“Let’s take it from the top,” I say once we’re done warming up.
“How do we even do that when we haven’t heard the song?” Silas mutters. JJ elbows him in the side, silencing him.
“I’ll go through it once, and then we can sing it together,” I tell Silas.
“And I’ve added you to our group chat,” Charles adds. “You can share the lyrics there.”
I take out my phone, paste in the words to the song in the group chat, and turn to face the guys. The melody in my head calls to me. It begs to be shared so it can be sung by four princely voices in perfect harmony, just as I’d always intended.
I forget that Silas wants me to fail. I forget where I am. I forget about my whiny voice. All I remember is the song.
I go through it once, from start to finish, and beam at the compliments from Charles, Tate, and JJ. Silas stays silent, his eyes boring into me with an intensity that makes my throat dry up, but I force myself to ignore him.
I go over the song again, demonstrating each guy’s part. I move around the rehearsal space, showing them where they should enter the stage and where each of them should stand. When I’m done, I’m out of breath but filled with joy. Now I finally—finally—get to hear the guys sing my song.
They get into position, with me at the front, facing them, and sing. It’s a cascade of beautiful notes. Charles’s deep and sensuous bass keeps a rhythm that the rest of us follow. The middle ground of our song is filled in by Tate and Silas, two complimentary tenors that richly fill out the melody and tell the story. Then there’s JJ, whose voice adds accents and echoes. JJ sounds like he belongs in a boy band, singing about sweetness and love, but his voice melds in perfectly.
That isn’t to say that their rendition of the song itself is perfect. They make mistakes here and there, and some of the notes are off, but it’s nothing that can’t be fixed. I explain what needs to be changed and run them through the song again and again.
Soon, the guys are exhausted and starting to lose some of their original excitement, but the competition song is really taking shape. I know we can take it where it needs to go. There is one thing missing and I just have to work up the nerve to tell the guys.
“That was awesome!” Tate, ever the optimist, cheers us on.
“We’re definitely getting there,” JJ agrees.
Charles nods and strokes his chin. “Something was missing, though,” he says, echoing my thoughts.
I wait for him to elaborate, but he doesn’t. He wants me to say it. To point out that one person wasn’t quite doing his part... the one I’ve been trying to ignore throughout rehearsal. Silas.
I cast a glance his way, and that’s all it takes. The guys turn to stare at him and everyone gets the picture, including Silas himself.
“Me?” he snaps. “I was on time. I was on key. I hit every note perfectly.”
“You did.” I nod. I’m about to add a but when he interrupts.
“What’s your problem?” he shouts. “You’ve had it out for me since day one!”
“Me?” I gasp, because that’s the furthest thing from the truth. Silas is the one who’s had it out for me.
“You keep throwing drinks at me,” he snaps, his tone dripping with accusation.
“That was an accident.”
“The brandy was my fault,” Charles adds, but Silas ignores him.
“You kicked me in the fucking nuts,” he growls, his gaze narrowed on me.
“That one was my fault,” JJ raises a hand, but Silas acts like he didn’t even hear him.
“You dropped a fucking box on my head!” he shouts, nostrils flaring.
“I didn’t... not really,” I deny while the guys exchange confused looks.
“You keep trying to take my place,” Silas adds, his voice cracking.
“No, I’m not!”
“No one’s trying to take your place, man,” Tate adds.
“And now you’re criticizing my singing?” Silas screams in outrage.
“I wasn’t criticizing it... I was just...”
“Yes?” Silas demands, his snakebite piercing glinting menacingly under the fluorescent lights.
“I just think something was...” I search for the right word and finally say, “missing.”
“Missing?” he spits. “What the fuck does that even mean?”
“You...” I trail off, suddenly feeling like Silas cast a magic spell over me. A silencing spell that stops my voice from working.
“I thought so,” Silas scoffs and turns away. Then he storms toward the door. “I’m out of here.”
“Wait,” I cry after him.
“What?” Silas spin around to face me. “You either tell me what your problem is, or I’m out.”
“W-when you sing...” I stutter, take a deep breath, and try to sound more confident. “There’s no passion.”
“Passion?” Silas frowns.
I nod.
Passion is what guides me. It’s what every fairy tale is about. And it’s what was missing from Silas’s voice as he went through the motions of rehearsing.
He slides his thumbs into his pant pockets and strolls toward me. His dark gaze pierces me with its intensity, and each step he takes steals oxygen from my breath. I keep waiting for him to stop, but he doesn’t. Not until we’re standing toe to toe, his face a hair’s breadth from mine.
“Do you want me to sing louder?” he asks, his tone an impossible mix of menace and seduction.
I gulp. Not because I’m scared of Silas—I know my guys would protect me—but because being this close to the Dark Prince is too much.
“Well?” he snaps.
I shake my head.
“You want me to add more dance moves?” he asks, his eyes locked on mine.
I shake my head again.
“Then what, Roonie? What is it you want?”
“For you to sing like you mean it,” I whisper, my voice trembling.
“Mean what?” Silas frowns, like he has no clue what I’m talking about. The guy who’s hated me with a passion since the moment we met doesn’t realize that’s what his singing was missing. How is that even possible? His song was so laced with emotion I felt my soul shatter. Yet he can’t even put half that feeling into rehearsal?
“When you sing...” I struggle to find a way to explain. "You need to sing from your soul.”
“My soul,” Silas mutters. He shakes his head, takes a concentrated breath, and goes over the lyrics. He hits every note, and his voice is pure perfection, but it’s like a part of him is dead and his empty corpse is singing my song.
“Well?” he demands after he hits the last note.
I shake my head.
“You obviously don’t know what you’re doing,” Silas snaps, crossing his arms in front of his chest.
“Yes, I do.”
“No, you don’t.” This time he smirks, purposely goading me, and I know I can’t back down.
“You need to care about this song. You need to pour your heart into it,” I raise my voice so it doesn’t fade, because I know if I don’t say this now, I won’t be able to work up the courage later. “You need to feel the words, Silas. You need to make the audience feel them, too.”