Page 55 of Sounds Like Love

But he was shaking his head. “Then what’s the point if it’s not good?”

“Because good is subjective? Because writing the songisthe point?” I suggested, feeling my shoulders tense at the discussion. “We just need to write it to get it out there. The rest of it isn’t up to us.”

He pursed his lips, staring down at the keys.“And if it’s not good enough?”

I stopped playing, and the silence between us felt deafening.I don’t know.

“And if it doesn’t get out of our heads?”

I looked down at the keys.I don’t know.

But all I heard in his head was failure, over and over again, as if by not being perfect the first time, it would never be perfect at all. It wasn’t that he was afraid, but used to it,resignedto it even. His thoughts kept spinning about the what-ifs of never being good enough, never getting it right.

I didn’t know him well, but I felt the urge to comfort him.

“Hey, Sebastian …” I shifted on the piano bench a little to face him a bit better.

“I know”—and he looked away, as if ashamed—“I’m being ridiculous. You’re the songwriter here. I’m just … some one-hit wonder, essentially.”

That wasn’t true. Renegade had at least sixBillboardHot 100 hits, but I doubted that was what he needed to hear at the moment. I could tell him about my burnout—but it was something that I couldn’t even tell Gigi. Telling Sebastian Fell? I hated the idea of admitting to him that I was a well that had run dry.

“I think I’m just being difficult,” I amended. “We can look at some popular songs. Isn’t the church hymn sort of style really popular right now?”

“I don’t want you to just go along, either, especially if I’m wrong,” he replied. “I came here to figure this out with you, so we need to do this together.”

In frustration, I shoved myself off the bench. “I didn’t ask you to come.”

He set his jaw.“You’re pushing me away.”

I volleyed back,You’re getting too close.

He turned around on the bench to face me. “What are you afraid of?”

“Me? I’m not afraid of writing a song that’s not good enough,” I said, and realized only a second too late that maybe I shouldn’t have said aloud his private thoughts.

He narrowed his eyes. “Fine—at least I’m not empty,” he said, though his brain reeled at the fact that he’d actually said it aloud. I felt the shock as much as he did. But he went on anyway. “You don’tfeelit anymore. You lost it, whateveritis. Am I close?”

I stared at him. “How …”

“I do pay attention, bird,”he said.

“I never told you.”

“You didn’t have to. Do you think you’re the only one who’s felt this way?” He shook his head. “What you’re feeling isn’t special.”

I sucked in a breath at that, the words like a shock of cold water. Not special. Not unique. Not important. I guess he just wanted me to get over it. Just shake it off, right? It shouldn’t be hard. “You don’t have to remind me of that, Sebastian.”

He winced. “I didn’t mean it like—”

“Like what? I know I’m not special. I worked every day of my life to get exactly where I am—my parents have worked, my family,everyone. This is my dream, my success, and all I can think is—”

Is whether it was worth it. All this time away.

A thought I couldn’t say aloud. I was too ashamed to.

“I meant that I know how you feel,” he began, but I didn’t believe him anymore.

“I’m sure you think you do, but you operate on a different set of rules. You might know how I feel, but that’s the extent of it, yeah? You imploded a boy band and disappeared for years, and people still want signatures and selfies with you. You can fuck it up, and it’s not going to matter. Ithasn’tmattered. Itwon’tmatter. You will get a thousand chances, and you’ll take every one of them for granted.Good enough?You’ve never had to be good enough.”

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