Page 32 of Next Time I Fall (Excess All Areas 2)

“Don’t make me into something I’m not, Cerys.”

His presence took on a whole other meaning with a guitar in his hands. Natural musical talent couldn’t be taught. Sure, a person could learn the steps. They could learn how to read music, how to adhere to a rhythm with the help of a half-decent metronome. Basic chords could be mastered, and would even sound good to an untrained ear. But there was something about the way a gifted musician created music that filled the song with ... genius. It became unforced, layered, multifaceted like the cut of a diamond. It sparkled in a way that exceeded words.

And Jase had it.

For the sake of his cousins, he’d hidden it. And for the sake of their sound, their album, their onstage presence, and for Jase’s personal fulfilment, she needed to find a way to encourage him to step out and be more than the caricature he’d become.

Now she wanted to create music with him even more. But she sensed he needed a moment and let him strum for a while.

She ran her fingers over the baby grand that had a mellow tone with a full spectrum of tonal colour that resonated through her chest, filling her completely inside. In her head, she could hear the strings intro to Rachmaninov’s Piano Concerto no. 2 in C Minor.

It was one of her favourite pieces. She pulled out the stool and sat, waiting until Jase had finished playing.

The keys were cool to the touch, firm in their resistance to being played, as if, like her, they were waking up after a restful sleep. Reluctant to give up their music easily.

The song began quietly, building into the rapidly oscillating arpeggios. When she closed her eyes, she could hear the flutes and clarinets and bassoons and other instruments the score was written for.

She swayed as she played, letting the music come through her rather than out of her. Nothing inspired her more than breathing her own life into the music she played.

The usual frustration bubbled—that pianists, because of their sporadic use, were rarely part of a full-time orchestra ensemble. That as much as she loved playing, the act of finding work had been more of a grind than she’d expected. But somehow, that had led her to the part-time job in the studio. To the job she’d actively avoided because of her father but had ultimately found a passion and talent for.

Cerys played the final note and let the ghosts of the notes she’d played disperse into the ether.

Applause made her jump, shocking her back into the present.

“You can play. Like,reallyfucking play, Cerys.”

“Thank you.” Heat filled her cheeks.

Jase walked over to her, rested his forearms on the baby grand. “I’m serious. I’m not a religious person, but there was something spiritual about that. You’re apropermusician.”

There was something in the way he said proper. A judgement that was clearly in her favour. “What do you mean when you say proper musician? As opposed to what?”

Jase shrugged. “As opposed to me.”

“What do you mean? You’re as much a musician as I am.”

“I appreciate the support, but that ...” He gestured towards the piano. “That, was a hundred percent pure skill and technical talent and performance and”—he ran his hand through his hair—“see, I don’t even know how to describe it.”

Without recognising his voice as his instrument, he somehow felt less of a musician.

Less of a musician.

Where others may see his bravado and confidence as excess, he’d given her a small glimpse of how he really felt about himself.

A thrill rippled through her. This was why they were here. It was her job to lead him to become confident as a performer and in his own abilities, so he could fully contribute to the band.

“Why don’t you think of singing as a talent?” she asked.

Jase patted the lid of the piano and wandered towards the guitars. “Anyone can learn a couple of hundred words, open their mouth, and make a decent song come out.”

“No, they can’t.” Cerys stood and made her way to him. “It’s the reason the termpitch-perfectexists. Heck, one in twenty people have amusia, complete tone deafness where they sing off-key, yet to them it sounds perfect.”

Jase eyed her suspiciously. “Did you know the band were offered the deal, with or without me? We were dealing with some shit, still are, but Upper Street said they’d take the band with Matt singing or me, proof Matt can sing every one of our songs as well as me, right?”

“No. No he can’t. He can sing, for sure. He hits the notes way better than the average person. But you, when your weathered voice sings them, words come alive, it’s pure storytelling. It’s captivating. Why do you feel less?”

“It’s hard to explain. I feel like I’m just a mouthpiece ... a puppet.”

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