Alec flips him off, then launches back into the beat when I cue them again.This time, the rhythm still snarls—but it’s tighter, more controlled.The fury finds focus.It doesn’t just scream anymore.It drags you under and dares you to breathe.Dexter slips in behind him, weaving a low, atmospheric line that snakes beneath Alec’s fire, and suddenly, the rough edges of Static Remedy don’t feel like a mistake.They feel like a promise.
The studio smells like coffee left too long on the burner.Burnt.Bitter.The kind of scent that sticks to your tongue.The soundboard hums beneath my fingers, its blinking lights syncing with the pulsing throb of the beat.The reel-to-reel spins slow and hypnotic.This place—Eddie built it for me.Because that man ...he can’t help taking care of the people he loves.Even when they don’t know how to ask for it.Even when they don’t believe they deserve it.
He says I was born to do this.That I light up when I’m behind the glass.That producing is my calling.Maybe he’s right.But my heart?That belongs to him.To Cleo.They’re home.The rest is just music.They’re my lyrics—written into me, line by line, and I wouldn’t change a single note.
Still, I’m good at this.Twisting sound into something raw, something real.
I close my eyes and let the sound tear through me—Alec’s rage, Dexter’s low rumble, and the silence between their notes that somehow says more than either of them.It’s like time rewinds.Like I’m stepping back into the part of myself I thought I left in a hospital room with monitors beeping overhead and a body that refused to quit.Producing was never part of the plan.Hell, living past twenty-five wasn’t.But here I am.Not just alive.Not just taking up space.I’m helping someone else scream in tune.
The studio door creaks open.
I don’t have to look up.
Eddie’s laugh cuts through the low bass like it belongs here.Rough.Dry.Familiar.It hits the base of my spine and slides up like heat.A second later, Cleo murmurs something low enough I can’t catch, but it shivers right through me.
My chest unknots before I even register why.
“Don’t let us interrupt,” Eddie says, already claiming the chair behind me.
He kisses my shoulder as he passes.Warm lips, a scrape of beard, the scent of cedar and sweat.It’s casual.Thoughtless.Intimate.My hand flexes on the board.I don’t turn, not yet.
Cleo lingers in the doorway.Barely there, but glowing.That smile of hers—the soft one, the one she gave me when she said she was done being afraid—pulls everything inside me taut.I remember that night.“I want to live again,” she said.And, fuck, she meant it.
She isn’t just breathing now.She’s alive.
And so am I.
“Always interrupting,” Alec groans, flinging his sticks down like a toddler mid-tantrum.“I was finally in it.”
“You were about to blow your wrist out,” I mutter into the mic, switching it off with a soft click.Then I spin my chair around to face them fully.
Eddie’s already watching me.
One elbow draped on the back of the chair, legs sprawled like he owns every square inch of the room—and maybe he does.His gaze skims over me with that lazy heat I know too well.It starts slow, seeps under my skin, then builds until I’m breathless and aching against the nearest wall.His hand finds mine.No hesitation.No apology.Just skin on skin—solid and electric.
Cleo steps further into the room, and Eddie reaches for her, fingers brushing hers in that quiet way that still fucking destroys me.Not because I’m jealous.Because I’m lucky.Because I get to have this.Her.Him.Both.
Cleo leans down, tucking herself against Eddie’s side, but her eyes never leave mine.
“Sounds good,” she says softly.
“You heard Alec’s whining over that?”I tease.
She smirks.“You mix miracles.”
Eddie’s hand moves to the back of my neck, thumb sliding just beneath the collar of my shirt, warm and firm.“You’re in your element,” he murmurs, low enough that it’s just for me.
I tip my head slightly, eyes slipping closed.That touch ...it’s not bold or showy.Just a slow drag of his thumb—but it strips me down faster than any chord progression ever could.I could stay like this for hours, letting his hands write symphonies across my skin.
“Wrap it for today,” I call over my shoulder.“Dex, Alec—save your genius for tomorrow.”
Alec groans.Dexter just nods, already unplugging cables.
As the others leave, Cleo crosses the room.No hesitation, no apology in her steps.Her hands find my waist, and she leans in.Her lips brush my jaw before trailing toward my mouth.Her kiss is warm.Soft at first, then deepening, pressing until there’s no air between us.I slide my hand into her hair, gripping just enough to earn a quiet sigh from her.
Eddie’s behind me in an instant.His chest to my back.His hand covering mine where it grips Cleo.His other hand glides beneath the hem of my shirt, fingers spreading over my stomach, then lower, until I’m gasping into Cleo’s mouth.
We now alone.The tension is already simmering.Always there, just beneath the surface.It just takes one glance, one breath, and we unravel.
