Page 29 of Broken Bridges

I breathed her sweet scent in. I swayed toward her. Hmm. She smelled of honey. I’d done some interesting things with honey during my time. Picturing doing those things to Tia...not good. Shaking the thoughts from my head, I skimmed my fingertips over the touchpad.

“Are they songs you’ve written or just sound files?” she asked.

“Both.” I found the one I wanted and clicked play. “Here it is, guys. This intro. Would this work?”

My vibrant, bass-heavy tune came through the speakers. I fidgeted with my signet rings as I glanced at each of the guys to gauge their reaction. Slip closed his eyes; I wasn’t sure if he’d passed out or was concentrating. Cole’s brow furrowed as he tapped his sticks on his thigh in time with the rhythm. Flint edged forward on his seat; his ear turned toward the music.

After the twenty-second intro had played, just before the lyrics started, I hit stop.

“Wait?” Tia caught my arm. “I love that. Is that a whole song?”

“Yeah, it’s nothing.” I shrugged. “Just something I wrote last year.” Lyrics and beats had often come to me during the long drives between Boston and Brooklyn.

“It’s got a nice beat. Real nice.” Flint bobbed his head as he stroked Sutton’s hair. She was dead to the world. “Can you play the whole thing?”

I gaped, not sure if he was serious. “You want to listen to my song?”

“We surrrre do,” he slurred and placed his guitar aside.

Encouragement sparkled in Tia’s eyes. “Told you’d they’d listen. Show them what you’ve got.”

“Um...okay.” My pulse quickened as I reset the track. “Don’t cringe at my lyrics.”

“Never.” Cole belched, then waved me on. “Hit it.”

Slip gave me the thumbs up. He hadn’t passed out. Not like Sutton had.

Nausea and nerves rolled through my stomach. I pressed play. After the intro, my alto voice filled the speakers.

Another day breaks over the horizon,

Another bed I wake up alone in.

Another city I’m seeing,

Different air to you I’m breathin’

But now there’ll be no more dreamin’

I’ve been away for so damn long,

I’ve lost track of the hours and days.

But the difference about this morning,

I’m gonna pack my bags, be on my way.

Oh yeah, I’m coming home to you,

I’m coming home to you...

Slip shot forward and stared at the back of my laptop.

Cole stopped tapping his sticks.

Flint stared into the fire and rubbed the tip of his chin. At the end of the song, he said, “Play it again. Slow it down a fraction.”

I replayed the track.

---