Page 35 of Stray for You

“Fuck,” I finally mutter at myself. “Fine,” I say louder. “But it’s really not done. It’s not even kind of done. It sucks. You’re going to hate it and it’s going to be a huge waste of time.”

“It won’t,” Erin says. “Let’s go, Cameron. We don’t have all night.”

I grumble as I dig into my bag and pull out a battered notebook. I prefer to write by hand when I’m actually focusing on something. My hands tremble as I flip through pages of scrawled lines and crossed out choruses in search of the smattering of lyrics I’ve jotted down so far.

“Here,” I say, shoving the open notebook at Erin. “If you wantto try to make something out of that, be my guest.”

Erin is immune to my moodiness. She takes the notebook and reads over the lyrics, nodding her head and humming to herself as she goes. She picks up strength on a re-read, singing a few lines.

“Like that?” she says.

“Yeah,” I admit while studying my shoes. “I guess.”

“Okay, let’s try it that way. You two got that?”

She checks in with Kelsey and Tim, who nod.

“I think I can put something behind that,” Tim says, already testing out some tentative beats.

“I’ll follow along,” Kelsey says. “Don’t worry about me.”

Just like that, I’m playing my half-written song, and it’s damn near the most mortifying ordeal of my life, especially that line I wrote at the café one day.

If fate is kind, she’ll bring us back together.

We work around that line, the clearest one in my scrawled notes, building music and lyrics like a scaffolding supporting it. After a few repetitions, Erin is belting it out at full volume, and her voice is as powerful and captivating as ever but … but something about it isn’t quite right.

I try to shake off the sensation, but it sticks with me even when we go back through the song another time, propping up the lines around that one like we’re building a house around a central pillar that’s supporting most of the weight. That line is impactful enough to carry the chorus, but Erin’s voice, while as stunning as ever, somehow soundswrong. I’d never dare utter that out loud. She’s not doing anything wrong. In fact, her singing is stunning. It fills that tiny basement, warming the cold, barren concrete.

No, this has nothing to do with Erin’s ability. It’s … it’s just that…

When I wrote that line, I think I was imagining it in my voice.

I don’t sing for our band. I can. I’ve taken lessons and all of that. I’m passable enough, but I’m clearly not a frontman. I don’t have the kind of pipes that can rival Erin’s. There’s no compelling reason for me to be the one belting out the lyrics when I’m far more useful and comfortable on lead guitar. Even when I sketched out some lyrics in the past, I always heard them in her voice. I’ve never wanted to sing, never requested to sing, not even as backup. Tim and Kelsey do that stuff on the rare occasions when we need it, but for the most part it’s all Erin.

So why can’t I shake the sensation that this song sounds wrong in any voice but my own?

It’s gotta be because I messed around with it by myself back at my apartment. Some nights, I like to get out my guitar and play and sing softly, chipping away at these lyrics that won’t seem to leave me alone. Of course, I didn’t have much time for that last week, what with Julian being here and me being … with him. But the point stands. It’s probably habit, nothing more. Erin is our singer, and that’s how it should be.

“I like this,” Erin says after we play it once more. “I like it a lot. This is good stuff, Cameron. Are you going to keep working on it?”

I shrug, suddenly shy, like they’re seeing my baby photos or something. “I guess. I don’t know. I’ve just been messing around in my free time. It’s nothing serious.”

“Don’t downplay it,” Erin says. “We need fresh material. We need a fresh perspective. If we make it to that festival, we’ll want to bring something new with us. This could be the perfect song to debut at a place like that.”

I scrub a hand through my hair. The thought of revealing this song in front of a big festival crowd feels like walking on stage naked, my chest ripped open for all to see. We haven’t officially secured a spot, yet the thought of playing this song makes me want to crawl under the couch and hide.

“I don’t know,” I say. “If you think so, then I guess it’s fine.”

“It’s better than fine,” Erin says. “This is going to be it, our big show stopper. Keep working on it, alright? I’ll help if you want.”

I nod, but I’m biting back a grimace. That song that sounds so wrong in her voice instead of mine, especially that line about fate bringing two people back together…

I’m scared to face what those lyrics really mean to me, but it seems I may not get a choice.

Chapter Eighteen

Julian

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