Page 61 of Crimson Desires
The song was a ballad for a lonely girl. It was a love letter to someone who didn’t believe in love. It was for Aster.
I finished the song. My bandmates stared at me, emotionless at first. Then, Zephyr broke out into a grin.
“Dude. You’re fucking whipped for this girl, aren’t you?”
I laughed. “Do you ever shut the fuck up?”
“I do not,” Zephyr said. “But seriously, man. You wrote that? It sounds great.” He clapped his hands together, eyes widening as an idea struck him. “But you know what would make it sound even better? A sexy guitar. Something like...”
Zephyr began to pluck out a deceptively simple harmony line. I passed Axel’s guitar back to him. Following Zephyr’s notes, Axel managed to work out the chord progression. Slowly, Kane added his own bassline to the mix.
“Alright, Damien,” Zephyr said, shooting Damien a focused look, “I know you love whaling on the toms, but scale it back for this one. Make it work with the snare, bass, and hi-hat.”
Finally, we had hit our groove.
I tweaked the lyrics as we worked through the song. By the end of our second hour of work, we had finished a full demo of the song, After Aster.
Satisfied with the demo, Ava shut her laptop—signaling the end of our session.
“Alright, guys,” Ava said. “We’ve got one more show in North Carolina—Charlotte. You all know what that means, right?”
Dread pooled in my gut. “It means we’re performing for Dad.”
“That’s right. So, all of you need to be on your fucking A-game. Understood?”
We nodded. None of us even dared to make a joke. Not even Zephyr.
“Good.” Ava rose to her feet. “Enjoy the rest of your day off. If you need me, I’ll be downstairs strongly considering taking up cigarettes.”
***
“You ever worry about Ava?” I asked Kane as we stacked weights onto a bench press. It was only five, and I wanted to give Aster at least one more hour before I invited her to get dinner with me. Kane and I had decided to get a quick workout in at the hotel gym.
Kane shrugged. He laid down on the bench. I put my hands under the bar, spotting him as he lifted it off the rack.
“Nah,” Kane said. “You haven’t known her as long as I have. She’s always been like this. I think she secretly enjoys the stress.”
He did eight reps, then re-racked the weight.
“I just worry,” I said.
“That’s different.”
“What? Me worrying?”
“You worrying about someone who wasn’t yourself,” Kane said. He smiled a bit as he positioned himself back under the bar. “Let me tell you a secret, Jack. When I first joined Wicked Crimson, I hated you so much, I almost quit after the third rehearsal.”
“No kidding.”
“Yep. I thought you were an arrogant, entitled prick. It took me a while to realize that you were just spoiled.”
Even though Kane’s words didn’t exactly shock me, they still stung a little. Arrogant. Entitled. Was that really how I came off? I’d always thought that my confidence was a boon. That it protected me from the judgments of the outside world.
Somehow, I’d never considered that my confidence was one of the things that the outside world was judging.
Kane continued. “Now, don’t get me wrong. I like you plenty now. You’ve grown on me. Like a barnacle to a boat hull. But to be honest, I think this tour has changed you in a pretty damn profound way.”
“Is that good?” I asked.