Page 24 of Take You Down

“I did. Boone refused to help me find anyone for it, and instead went ahead and put his own production on it, kept my shitty vocal demo and reworked it until I was ready to sing a final cut for it, and told me we’d either release it under my name, or the song would stay locked away on his computer forever. And I couldn’t let that happen. It holds too much space inside of me already,” I trail off, looking out across the lights lining the runway.

I expect Walker to keep digging, yearning for more after the scraps I’ve been giving him since we met. But instead, he seems content, his gaze soft and safe, and I want to bask in the light that seems to pour out of him at all times. Even stuck at the airport in the middle of the night after multiple delays, he exudes patience and a sense of calmness I wish would flow off him and seep into me.

Maybe I’ve been too stubborn to take notice of it before, too overwhelmed with this new turn my life has taken, or maybe it’s years of feeling like I only had myself to keep me protected, and instead of keeping myself safe, I’ve done more harm than good.

I rest my head back against my makeshift pillow of Walker’s sweater, discreetly inhaling the cologne that clings to it, minty and sharp. And as I begin to doze off, knowing that I can count on Walker to wake me when we’re finally ready to board, I feel my head slip slightly to the side and rest on a strong, warm shoulder.

But I don’t bother to move.

14

WALKER

“I told you to stick to writing your shit and keep the hell out of my bass lines.” Hayden seethes, finally hitting his breaking point with Reid after an exhausting and frustrating morning in the studio.

To be fair to both of them, we’re all wiped out. Our flight into the city last night was delayed multiple times and the wheels had barely touched down before we were being whisked straight into the studio. The only sleep any of us got was what we could manage on the flight. We have limited time to work, so no rest until we’re back on our regular schedule on the bus.

“Dude, just let him do it how he wrote it for a couple takes, and if it’s not working, we’ll reconvene,” Nikolai pipes in, trying to be the peacemaker. He’s got deep purple bags under his eyes that he somehow still manages to pull off into not looking like a total pile of shit, unlike me who gave myself a little jump scare this morning when I looked in the mirror. My hair’s getting long; long enough to walk the line of messy but in a good way.

Today, it’s just plain messy.

But luckily, we’ve managed to stay under the radar since we arrived, only a handful of fans waiting at the airport when we landed and none managed to follow us to the studio.

Hayden goes for another take on his bassline for the song we’ve been working on this morning. Between Nikolai and I, we had most of the lyrics laid out, so today is mostly focused on getting the instrumental tracks started. Ever since we first started writing music, we found it easier to start with Hayden getting the bass done after we had a melody and some lyrics and build from there. But this morning, maybe it would’ve been better to start with Reid getting his lead guitar parts ironed out since he’s been particularly testy.

“It sounds like shit,” Reid mutters, leaning over the mixing console in the control room. I quickly check to see if the mic is off so that Hayden can’t hear him from where he is in the live room.

Thankfully, it’s off.

“Shut up,” I exhale.

“You’re seriously going to tell me that’s what you had in mind for this song?” Reid spins around, pinning me with an ice-cold stare.

“It’s different from our original idea,” I concede, “but it could work, so let him go for it. He knows what he can do best, so let him be. If it’s not working, then like Nikolai said, we’ll try something else.”

Reid lets out an annoyed laugh and shakes his head. “Always gotta coddle the little baby.”

I’m up off the couch and in Reid’s face before I know it, pushing him back against the console, anger heating my blood.

“Woah, woah, woah, watch the controls!” Nikolai calls out, probably worried that we’re about to damage thousands of dollars of equipment.

“You need to lay the fuck off,” I grit out.

“You need to back the fuck off,” Reid returns, anger twisting his face but also there’s a hint of satisfaction. And excitement.

There’s nothing Reid Keely loves more than picking a fight. Been that way since I met him ten years ago. Always has that anger simmering under the surface, just waiting for the smallest of sparks to let himself rise.

But I wouldn’t classify him as a typical hothead. Oh no, he’s far more calculated about when he lets his anger strike, and he’s excellent at getting a rise out of the person he most wants to pick a fight with.

Hayden was definitely his intended target, but from the way he’s looking at me, I can tell he’s not unhappy with picking a fight with me instead.

“It’s not just you in here trying to write these goddamn songs, and you’re not the only one who’s operating on barely any sleep. Either sit down and be a team fucking player, or take a break far away from here. We barely have any time as it is to get these tracks done and if we want to get this next album done on time, we need to be working together. Not against each other.”

I take a step back to give us each some breathing room, but Reid’s fists don’t unclench. Peering over his shoulder, Hayden watches us closely from the live room, waiting for his cue to start or waiting to interfere if need be. But from the tense set of his shoulders and the way he’s nervously running his hand through his hair, he doesn’t like the idea of having to break up a fight between us.

“Like I’d leave this shit strictly up to the three of you,” Reid mutters.

“Hey,” Nikolai calls out from his spot on the leather couch, button up shirt only done up halfway.

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