seventeen
Beau
I’m not sure what I’ve done to deserve this.
While the cut is still raw where I was severed from Lithos and the bone-deep disappointment from my most recent album will probably always linger, I’ve had several good days in a row.
Liam’s studio has begun to feel like home—a place where music has no creative end and the pressure in the front of my skull becomes a dull afterthought to recording and composing.
I’m playing for fun again, and it’s a hell of a comfort drug. It reminds me of early mornings on my dad’s ranch, perched in a rocking chair, strumming with no purpose but to watch the sun bleed warmth onto the land.
There have been a handful of nights when I've stayed so long at the studio that I’ve passed out in a chair. The first time it happened, Liam woke me up at the start of his shift. My arms were still draped around an acoustic guitar like it was the only thing keeping me afloat.
The second time it happened, Liam walked in with two coffees, two breakfast sandwiches, and no more complaints about my lack of self-care.
I’m not gonna lie, I’m tired as fuck. More tired than I’ve ever been. I don’t think I noticed before because I was traveling and playing shows. Now it’s catching up to me.
It’s all good. I can sleep for a week straight when I get home. Right now, I don’t want to miss anything during my short stay in paradise.
Not only do I get the pleasure of watching Liam Beckner work, I get to hang with Stasi, too. She’s currently nestled in one of the leather studio chairs, blonde hair pulled up in a bun, and something she called manga propped open on her lap.
I’m straddling the piano bench, left hand tapping out a melody on the keys while I watch Liam chat with one of his artists.
There’s no question he’s a workaholic.This is my way of giving back. I know how it feels to be passed over when you’re trying to get your footing in the music industry.
I almost swooned at his excuse for working six—sometimes seven—day weeks. Pretty sure my heart hasn’t found a normal rhythm the entire time we’ve spent in the studio together as I’ve witnessed him respectfully push artists to reach their highest potential.
Wish Lithos had him to produce our last album.
Nope. I’m not going to give space to thoughts like that today.
Wandering out of the recording room, I grab a guitar off the wall and plop down in the chair next to Stasi. She peeks up at me from her book. Her cute smile fills me with joy. I smile back, strumming out a few light chords to match the way she makes me feel.
One minute, I’m messing around, and the next I’m singing a melody to go with the notes I'm stringing together. I’m not sure how long I play, but when I reacquaint myself with my surroundings, two pairs of shocked eyes are locked on me.
“Louder, Beau,” Liam orders.
My pulse quickens. I’ve had plenty of face-offs with my nerves, having played on big stages, but something about this intimate setting with theattention of a highly talented musician and a girl I’m hot for has me getting hung up on my failing album and absent creativity.
I’m not about to be a martyr and admit any of that, so I return the guitar to the hook on the wall. “I was just messing around.”
Dark eyes stalk me all the way out the front door as I fish out a cigarette with shaky hands. Leaning against the brick exterior, I light one up and suck in lungfuls of smoke to get that nicotine hit faster.
The door opens, and I brace for Liam’s appearance. It’s Stasi who graces me with her presence. She rests beside me on the wall, loose tendrils of blonde hair whipping around her face in the hot breeze.
Sighing, I pop my snapback off and fit it to her head.
“There,” I say, grinning.
She doesn’t smile back. “Beau, are you okay?”
Tipping my head back against the bricks, I squint in the harsh sunlight. “Had a moment. I’m better now.”
After a pause, she says, “Liam mentioned you’re not in Lithos anymore.”
“Couldn’t take the pressure, I guess.”
“Do you think Liam could help? He’s got connections…”
