Total pages in book: 193
Estimated words: 184001 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 920(@200wpm)___ 736(@250wpm)___ 613(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 184001 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 920(@200wpm)___ 736(@250wpm)___ 613(@300wpm)
“Hey, superstar,” Houston says to me after they’re all gone from the table, and I contemplate what to do with the rest of my day. I’m out of bed. That’s as far I’ve planned. “You’re with me. Come on.”
I stand and follow him downstairs like a mindless drone, but I perk up unexpectedly when I step inside their huge practice room slash recording studio. The red padding on the walls was no doubt soundproofing now that they had a baby in the house. There are guitars of every kind all over the place along with a drum set, keyboard, a few microphone stands, and a worn leather sofa pushed against a wall.
And there are awards and certifications too. A fuck-ton of them. I have more, but their number is quickly catching up to mine. The real difference is that I’ve never felt like I deserved mine. Not a single one. I could sing and dance better than the rest of them, it was true, but the part that’s always been missing from it all is me.
Houston takes a seat at the table with the mixing board, so I join him. On the other side of the glass is a sound booth, and I think about how long it’s been.
Suddenly, I’m itching to get inside one now, but there’s just one problem.
There’s no song in my heart that doesn’t include them.
It’s been weeks since my return, but Oni still wanted me to lie low while she finished putting all the necessary pieces in place. She’s already released a written statement on my behalf requesting grace and time for healing and yada yada yada, and it seems to have cooled the rising flames for now, but I didn’t have to check online to know that time was running out. I won’t be able to hide for much longer—not from my uncle and not from the world.
“What am I doing in here?” I finally ask as he pulls over a fresh legal pad and plops a black pen on top of it before sliding it in front of me.
“You’re going to take whatever it is you’re feeling in here”—he points at my chest—“and put it on here. And then, you’re going to release it all in there.” He points at the sound booth.
“I don’t know if I’m ready,” I whisper while staring at the pad.
“We’re never ready,” he answers simply and businesslike.
I have a feeling he runs a tight ship, and I’m reminded once again of Thorin. Instead of pushing the mountain man from my mind as I’ve been doing for weeks anytime I’m conscious, I hold on to him like a lifeline, and I pick up the pen.
Houston and I work in silence for hours.
I jot down lyrics on the pad, and he critiques them with constructive red slashes and short and to the point notes that hurt my feelings and wind me up at the same time. Houston’s brutal in his assessments, but I can appreciate that. Each time he pushes me to dig deeper, the song becomes stronger until it’s hair-raising enough to reach the far ends of the world.
Maybe even the wilds of Northern Canada.
THORIN
I don’t know where I am, but I’m weightless. I’m floating untethered in an open space with endless dark, and I’m alone. Other times, I’m sprinting toward a light that, no matter how hard I push, winks out the moment I reach out for it, whispering that I’m not ready.
“Hey, Thor. I’m back,” Khalil whispers. I hear the rustle of a bag, the scrape of a chair, and his tired sigh as he falls into it, but all of the sounds—like his voice—are a distant echo. “I finally found that shaving cream you like, and not a moment too soon. You’re starting to look like you’re auditioning for a role in Sons of Anarchy.”
You sound like shit, brother. You should get some sleep. But like all the other times they talk to me and I answer, my lips don’t form the words and I’m sprinting again.
Racing toward them.
Khalil and Zeke and…Aurelia. Where is she? It’s been too long since I’ve heard her voice. Before it was a constant, always there to keep that floating feeling away, but lately nothing. Khalil and Zeke talk to me sometimes, but not as much as before. They barely even talk to each other now. I know Zeke’s somewhere close. I can feel him close by, but he’s quieter than I’ve ever known him to be, even after Isaac, but why?
Is it because of her?
Aurelia? Where are you, wolf? Why aren’t you here? They need you. I need you.
I’m not sure how much time passes before I hear water running and then feel something warm and cool at the same time lathering my cheeks and jaw. I reach up to touch it, but my arm and hand don’t move from wherever they’re resting. Once my entire lower face is covered, I feel the familiar scrape of a razor shaving a stripe through my lathered skin.