Cole shot him an angry look. “Can you not—”
“No, no. That’s okay,” I jumped in. “It’s true. I know you guys might decide against working with me by the end of the day. That’s the whole point of this audition.”
I shifted in my seat, hoping to remove the tension at the table. I wasn’t an idiot. I could see that Cole, Ezra, and Silas were eager to have me onboard, but Abel was a whole other story, and he was the producer. If, at the end of the day, he didn’t like me, his opinion was what mattered most.
Despite what had just come out of my mouth, a cold shiver ran down my spine at the thought of Abel vetoing me. I was enjoying this too much.
“How come you’ve decided to record it back here?” I jumped in again, trying to change the topic. “Must be a downgrade from your usual setup.”
Ezra stirred his water with a straw. “This town was Charlie’s favorite place. After the funeral, we talked for a long time about what we should do with the last songs he wrote. We weren’t even sure we wanted to record them. But then we realized that Charlie would want his songs heard, and he would’ve gotten a kick from recording it here—the same studio where we recorded our first album.”
I gave him a sad smile. I was starting to realize that not getting into personal territory would be difficult. After all, music was personal. When I wrote, I was laying my deepest fears, thoughts, and regrets bare for all to see. These guys were world-class musicians, and they hadn’t gotten to where they were by playing it safe. I knew their music must also be their most sacred truth, and if I was to help them record this album, I might need to wade into the same territory.
Maybe that was a good reason for me to bid them goodbye after today.
“What do you think about the songs we’ve worked on so far?” Ezra asked me. I was picking up that he and Cole were the more outgoing ones in the group. When Silas spoke, he was a blunt instrument, but he spent most of his time listening and paying attention to those around him. And Abel… Well, Abel just seemed to quietly simmer with anger.
“They’re beautiful,” I answered honestly. “Intense yet soothing in some parts, like a lullaby.” I cleared my throat. “Abel, your singing is incredible.”
At this, Abel flicked his gaze to me. The cold expression he wore shifted for just a moment before falling into place again.
“You sing for your band,” Silas observed, and I turned to look at him. “Do you enjoy it more than playing?”
I tapped my fingers against the sweating glass of water. “I like to sing and engage with the audience. It makes me feel like a conductor for the rest of the band in some ways, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t find that thrilling. But I’ve been playing guitar for much longer than I’ve sang, and… Well, it’s just different. I feel great when I sing, but I feel high on life when I’m playing guitar.”
“I know the feeling,” he responded, giving me a knowing smile through his beard. I felt like he was undressing me with his intense gaze as I spoke, as if he could peel me apart layer by layer until he could stare directly into my soul.
The food arrived, and we dug in. When we finished, Ezra grabbed the bill, refusing to let me pay for my share, and hustled us back into the car. We picked up where we’d left off, and ran through the two songs about a dozen more times.
“Let’s hear what it sounds like on tape,” Abel said when we were finished, sending me into the sound booth. Silas sat beside him behind the glass, listening to my playing intently and offering suggestions. After a few tries, Silas waved at me to come out, and we gathered the full band to listen to the recording.
As the sound of my playing filled the control room, I had to stifle a smile. It sounded solid, and I couldn’t believe I’d managed to learn the song this well in just a few hours. A lot of that was due to the coaching Silas had so generously provided, and he smiled through his beard when he saw me looking at him.
“Fucking badass,” Cole said after the track ended.
“I really like that,” Ezra agreed, his blue eyes alight with excitement.
I beamed at them despite myself. I couldn’t help but feel a little proud.
“It’s not good enough.” Abel’s words landed like a punch, wiping the smile off my face. The warmth I’d felt from Cole’s and Ezra’s praise disappeared in a heartbeat.
For a second, you could hear a pin drop.
“What do you mean,” Silas bit out. “It sounds great.”
Abel stood, crossed his arms, and faced Silas. He didn’t look at me. “No, it doesn’t. I wrote this song with Charlie. I fucking know how it’s supposed to sound, and I’m telling you it’s not right.”
“Well, why don’t you tell us what needs to be fixed,” Ezra interjected, clearly trying to diffuse the situation. I looked between him and Abel, starting to feel nauseous.
“I can’t fucking spell it out for you,” Abel snapped, spreading his arms wide and still refusing to meet my gaze. “There isn’t an instruction manual for art. She just doesn’t sound like Charlie.”
“Of course not. No two guitarists sound the same,” Silas said, his voice low and tense. “We’re not trying to imitate him. We’re trying to record a good album, and Adeline’s playing sounded damn good to me.”
“It’s. Not. Good. Enough.”
I stood up, clenching my fists when I realized my hands were shaking.
At last, Abel moved his gaze to me. I could see the loathing in his eyes, and that riled me up.
