Page 8 of Next Time I Fall (Excess All Areas 2)

He waited a moment, but no answer was forthcoming. “Whenever you’re ready then.”

“No, notsure. Shure. A Shure Beta 57A. You get maximum isolation from other sounds while singing, but it’s got a warmth to it without losing ruggedness.” Her smile softened. “From what I’ve heard of your voice, I think it would be a great place to start.”

“Why?”

She crossed her arms and he tried not to notice the amazing things it did to her cleavage. “Because you sound better when you sound like you’re singing a live gig. One fuelled by an audience. This mic will leave that rawness.”

Cerys reached for the microphone and offered it to him. He took it from her hands, their fingers touching again.

Shit. He was most definitely not getting a spark from snow angel girl.

Because fucking the sound engineer, no matter how sweet the idea, would be peak stupidity.

2

Cerys fiddled with the fader, removed a speck of dust from the third input jack, and looked up at the ceiling.

Twice.

Anything to stop staring at Jase Palmer as he lounged in the chair listening to her father speak. One leg was bent, the other stretched out in from of him. His dark hair framed his face as he looked down at his folded arms. It had been hard to miss the way his biceps looked in the faded black T-shirt. Ink wound its way down his forearms and peeked above his collar.

And the fact she felt the need to stop looking at him was a problem.

Because he was a sullen mood killer.

The room was full. The band. Her and Jimmy. Four sound engineers who’d be working with the band over the next month. Parker Moseley, the band’s A&R rep from Upper Street Records, and a handful of people from the label who’d accompanied him.

“I’ve got one last thing to say about us working together, beyond being honoured I get the chance to help you guys record a first full-length album that will hopefully take your career to the next level,” Jimmy said. “I’ve seen the footage, heard the rumours, and spoken to your management team. I know you guys don’t get along.”

Cerys watched Jase’s head pop up. No reaction other than that.

“It’s all good,” Matt said, and Cerys caught the way Jase glanced from the corners of his eyes in Matt’s direction before huffing.

“I don’t care if it’s all good,” Jimmy said. “Simon and Garfunkel couldn’t stand each other. Fleetwood Mac were tempestuous. ABBA were in and out of love with each other. And don’t get me started on David Lee Roth and Eddie Van Halen. And there’s the pair from Manchester, just like you. The Gallagher brothers. Frankly, I don’t give a shit, unless it gets in the way of what happens here. Healthy tension, creative tension, is a good thing. But if instruments get broken or recording is slowed because you’re in each other’s faces, then it’s going to become a problem.”

Jase’s shoulders were so raised they were touching his ears. His lips were pursed, as if it were taking every ounce of energy to not tell Jimmy to go fuck himself.

Cerys wondered if there was a way to channel the rawness that Jase had. Not put him on a leash, but hell, give him some kind of process to put that rawness into their songs.

She felt a flicker of electricity flowing through her, like the hum when you plugged a guitar into an amp. Energy coursed through her. It happened to her every time she sat in a studio. The absolute joy that came from helping someone refine their talents. Right now, she wanted nothing more than to help Jase lay down track after track filled with the very essence of who he was.

“It won’t be a problem,” Alex said. “They’ve been like this since we were kids.”

Jase looked over at Alex with a scowl.

Alex huffed. “Look at me with your death stare all you want. It’s the truth.”

Jimmy clapped his hands twice. “Right. So, let’s make a start. Thanks for the list of songs, Matt. Let’s take a listen. Play them through for us. From the top.”

There was a confidence, a swagger, as they approached their equipment. Luke pulled his hoodie over his head, then rolled his shoulders backwards and forwards to loosen them. When he finally sat behind the drums, sticks in one hand, he adjusted the microphone she had placed by the kit, just in case it was required. Alex stepped behind his setup, and Cerys liked the instruments he’d selected. He ran his fingers along the glockenspiel, across the timpani drumhead. She did the same thing when she sat down at a piano, running her fingers over it and thanking it for helping her to sound amazing. Matt picked up his bass and confidently passed the strap over his head. Ben did the same with his guitar before he leaned in to say something to Jase, something she couldn’t hear, but made Jase grin.

On the first beats of the drum, after Matt had called out the first song, Jase came alive.

And not just in the way gritty, rumbling lyrics fell from his mouth, but in the way he moved to the music. Not enough to say he was dancing, but enough that she could see the music working through him. The band were exceptional musicians, especially Alex, who made it look easy to play several instruments at once. But none of them held a candle to Jase. His energy and presence filled the stage.

Cerys glanced over at her father, who now possessed a knowing smile.

The song itself was good. Not spectacular. The lyrics were too neat, the bridge too soft for the rest of the song. Tweaks that could easily be suggested and fixed.

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