Page 28 of Mayhem

“Pretty sure, Pumpkin,” I say, forcing a smile and some enthusiasm into my voice. Charlie’s infatuation with our new bass player is a dynamic I don’t know if I’m ready for. I doubt he’s ready for it either. My smile turns genuine as I picture him trying to deal with my little girl’s constant attention. Something he’ll need to get used to.

There was something about Dakota during his audition that intrigued me. Sure, he gave off ‘biggest fan’ vibes at the start, but that faded as we all fell into step musically. He has this weird quietness about him that isn’t typical in this world. Not necessarily an innocence; quite the opposite. More like a hushed jadedness to him. A melancholy that runs deep. And I can’t help but wonder what that’s all about.

It's my nature to want to figure out what makes people tick, and I get the feeling that there is a lot more to Dakota than meets the eye. He’s more than just a broody musician. There’s a story there. The question is whether it’s one he’s willing to share.

As I pull into the studio parking lot, I push aside the negative thoughts remembering Gina popping up here last night, and see Dakota leaning against the building, beanie tugging low and a cigarette dangling from his lips. His lanky frame looks younger than his years, but that worn leather jacket and those combat boots tell another story. The contrast reminds me of myself not too long ago – world-wariness creeping into the edges of his youthful potential. I wonder when the light first began dimming behind those thoughtful eyes currently scanning something in a weathered notebook.

Charlie bounces out of the car, making a beeline for Dakota to resume her string of questions about his various punk accessories. A shy grin emerges beneath the dark hair at her bubbly attention. As much as Dakota's quiet calm contrasts our band's chaotic energy, having a soft spot for my daughter already earns him points around here.

Everyone deserves a chance to heal old scars with patience and care. If he sticks around, maybe Dakota will discover the found family all of us outcasts clung to during some difficult years. We’re all just misfit toys embedding ourselves into each other's broken edges until the seams disappear. At least, that’s what I tell myself.

I stride over to join them, determined to embrace Dakota into our world, one luminous brushstroke at a time to help restore whatever muted his colors.

Fuck, I’m in a poetic mood today. Is it Tess, that’s got me pulling out the words today? I shouldn’t question it. A muse is hard to find. Maybe I’ll work on some lyrics today.

As I approach Dakota and Charlie, inspiration strikes me seeing this kindred spirit so cautiously opening up. My mind starts composing poetic phrases I can't wait to shape into raw lyrics. Dakota glances up, dark eyes unguarded for once without that innate wariness constantly shadowing each expression.

"She giving you the full inquisition yet on proper beanie care? She’s apparently an expert," I joke easily. Dakota's shoulders relax while Charlie sticks her tongue out indignantly at me. I stick mine out right back.

"I tried explaining the intricate cleaning ritual I put it through, but think it got lost in translation..." Dakota replies wryly, a natural dynamic already emerging between us. Charlie's attention diverts suddenly to a vibrant bird flitting past.

I seize the opening as we head inside. "So, I gotta ask if you write songs at all too? Or are you mainly just a killer bass player?" Curiosity about his creative process prods me.

Dakota hitches his guitar case higher, glancing sidelong. "I mess around sometimes, but generally keep my angsty ramblings to myself." He forces an offhand chuckle, but I recognize deflection way too easily.

"Well lucky for you angst makes kickass lyrics and I’ve got plenty of empty notebooks to fill..." I offer casually, hoping some sort of creative trust builds between us too in time. "Whenever you feel ready to pass some over..."

I clasp Dakota's shoulder supportively as we walk through the door framed by late morning light. Song lyrics have been tumbling around my brain like crazy the last few days, and I think I might have found my muse in Tess. But writing in Chaos Fuel is always a group effort, and I’m curious what Dakota might bring to the table. I have the feeling his creative well runs deep.

As we enter, I spot Tess sitting cross-legged on the studio's battered leather couch, tablet propped on her knees. Sunlight from the high windows sets her hair glowing like a golden halo, brow furrowed while she taps purposefully.

I halt, pulse instinctively rising a little just seeing her focused figure. Even in worn jeans with oversized headphones slipping down her slender neck, her elegance and beauty shines effortlessly. Dakota lifts his hand in an awkward wave before veering toward his gear stash. I barely notice, drinking in the graceful details of Tess I've sketched repeatedly in my brain.

She glances up, features easing from concentration into a breathtaking smile breaking across her face. My gut swoops helplessly, the way it does lately whenever her eyes catch mine. No matter how many moments like this we share, that thrill never goes away.

I walk over before my wandering mind composes sappy ballads right here and now. Perching on the couch arm, I stuff the love songs into a corner of my mind before they spill out. "So, how goes steering the social media love fest for our viral bass search winner?"

Tess lifts her headphones, sunlight haloing her in my artist's eye once more. "Well at least no one's threatened boycotting you guys over the beanie yet..."

Tess's teasing makes me grin as I watch her continue toggling photos on the tablet.

"Give it a day or two - the beanie fan club awaits," I volley back. Sobering, I add "For real though, think the fans will be cool with Dakota once his identity's out there?"

Tess smiles reassuringly. "If comments stay positive about the process like they have been so far, I'm hopeful." Her eyes trace fondly to where Dakota hunches over his guitar, lost in creative flow. "I think there’s something deeper about him that will connect with fans."

My throat tightens at her insight being so on point without even trying. I nudge closer, craving more than surface banter now. "Even just doing PR, you can drop soulful truths without blinking..." I hesitate, unsure if such open admiration oversteps any of the guardrails we put in place.

Tess meets my eyes steadily and sets the tablet aside. Her palm presses gently over my restless fingers, the touch grounding my unsettled thoughts.

"Shining light where you want people to look isn’t exactly groundbreaking or anything. But using something true when you do it at least gives it some sort of meaning." Her insight into how people work is fascinating at times. And it makes me wonder what the hell she sees in me.

“And where do you want people to look when it comes to me?” I ask, my curiosity overflowing now.

Her smile widens, and I can see a wave of answers roll through her. “I’m not sure yet.”

“You’re not sure?”

She diverts her gaze, her cheeks flushing slightly. “Well, I’m still getting to know you…”

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