious. No, my best evidence is the music blaring down the hall.
I drop my cases by the door and let out a long breath on my trudge to her room. Will she even hear my knock over the thrashing? I try anyway.
“Naomi!” I call out.
Nothing.
“I’m home!”
“Hey! You in there?” I pound harder, pressing my other palm against the door frame while I wait. I’m just about to try again when she yanks the door open, her face scrunched in an exaggerated scowl.
“What?” she snaps.
“Nothing. Just saying hi. I’m home.”
“Congratulations.” She goes to close the door, and my instinctive irritation wants to let her. It would be the expected outcome in our pattern over the last month and clearly what she’s going for. She obviously wants nothing to do with me. Then, I remember that brief moment yesterday when she did. The smile that told me there’s another girl trapped in there somewhere.
“You mind turning that off?”
“Why?”
“Because I can’t hear you when it’s on.”
“What do you need to hear?” she says, crossing her arms.
“Your words.”
“I’m not talking.”
“Exactly.” I lean against the open frame, making it clear I’m not leaving. That icy glare remains fixed on her face throughout a ten-second standoff, her exasperated sigh, the march to the phone on the dresser, and the most dramatic pressing of a button I’ve ever seen. My ears ring in the silence as she marches back and resumes the angry arm-cross stare-down.
“Okay. Now, what?” she demands.
“How was school?” I ask in an even tone.
“It was school. How do you think?”
“Super fun and educational?” I say, raising my brows.
Her glare darkens, then eases slightly in confusion.
“Please tell me you had an assembly today. Or at least got to do some mandatory state testing?” I clasp my hands in front of me in anticipation.
The slightest of smiles peeks through before she manages to crush it. “You’re so weird,” she mutters.
“Hey, we’re genetically linked, so careful with the insults.”
She rolls her eyes, but there’s that smile again. I move into her room and pick up her guitar on the stand, as if that’s the reason for my intrusion.
“You need help tuning this?” I ask, dropping to the desk chair.
“No, I got it. It’s pretty much the only thing I can do,” she mumbles.
I try to keep my look discreet as I study her to read that response. “Cool.” I start strumming absently, while she continues to stare at me. “So you want to tell me why your bookbag is throwing up all over my floor?”
She flinches in surprise before the smile creeps out again. “I dropped it.”
“Dropped it or threw it?”
“Threw it.”
“Must have been one kick-ass assembly.”
Her smile widens as she shakes her head. “There wasn’t an assembly, Uncle J. Sorry to disappoint you.”
“No?” I glance down at the strings, strumming casually to disguise my interest.
The creak of the bedframe tells me she’s dropped to her mattress, and I work hard to maintain my cool state. She’s softening to the conversation, and I don’t want to spook her.
“School was whatever. Some girls were being bitches today, that’s all.”