Page 57 of Fa-La La-La Land
“It’s agreatsong,” Adam says. “But the rhythm isn’t right for the words. If you went lower, to an A chord…maybe this progression.” Adam plays some chords on his guitar, and I can tell by the expression on Rhys’s face that what Adam said is a revelation to him.
Without a word, he sits back down at the piano and tries the chords. Seb comes in on bass. Adam on electric guitar. Bear on drums.
I didn’t think the song could get better. But this version brings tears to my eyes.
Thisis the song Rhys needs to play at Winter Lights. Not that awful “Under the Christmas Lights” song. I don’t care if VibeHouse gives him permission—if he won’t play “December Dreams,” he’s got to sing the original “Fa-La La-La Land.” The spark he’s been searching for in bigger venues just reignited on Adam’s makeshift stage. Not only that, but there’s a lightness to him, a happiness different from the manufactured happiness he portrays at his concerts. He’s allowing himself the authenticity he’s been fighting so hard to conceal.
Plugged in, unplugged, acoustic or full, I honestly believe playing his version of “Fa-La La-La Land” could change everything for him.
I just have to convince Rhys to believe it too—convince him to believe inhimself.
Chapter Nineteen
Rhys
When I finish the song, I look at Stella. She’s not clapping with everybody else because she’s got Charly in her arms. But there are tears in her eyes. She mouths something. Then does it again. I can’t read her lips, so I walk over and lean in.
“Play my song,” she whispers to keep from waking Charly. “Please, Rhys.”
And how can I say no to that when I owe her so much?
Even though I wrote my version of “Fa-La La-La Land” over ten years ago—and it’s not the one I’ve made any money on—I still play it on occasion. I’ve never stopped tinkering with it, knowing it’ll never be mine but wanting it perfect, anyway. A tiny act of rebellion against VibeHouse.
Adam’s suggestions, though, hit the mark I’ve been searching for. My song’s finally reached perfection, and I owe Stella for that as much as anyone. Thanks to her, I was in the right headspace to finish it—to make it what I’ve alwayswanted it to be.
So, I sit down at the piano. Only this time, it’s just me. My piano. My song.
Stella’ssong.
When I finish and push away from the keys, her beaming smile hits me straight in the chest. The room erupts in cheers loud enough that Charly startles and begins to cry. Seb scoops her from Stella’s arms to soothe her, but her cries only get louder. He and Hope gather their things to leave. Slowly, the rest of the family follows.
Stella and I stay behind with my mates to help Adam and Bear break down the instruments and stage area. As we’re wrapping up, Bear says, “Thanks for jamming with us, man. If you want to do it again, we’re doing a real show here Saturday night.”
Adam nods. “More of a rehearsal, but you’re welcome to join. We’ve got the Jingle Ball coming up in a few weeks. If you’re still around, you could play with us there too.”
He ends with a shrug that I like. No pressure. No sucking up. Just one musician to another.
Before I can answer, Stella jumps in. “I know it’s not the kind of gig you’re used to, but I’d love to hear you perform your songs again. It’ll be a small crowd—just locals. We don’t even have to tell them who you are. I mean, they’ll probably figure it out, but it’s not like Paradise is easy to get to. If word leaks you’re here, you’ll be gone before anyone can find you. Back me up here, Britta. Guys?”
“She’s right, mate,” Dex says cheerfully, like I’m facing a baby wave instead of the monster that’s waiting to take me out for good.
I put up a hand before anyone else can chime in. “No one needs to try to talk me into it, Stella—I’m not doing it.”
“What?” Stella and Adam ask together.
“Think we’ll head out, mate. Let you lot work this out.”Archie swings his head toward the door. “For the record, though, I agree with Dex. Stella’s right.”
Frankie, Piper, and Britta all nod their agreement. Archie returns my glare with a smirk before leading Piper to the door—the rest of my mates in tow—leaving me to stand up to Stella alone after they’ve armed her good and proper.
But I’m not going down without a fight.
“It’s your family, your town. I’m not makin’ it about me,” I say, rubbing at the knot in the back of my neck. “Last thing I need is VibeHouse seeing footage of me playing unreleased songs. They’d lose it.”
“It’s not about them; it’s aboutyou,” she insists.
“Yeah, and that’s exactly why I can’t.” I keep my tone low so it doesn’t sound like an argument, but it is one. “You don’t get it. They own everything I’ve ever written. If I so much as hum the wrong tune on stage, they’ll bury me.”
She crosses her arms. “You’re hiding, Rhys. You talk about wanting to be authentic, but every time you get the chance, you let Danny or VibeHouse take it away from you. This is your chance to be yourself onstage, in a place they can’t get to you. I’m not asking you to sing them at Winter Lights, just give yourself this gift.”
