Cole let out a heavy breath. “Most of us do. But Abel wants to break up the band. It was one of his conditions for recording the album.”
The world tilted under my feet, a sense of dread curling inside me like a spring ready to be let loose. “Why on earth would he want that?”
The answer appeared in my mind as soon as the question left my mouth. Because he didn’t think he could write again. He had told me as much.
But he was wrong. We’d written a song together. Did that mean he would change his mind now?
“He doesn’t think there’s a band without Charlie. But hey, don’t worry. We decided we’re going to talk to him about it. We’re going to go camping this weekend and see if we can convince him.”
I sighed in relief. “Good. You can’t break up. This new material is amazing, and I know you have so much more in you to give. Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.”
Cole’s lips curved into a gentle smile. “Adeline, you’ve done so much already. Ezra was ready to walk away until we began to work with you. This weekend, after you left his place, we had a long chat. He finally opened up to me about what he’s been struggling with, and we were able to figure a lot of things out. Plus, we’d be hypocrites if we told you to fight for your band if we weren’t willing to fight for ours.”
It was hard for me to fathom that I had anything to do with helping Bleeding Moonlight move forward, but both Cole and Abel had said as much. I knew Abel wouldn’t lie about it, or say it just to flatter me, no matter how nice he had promised to be. I’d thought I was the one taking things from them in this whole arrangement, from recording the album to this thing with Cole, Ezra and I. Opportunities, experiences, pleasure. But maybe it was time for me to acknowledge I was giving things to them as well.
“You’re becoming somebody to us.”
Abel had said those words to me earlier. Now, I was starting to believe them.
* * *
On Thursday, Mason and I sat in his garage waiting for Liam and Elly to arrive for practice.
I was wearing a blue button-up shirt for the sole purpose of covering the hickey on my neck. The past two evenings, after we were done recording, Cole, Ezra, and I had gone back to Ezra’s house where they’d made my body come apart in ways it hadn’t before. I’d never flirted with desire the way I’d done in these last two days. The anticipation of the evening had kept me in a constant state of arousal in the studio. All it took was a hungry look from one of them to make me leak into my panties and squirm in my seat.
“Are you blushing?” Mason asked, twisting and leaning over to look at my face. “You look red.”
I scooted away from him, the leather couch responding with a squeak. “It’s just hot here. You’re radiating heat.”
“Ah, sorry,” he said with a bashful grin. “A cold beer might help?”
As he went inside the house to retrieve it, I cast my gaze around the space as if I hadn’t already committed most of it to memory from all the time we’d spent here. Mason’s gleaming drum kit rested on top of a patterned carpet. The fabric was worn but still retained its color. The wall across from the couch was lined with wide metal shelves containing dozens of meticulously labeled boxes.
Tools, Gift Wrap, Hooks and Door Knobs, Painting Supplies.
I shook my head as he walked back in and handed me a beer. “You’re a freak, you know that, right?”
Mason followed the direction of my gaze and laughed. “What? The boxes? I’m a neat guy. Is that a crime?”
“No, but it might be a precursor to you committing one. You’re nineteen. It’s unnatural.”
He tapped his fingers on the arm of the couch. “Organizing puts my mind at ease. Before I went to work on this place, coming in here was anxiety inducing. Shit piled on top of more shit.”
I snorted. “Sounds like our garage.”
“A mess is not good for the soul. I’m telling ya. Once I fixed this spot up, I started to sleep better.”
“Your future college roommate has no idea how lucky he is.”
“Eh, don’t know about that. I’m gonna be on his ass to keep his part of the apartment clean.”
Mason was going to live on campus for the first year, just like Molly. Unlike me, he’d be able to see her every day if he wanted to.
“How’s Molly doing?” the drummer asked, as if he could read my thoughts. “She ready to move tomorrow?”
“Yeah, she should be wrapping up her packing now.” The thought of seeing her room empty was nauseatingly sad. I clutched my beer harder. “Please drive carefully tomorrow. Keep her safe for me.”
I wasn’t normally afraid of cars or driving, even after the accident, but the anxiety I felt about her leaving had been spreading for days, and I had begun to worry about everything.
