Page 67 of Rockstar Next Door Neighbor

Luke

The air inside the recording studio feels electric, humming with the anticipation that comes whenever we’re laying down new tracks. The other guys are scattered around the room—Cass and Kendrick are sitting close together on the couch, talking, while Sam is fiddling with his bass, lost in his own world. Nate lounges behind the drum kit, tapping out a rhythm just to keep his hands moving.

It’s chaos, but it’s our chaos. And somehow, it always works.

My fingers find the keys automatically, muscle memory taking over as the band works through our newest track.

“One more time from the bridge,” Emily calls through the control room mic. “Luke, can you add more complexity to that chord progression?”

I adjust, letting the music flow through me. This is what I’m good at—speaking through sixty-one keys and sound waves, letting the instrument say what I can’t.

“Perfect!” Emily’s grin lights up the booth. “That’s the one.”

Vince stretches his dark hair messy from running his hands through it. “Finally. Hey Luke, want to grab dinner?”

“Can’t,” I say, standing, probably too quickly. “Meeting with Crystal later.”

Everybody exchanges looks. They’ve been careful not to push, but I know they sense something’s off. The whole band has been walking on eggshells since the engagement announcement.

“Everything okay, man?” Nate asks carefully.

“Working on it.” I force a smile. “Just... give me some time?”

“Okay,” Emily says, exiting the sound booth.

Kendrick approaches and squeezes my arm. “But you know we’re here if you need us, right?”

“I know.”

They file out, leaving me alone with my keyboard. This is my favorite time in the studio—just me and the music, no expectations or complications.

I sit down, letting my fingers find the melody that’s been haunting me for weeks, letting it flow through my fingers. It started the night of the first kiss with Lila, and it’s grown with every stolen moment since. But the words won’t come. Every time I try to capture what I’m feeling, the lyrics fail me.

The notes rise and fall like waves, like the way she emerged from the ocean that one morning. I haven’t seen her properly in days—we’re both being careful, staying busy, avoiding temptation. But the music remembers every detail: the taste of sea salt on her skin, the way she fits against me, the sound of her laughter…

The notes swell under my hands, the melody growing more urgent. The music is saying everything I can’t.

When I finally stop, the silence feels deafening. I close my eyes, resting my hands on the keys, and exhale slowly.

“That was beautiful,” a voice says,startling me.

I look up sharply to see Kendrick standing in the doorway, her notebook tucked under one arm.

“How long have you been there?” I ask, feeling a flush creep up my neck.

“Long enough,” she says with a small smile. She steps into the room, closing the door behind her. “What’s the story behind that melody?”

I shake my head. “It’s just something I’ve been messing around with. No lyrics yet.”

Kendrick raises an eyebrow, dropping into the chair beside me. “That’s not like you. You’re usually so quick with words.”

I laugh bitterly. “Not this time. Every lyric I’ve come up with feels wrong. Too shallow.”

She studies me for a moment, then flips open her notebook. “Play it again.”

I hesitate, then let the music flow. Kendrick closes her eyes, swaying slightly as the notes fill the room. When I finish, she opens her eyes and flips through her notebook.

“Try this,” she says softly and starts to sing.

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