Rock Redemption (Rock Revenge Trilogy 3)

“The rooms are all linked together. I have speakers in the living room that can play what goes on in this room at the push of a button.”

“Why ever would you have that?”

“When I’m working on something new, I like to leave the latest tracks running as I do other things. It lets the music permeate my brain as I go about my day.” He shrugged. “Doesn’t suit everyone, and sometimes it doesn’t even suit me. But the option is there.”

“Hmm.”

“You’d be surprised what shakes loose when your lunchtime session plays while you’re doing the dishes.”

“Why not just play the recorded tracks on your iPhone?”

“The speakers on that are shit comparatively. Have you seen the set-up in here?”

“Yes, but I don’t fully understand it.”

“You’re doing okay fumbling your way through. That can be the best way to learn.” He dropped into the big leather chair in the corner. It seemed more suited for a living room than a studio, but the chair fit Flynn like a throne for a king. “I’m sure Rory gave you some tips when you worked with him in the box.”

Big shot producer Rory Ferguson had been brought in to work on my debut EP, along with a team of others, like Deacon McCoy, the bassist of my brother’s band, Oblivion, and Gray Duffy, Oblivion’s rhythm guitarist.

Another fleet of people I’d let down by running off to brood. Not that any of them were depending on me for a paycheck. They all had huge careers.

I was the newbie.

“He did, but we didn’t get to work together long.”

“I can call him, get him out here. He’s in Tuscaloosa right now.”

I had no idea where that was, but it sounded intimidating. “Uh, I’m not sure I’m ready yet.”

Coward.

“You have no reason to be intimidated. You’re talented. Rory would never have agreed to work with you in the first place if he didn’t agree.”

“He didn’t really take a liking to me.”

“Did you give him lip?”

I wasn’t sure exactly what that meant, but I could guess. “No, but he might have thought I was disrespectful.” I sighed. “I was.”

“Want a do-over?”

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nbsp; I started to say no again. I wasn’t nearly ready to deal with Rory and everyone else again. Sure, I was lonely and missed that spirit of collaboration I’d finally found, but my work wasn’t at the level to merit it.

Unless that was just another excuse.

“Do you honestly think I have anything worthy of him right now? You’ve heard me this past week, obviously.”

“What’s the name of the song you’ve been working on today?”

“Best Part of Me.”

“It’s good. Real good. You ever consider dropping down into the lower register for the first verse? Let the words and the melody build until by the end, it’s a declaration.” He moved to the wall and took down one of the guitars, a deep brown Gibson. After plugging it into an amp, he sat down in his big chair again, plucking through a few notes, correcting and starting over, until he had my melody down pat. As he played, he nodded to me.

Okay then. Guess I was going to sing.

I shut my eyes and moved to the microphone again. It was easier than it had once been to access my lower register, since so much smoking recently had made my voice raspier. I sang the words I’d already memorized, letting the lyrics build and emotion rise in my chest. It poured out of my voice, filling the room with the heartbreak I had shoved down and buried so deep I’d almost convinced myself I was coping.