I twirl a stick between my fingers and flash him a forced grin and I point the stick at myself. “Rock n’ roll drummer.”
“Not like that you aren’t.” He reaches down and adjusts one of the mics himself, not because it needs it, but because he’s thinking. When he straightens, his eyes settle on me again. “You’re pushing too hard.”
I shrug. “Trying something different.”
Luc leans back in his chair, watching the exchange like he’s curious where it’s going to land. Dean doesn’t say anything, but I catch the way his jaw tightens slightly. They all feel it. Hayden doesn’t argue. He just steps back, his gaze locked on me as his hands slide into the pockets of his jeans.
Luc’s voice sounds through our in-ears. “We’re done for today.” It’s not a suggestion.
The producer looks surprised but nods. Gear starts powering down. I stay seated behind the kit longer than necessary, staring at the drum heads like they’ll explain what’s happening inside my chest.
When I finally slide off my throne to leave, I find Hayden waiting by the door. “You’re coming with me.” There’s no question in it. I hesitate just long enough to feel defensive, then grab my jacket and follow him to his car.
His car is exactly like him. Cool, dark, subtle but sleek. A black Audi A7 with light brown leather interior. I slide into the seat that’s as soft as butter. He doesn’t say a thing as he starts the car or during the entire drive into the city.
He parks in a part of town I haven’t been to before, but it’s nice enough. The building doesn’t look like much from the outside. Standard brick factory style building. Inside is anotherstory. Low, warm lighting. Dark leather seating and marble bar tops in a large room with even darker corners. Music plays that doesn’t shout; it coils.
Conversations stay close to tables instead of spilling into the room. Nothing feels chaotic. Every movement seems intentional. Hayden doesn’t need to announce himself. Doors open for him without asking, people adjusting as he moves through the space. He belongs here. Not in the loud way I belong onstage, but in a quiet, dominant way.
We take seats at the bar. He orders something dark and slow without glancing at the menu. I ask for tequila. The bartender’s posture shifts subtly when Hayden nods in approval. Respect. Deference. Something that isn’t fear but isn’t casual either.
I watch the room over the rim of my glass. Couples sit close, but aren’t clingy. Conversations are low and intense. A woman in a fitted black dress approaches and brushes her fingers lightly over Hayden’s wrist as she leans in to speak to him.
He doesn’t pull away. He doesn’t lean in either. He just listens, composed, contained. In complete command. He sips his drink like he has nowhere else to be. I toss mine back quicker than I should.
“You’ve lost control.” He speaks without looking at me.
I chuff once under my breath. “You sound like my fucking dad.”
“You react to everything.” The tone of his voice exactly the same, and the words settle somewhere uncomfortable. He turns slightly toward me now, his gaze steady. “You let people pull you. You let noise decide for you.”
“I’m fine.” I toss back another two fingers of the tequila the bartender refilled without me even asking.
“You’re not. Stop pretending you are.”
The music shifts. A slower beat. Someone laughs seductively across the room. Hayden’s attention drifts back to the space likehe’s assessing something invisible. The woman in black returns, her hand sliding along the back of his chair. He looks at her this time, a small tilt of his head, almost imperceptible, and she smiles like she’s been granted something.
Power doesn’t always shout. Sometimes it just exists. He stands eventually, finishing his drink. “You need to stop listening to the noise.” He adjusts his jacket. “Or it’s going to swallow you whole.”
“That’s supposed to be helpful?” I scoff with a shake of my head.
“You either take control of it, or it will take control of you.” Does he think talking in riddles like this is actually helpful?
He speaks into the ear of the woman waiting, and my brow raises as I watch her walk five steps, stop, and then drop to her knees and bow her head.
“You think that kind of control is what I need?” I point my chin in her direction.
He pauses, glancing at me with something that could almost be amusement in his eyes. “You don’t need what I do.”
I don’t answer. Because, he’s right. I don’t want that.
“You do know what you want however.” He pauses, looking deeper into my soul than I’m comfortable with. “You just have to ask for it.”
He doesn’t say another word. He steps to the woman, taps her on the shoulder, and she rises up beside him, her eyes downcast. He begins to walk and she keeps step beside him. They don’t rush. They don’t sneak. They just move through the room like they’ve agreed to something without words.
I sit there longer than I should. Another tequila lands in front of me. I let the burn spread slow this time as I watch Hayden disappear into a private hallway. I realize something with a clarity that makes my chest tighten; he’s never looked lonelier.
Not unhappy. Not empty. Just contained. Sealed off in a way that doesn’t let anything in far enough to ruin him. That kind of life would suffocate me. I don’t want someone who understands the rules. I want someone who forgets them. I don’t want control. I want connection.
