Blur (Changing Colors Book 2) (34 page)

“Nowhere. Just went to get some ice.”

He looks at my empty hands, calling me out on my lie.

“All right, good talk. I'm headed to bed.” I start to walk past him, but he grabs my arm, stopping me in my tracks.

“I'm not a bloody moron. I know you were with Brooke.”

“I have no idea what you're talking about.”

“Come on, mate, I know you, and I've never seen this side of you. I’m worried.”

“Worried?” I stare at him, confused.

“I see how you two are together. The quiet moments when you think no one is looking? Yeah, I'm looking. But only because you’re my family and I'm concerned for you. I think you're getting in too deep with someone who’s still planning a wedding with her fiancé.”

Getting in too deep?
That’s an understatement. I’m in so deep with her that my heart is literally drowning.

“I'll be fine.”

He flashes an incredulous look.

“Seriously. I'm fine. Don't worry about me.” I nudge him towards his door. “I know you’re dying to call your future-stripper-wife.

He laughs. “Night, Dillweed.”

“Night, Jessica.” My brother walks into his room and probably calls Cheyenne the second the door shuts.

I make my way into my hotel room. My mind races with thoughts of Brooke. Spending several hours with her has done a number on me. The girl has an ice pick to my heart. Every minute spent with her, a few more pieces of are chipped away, landing in the palm of her unknowing hand.

But doesn't she know? Can't she tell?

It's nights like tonight, when it’s just the two of us, that I feel a glimmer of hope she wants me the same way I want her. Not in an “I want to fuck your brains out” kind of way, but “I need to be with you forever” kind of way.

Of course, I want to fuck her. God, I want to slide so deep inside her and stay there forever.

But I want more than that, too. I want all of her. Every laugh, every smile, every frown, every tear… I want all of it to belong to me.

Fuck her relationship with Jamie.

I know they’re close. I know they’ve known each other since they were kids.

But I know down to my soul they don’t have the kind of connection we have.

The passion, the heart-wrenching desire, the light the sheets on fire chemistry.

They don’t have that.

Brooke and I have that.

Wedding News: Camille and Jamie Wallace spotted at The Yellow Room, overheard discussing wedding plans.

CelebrityPulse.com

Yesterday, Jamie Wallace was spotted enjoying an early dinner with his mother, Camille, ex-wife of music mogul, Alistair Wallace. She walked into celebrity hotspot The Yellow Room with wedding magazines and planner in hand.

The two enjoyed a nice meal on the terrace while, a source reveals, Camille talked her son’s ear off about ceremony and reception locations.

An insider eavesdropped on their conversation and updates, “She was pushing pretty hard for Jamie to set a date to marry his lady love, Brooke.”

Jamie appeared laidback and relaxed, not seemingly concerned that his fiancée is with Dylan Bissette, traveling across the country for Careless Cockups’ tour. As of late, there have been a lot of rumors swirling around that Dylan and Brooke are more than just friends.

While Jamie called it an early night, heading home before dusk, his fiancée was busy singing on stage with Dylan during the band’s show at The Howlin’ Wolf in New Orleans.

We’re curious to see what the cameras for Mad Sounds managed to catch last night while Brooke and Dylan sang a cover of Major Lazer’s hit song, Powerful.

Not exactly a song choice for two people who are claiming to be “just friends.”

The next episode of Mad Sounds will air Monday night on C&E. Fingers crossed we’ll get to see highlights of Careless Cockups’ show in the Big Easy.

Brooke

We’re still in New Orleans, holed up in the studio for the past twenty-four hours working on recording the last song for the album,
Blur.
The lyrics strike a nerve with me. A deep nerve. I’ve think I’ve died a thousand deaths listening to Dylan sing them over and over again.

It’s taking every ounce of strength to keep my ass in this studio.

While Dylan is in the booth, Walter—one of the studio’s assistants—walks in holding six cups of coffee. Zach, Alex, and Jesse all voice approval from the giant leather sofa behind the soundboard. Walter laughs, handing them each a cup before heading my way and setting a giant latte in front of me.

“You’re a godsend.” I take a sip of the much-needed caffeine boost.

He grins. “Glad I could help. Anything else y’all need?”

“Nah, Walter. I think we’re good. Thanks again for all of your help.”

“How was that?” Dylan asks from the booth.

Nigel presses the intercom button. “Hold on, mate. That was really good, but I wanna try a little something.” He turns towards me, smiling wide.

“What?” I ask, confused.

“Do you trust me, Brooke?”

I tilt my head. “That depends.”

“Oh, c’mon. You trust me. You trust my judgment. Admit it.”

“
Yeah, but…”
I trail off, eyeing him with skepticism.

“Do you trust my judgment?” he asks Jesse

“Without a fucking doubt.”

I sigh heavily. “Okay, what do you want to try? Or should I rephrase and say, what do you want
me
to try?”

“It’s just an idea. One that needs your kick ass vocals.”

My head shakes back and forth manically. “No way, dude.”

Alex laughs. “Oh, come on, Tink, you can do it. You kicked ass the other night on stage.”

“Exactly,” Nigel agrees. “You and Dylan blew my bloody mind singing
Powerful.”

“Come on, Tinkerbell, don’t be such an arsehole,” Jesse teases.

I glare at him over my shoulder. “No one asked for your input, Jessica.”

Alex and Zach chuckle.

“Hey now! Only my brother can call me Jessica. Ain’t that right, Dylana?”

Dylan’s laugh is heard through the speakers, and that’s when I gather Nigel is still holding down the intercom, ensuring he’s included in this discussion.

“First, let me ask you guys this,” Nigel announces to the band. “What do you think about having Brooke’s vocals—”

“Oh,
hell
no!” I interject.

Nigel laughs. “Let me rephrase. What do you think about having someone else’s vocals on one of your tracks? Preferably a female.”

“If it makes the song better, I’m good with it,” Zach responds without hesitation.

Jesse and Alex voice their agreeance, too.

Dylan clears his throat, urging everyone’s attention back towards the booth. “I’m down with Brooke, but you’d have to do some serious convincing if it’s some random chick we don’t know.”

I glare at Dylan. He just grins back, shooting a wink my direction.

Of all people, he should know why this song might not be the best choice for us to sing together. It hits way to close to home. And it’s been slowly killing me since we wrote the music for it back in LA.

Nigel claps his hands. “All right. It’s settled. Let’s give Brooke a shot and see what she can add to this already fan-fucking-tastic track. No pressure, sweetheart. Let’s just play around for a little bit.”

Twelve hours later and I’m standing in the booth with Dylan. He looks relaxed, happy, and I’m a ball of nerves ready to unravel any minute.

What started out as an “idea” has turned into a new twist on
Blur’s
original track. Despite my reticence on singing the lyrics, I can’t deny it’s perfect and will most likely help skyrocket Careless Cockups success. It’s just one of those songs, the second you hear it, you just know, you
fucking know
it will rock the music world.

So, that’s why I’m standing here beside Dylan, ready to sing harmony on a song I know he wrote with yours truly in mind. I’m starting to wonder what I wouldn’t do for this man.

“You sure you want to record the vocals together?” Nigel asks.

Dylan nods, determined. “I want this to be perfect. I feel like I can’t get it right unless I can hear Brooke.”

“All right, mate. Have it your way.” Nigel fiddles with the soundboard, while the rest of the band make themselves comfortable on the leather couch behind him.

Jesse gives us a thumbs up, grinning wide. “Dylan, Tink…Make some motherfucking music history.”

Even though anxiety claws at my throat, I can’t stop myself from laughing at the giant smile plastered across his face.

Nigel moves around a few dials, adjusting the volume. “You guys ready?”

Dylan nods, sliding his headphones on, but I just stand here like a deer in headlights.
Fuck
. I’ve got to calm my nerves. Clasping my hands behind my neck, I stare up at the ceiling and searching for my happy place.

My mind goes to Millie. She would be beside herself if she were here. I think about my sixteenth birthday and the way her face lit up when she heard me play
La Vie En Rose
on the guitar she bought me. This is a full circle kind of moment. This is
the
moment she wanted to witness with her own eyes. Which means I need to get it together and make her proud.

“Need a minute?” Dylan asks, worrying etching his brow.

I shake my head. Sliding on my headphones, I release a cleansing breath and shake the nerves out of my arms and legs. “The real question is, are
you
ready? I’m bringing my A-game, Bissette.”

He grins. “Let’s do this, Sawyer.”

“Brooke, Dylan, you guys good?”

We both nod.

Nigel flips a few more switches, and music filters into the booth. The band’s pre-recorded claps start, and then Jesse’s drums kick in.

He points to Dylan who sings the first lines, low and deep,
“Baby, don’t ignore our melody. I know what your eyes are tellin’ me.”

Alex and Dylan’s guitars join in, followed by Zach’s bass, and the song picks up speed, building in power.

Our eyes are locked as we sing the next two lines together,
“I still feel you. I still need you.”

Dylan’s voice is filled with emotion, while mine is more muted and echoed to reinforce the depth of his. His vocals increase in volume as he falls into the third verse.

“Baby, that golden gaze. Transports me to our Paris haze.”

My fingers grip my headphones, body moving with the music, and I join him for the next line.
“Let it be me. Let it be me.”

We’re singing our hearts out. His voice is the strong foundation, while mine verges on anguish. Our vocals are battling each other, feeding off the lyrics, and the climactic build of the music.

The song is at its peak, and I’m wondering how much more Dylan can give. But he does. With his back arched and hands gripping the headphones, he’s in the zone. His eyes close as he barrels into the next verse.
“I’m not going to waste one line. Because I know you’re not fine.”

I sing harmony on the next line. My voice is haunted, lower, while his reaches this incredible force, a battle cry coming from the depths of his soul.
“It should be me. It should be me.”

The final chorus is mine. I dig deep, finding the strength to sing it alone. And when we hit the final verses,
“I still need you,”
Dylan joins me, repeatedly crying out lines over top of me. Then he belts out this war cry, shocking my nerves and spurring goose bumps to roll up my arms. His voice hitches, and then quiets,
“I still love you.”

As the last note ends, Dylan opens his eyes. His smile is wide, equal parts exhausted and relieved. He holds up his hand, offering a high-five, which I take, grinning. His fingers lock with mine, our hands falling down to his side. “You’re a rock star, Little Wing,” he whispers.

We stare at each other, taking in this moment. What we just did together—it was incredible. We crushed it on the first take. I wasn’t even hearing it from the sound booth, and I know there are probably little, if any, changes to be made to our vocals.

Nigel hits the two-way speaker, and the sound of the band cheering outside the booth surrounds us. “What the fuck was that?” he asks, voice astonished.

“Brooke’s A-game,” Dylan retorts, laughing.

We walk out of the booth, stilling smiling and laughing.