Opal blushes and I’m overcome with the urge to reach out and kiss her. Of course I can’t. Not now. I’ve been mentally kicking myself for not seizing the opportunity when I had the chance. Last night she would have welcomed my advances. But like the coward I am, I bolted at the glimpse of something honest and real. Let’s face it, I don’t deserve Opal’s goodness, and I’m not sure I can handle the responsibility. My own priorities come first, always, and she deserves better.
“For real? You write? How did I not know this?” Sean straddles the bench seat.
“Because I never really meant to tell anyone.” Opal narrows her stare and points at me, but I can tell by the hint of her smile she’s not angry I outed her.
“Sorry, not sorry.” I mock glare.
“Can I get in on this, too?” Austin comes around the far side of the table.
“Heck, yeah.” Opal pats the open space to her left.
Trent chuckles and takes a seat across from Sean. “Might want to up that tohell yeahif you’re gonna write music with us.”
“Sorry, habit.” She glances to her lap with embarrassment.
“Or make it your signature phrase.” I wink, encouraging the no-fear Opal to return. Trent was joking, and I get it, but she shuts down with that crap. “It’s different. Refreshing. Everyone uses hell yeah, but you’ll stand out in the crowd.”
“We gonna sling compliments back and forth or jam out?” Sean says.
“Let’s go again. We’re still working on the verses, but here’s what we’ve got so far.” I count it out and play the guitar. The guys watch my hands and Trent scoots closer to Opal. She holds up the notebook with her lyrics arranged for this song, and after the first go through Trent joins in. Their voices harmonize and complement in a raw and sultry sound.
Sean taps his palm onto the wooden bench, setting the pace and keeping rhythm.
Austin’s head bobs, his eyes memorizing every chord I strike.
We get to the part in the song without lyrics and stop. Sean immediately leans over, and both he and Trent discuss possibilities with Opal. She scratches them down on the paper.
I hand over the guitar to Austin. “It’s yours.”
“You sure? You don’t have to—”
“No. It’s yours, unless you think you can’t keep up.”
“Please.” He chuckles and accepts the instrument.
“Yeah, let’s try that!” Trent nods, and points to Austin. “You ready, man?”
“I was born ready.” Austin strums a chord, I count us off, and then everyone comes together.
My chest tightens and my pulse races with a feeling I’ve never experienced. There’s something special about this moment. Being outside on this gorgeous day, the sun shining from behind the clouds and a cool breeze rustling the leaves overhead. The creative energy that fills this air, everyone’s collaborative talents coming together to make something new. This is what music is about. Not just performing, but creating something that didn’t exist before. As close to magic as there is.
I glance at everyone’s faces, inhale the day—a little humid with the lingering scent of cut grass—and I memorize this moment, not sure how many more I’ll get but appreciating the sacredness.
We work for the next hour, sharpening the lyrics and sound until it’s a complete song.
“Damn. I’m loving this.” Trent leans back onto his elbows and squints his eyes up at the sky.
“We could work it into the set. After Hollow.” Sean taps Opal’s pen against the page full of notes.
“Fuck, yeah.” Trent glances at all of us before landing on Opal. “It’s perfect. That is, if you’re okay with sharing. We didn’t really work out copyrights and permissions.”
“You want to play this song? On stage?” She swallows hard as if she can’t believe him. This girl has no clue how talented she is, or how good the song is.
“Yeah, we add in drums, some sick electric riffs, and our fans will go ballistic. I hope you’ll be there, too. Aust does all right on backups, but he hasn’t really nailed that feminine octave.”
“Bitch, please.” Austin bats his eyelashes and puckers his lips. “I’m fabulous and you know it.”
Trent rolls his eyes. “What do you say?” He holds Opal’s gaze, his own hopeful.
