But I agreed it could only happen once.
What’s going on in my head, I honestly have no clue.
After my shower, in my bedroom, all I see is Riley. Her blonde hair spilled over my pillow, her quiet breathing, her body pressed to mine like she belongs there.
“Pull yourself together. Stop thinking with your dick,” I hiss.
I slap my cheeks, willing myself to snap out of it and get dressed. Then, I force myself to leave my bedroom without looking back. Wyatt is already waiting for me downstairs.
The meeting is even more exhausting than I thought it would be. Glenn facilitates, discussing the details with the executives. Jimmy and Bo reminisce about Owen, how he joined the band right before our breakout, how much he meant to all of us, to Sabotage and our fans.
I sit with my fists clenched under the desk, my leg bouncing. Fromtime to time, I speak, adding context to their stories, because that’s what’s expected of me. The label wants us to put out a tribute album with unreleased music we recorded before we lost Owen. All I want is to fucking hide until I feel like myself again.
None of it will bring him back. Not the music, not the songs, not the album.
“What do you think?” Glenn fixes his gaze on me, one eyebrow arched. “Have time to go to the studio today?”
No. “Sure. Why not?”
Every person around the table looks relieved. It’s like they thought I would say no. The break was my idea, after all. At first, we kept going. I’d hoped I could find the cure to my grief in our music, but two months after Owen’s death, I went into the studio and broke down. I couldn’t move, couldn’t talk, couldn’t even hear. When I finally came back to reality, I smashed a guitar then ran to the restroom, where I put my fist through a mirror.
The small scar on my left hand is a constant reminder of that day. Everyone was so understanding, but I was disgusted with myself. Ashamed. I talked to Glenn, then to Jimmy and Bo. I told them all I needed was a break. I couldn’t be in the studio, couldn’t continue playing. Making music had lost its appeal. Every time I brushed my fingers over guitar strings or piano keys, all I could see was my friend in that hotel room. That’s why I know today will be a disaster.
In the studio,I hide in a corner and listen to song after song. I close my eyes and imagine Owen standing on the other side of the glass, singing and playing his parts.
I’m dying on the inside. This is too much.
Bo swivels in his chair. “This one is particularly good, don’t you think?”
“Yeah, it is,” I agree. “Though we’ll need to rerecord some of the guitar beats and maybe the last chorus.”
Lips pursed, he nods. “You’re right.”
When silence falls over us, I relish it.
But I only get a second of peace before Jimmy pipes up. “It feels good to be back in the studio. Therapeutic, even.” He glances between Bo and me. “I miss it.”
“Me too,” Bo says.
I don’t. I’m useless here. I can’t write music or lyrics. I’m just a voice, and I don’t even enjoy that anymore.
“What about you?” Jimmy asks me.
Irritation festers under my skin. Isn’t it clear I don’t want to talk about it?
“I need more time.” I look at my feet. “Music isn’t a cure for me anymore. I don’t feel anything when I play.”
“Sorry, I shouldn’t have brought it up.” Jimmy rakes a hand through his hair, frowning. “Has anyone heard from Ines? I called her a few times to check on her and Santi, but the conversations were short. I don’t think she was all that happy to hear from me.”
“Same.” Bo shrugs. “She was never really fond of us, so I’m not surprised.”
“You’re wrong. She loves Sabotage, and she respects all of us.” I clasp my hands together to hide the way they tremble. “Ever think about showing up rather than just calling occasionally? Or dropping something off for Santi instead of halfheartedly asking what she needs? She lost her husband, her son’s father.” My eyes burn, but I refuse to cry. “The person she loved. She’s all alone. She needs actions, not words.”
“I didn’t want to trouble her,” Bo says, his lips tugged down in a frown.
“And what do you mean she’s all alone? Owen’s parents suggested she move to LA to be closer to them. She could have their support if she wanted it.” Jimmy eyes me from under his furrowed brow.
I sigh. It’s not their fault they don’t understand Ines’ relationship with Owen’s mom, but it’s not my place to explain it to them either.
