“Whatever.”
Kaj knew Noah was probably the best option among all the other vocalists they’d already met, but he didn’t want him here with his laid-back personality and easy smile.
It was irrational to be so spiteful, but Kaj couldn’t help it. Noah’s presence made him bristle. It made him more aware of the ugly parts of himself. He was like a big, blinking neon sign in the middle of the night pointing at his giant pile of mistakes.
“He’s starting,” Aksel said, propping his elbows on his knees as he sat forward.
The atmospheric intro of their song “Never Know” inundated the air, and soon Noah began singing. Soft and cradling, like a lullaby. It felt as if the room dimmed by itself, setting him into the spotlight and making the world outside disappear.
Noah was a tenor, but his voice was raspier and deeper than when Kaj had last heard him sing in person. The intensity and vulnerability in his vocals were unmatched. Fucking flawless. The videos, with the autotune and post-production, hid the beautiful subtleties that could only be appreciated in a live performance.
The incredible texture and his natural grit.
The power on his higher belting notes.
The way he so effortlessly navigated the harmony.
Without hesitation, Noah devoured the track, owning each one of the words in it.
Why couldn’t he stay wherever he’d been all these years and not invade Kaj’s space again? It had taken him forever to forget Noah, and still he knew it was just a carefully woven net of lies. How did anyone fully get over what they had?
Kaj didn’t need this. Not now that he was finally getting better. He didn’t need the temptation, the emotional codependency, or the reminder that he would never be good enough. Didn’t fucking need any of it. Yet a devious part of his soul yearned forhim.
Kaj huffed, feeling uncomfortable as the second song began.
He wrote “Villain” after Noah and he parted ways eight years ago. Artificial Suicide included it in the first album in which he had participated. It talked about the all-consuming nature of toxic relationships and how difficult it was to break free from them.
Talk about fucking timing.
“That’s one of my favorite songs of yours,” Aksel said.
“Thanks.”
“His voice makes it even better.”
“It’s not bad.” Kaj lifted a shoulder.
“Are you deaf?” Aksel chuckled. “The emotion he’s showing. Sounds like he’s really feeling it.”
“Isn’t it amazing when musician and music sync like that?” Xander asked no one in particular.
“Totally,” Aksel agreed.
“I guess,” Kaj said through gritted teeth as they blabbered on about how amazing Noah was.
Ethereal and dark, the track slowly escalated, allowing Noah to show off his absurd range and technique. He transitioned with ease between the breathy and the more chested voice, only to abandon himself to desperate-sounding screams that rattled Kaj’s insides.
Xander and Aksel seemed delighted with the show Noah was putting on for them, and so did Niels, which only made the drummer’s jaw tic. Even rehab, where he’d suffered through severe withdrawal symptoms, was better than this.
Unable to take it anymore, Kaj stood up abruptly and strode outside with his bomber jacket in hand. The emergency door to the back alley closed as he leaned on the brick wall, lighting a cig.
The narrow street felt smaller than ever, almost as if the buildings were caving to smash him in between. It was hard to breathe, and it was cold, but he’d rather freeze his ass to death than keep listening to Noah sing.
Kaj unzipped his jacket enough to pull his beanie from the inside pocket and put it on. Taking another long drag, his mind drifted away…
“Hey!” Noah said as he walked into Kaj’s garage with his bike.
“Hey back—” Kaj raised his eyes from his drums and froze. There was a bruise on Noah’s cheek. Revenge after they kicked those bullies’ asses at Lukas’s party? “What the hell happened?” He stood up and walked over to him, gently thumbing the purple area.
