Total pages in book: 50
Estimated words: 46751 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 234(@200wpm)___ 187(@250wpm)___ 156(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 46751 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 234(@200wpm)___ 187(@250wpm)___ 156(@300wpm)
"Gideon."
"Wait here, Kenna."
I sigh heavily and then give up, not willing to argue this with him here and now. I know he feels like he failed last night, and he's going to go overboard about everything now. But this isn't the time or place to have that argument. There will be time for later. For now, all I can do is let him check the studio.
He kills the engine and hops out, slamming his door. The truck beeps as he arms the alarm system and then jogs toward the doors. He waits until he's buzzed in and then pulls the doors open and disappears inside. He's not in there long before he jogs back toward the truck.
"Come on, Sparrow," he says, opening my door to help me out.
He ushers me inside, using his body like a shield. The walk is short, but I still feel exposed, as if someone watches from the shadows. Do they? Are they watching right now? Taking pictures? A chill goes through me at the possibility that they might be.
I don't like anything about this. It sucks all the way around.
We're buzzed into the lobby.
"Wait here," Gideon orders, pressing a kiss to my temple.
I settle onto the piano bench to wait while he clears the rest of the studio. Notes of a new song have been rolling around in my head for the last few days, so I play with them, trying to tease the melody out. By the time Gideon strides back into the lobby, I've got a pen in my hand, scribbling lines of lyrics in the notebook kept on the piano for this very thing.
I usually hate when anyone watches me try to figure out a new song, but I realize I don't mind him watching. It feels intimate and kind of…nice. It's strange, but things I've always hated don't seem so uncomfortable with Gideon. Talking to him, even about deep, painful topics is easy. Letting him see who I really am is effortless. Being with him isn't hard at all. It's as instinctive as breathing.
That means something. I know it does. I can deny and fight it all I want, but the reality is that I'm already falling in love with this man. I think I started to fall the moment I met him. Last night only drove home how deep I've already fallen.
I could lose myself in him easily and not regret a second of it. I think I already am.
I just need to find a way to trust that it's not all going to come crashing down around me. And right now, that's really hard to do. Especially when it feels like the shadows have eyes and claws and fangs and they're creeping closer. The only thing they don't have is a face.
"Hey." Gideon snags my hand as I prepare to slip back into the sound booth. "I need to run these pictures to a buddy at the PD to dust for prints. Will you be okay here for an hour?"
"Yes," I say, shaking my head. He's been parked in a chair in the corner of the mixing booth all morning, watching me like a hawk. He's doing his best not to get in the way, but I think he's stressing out my producer, Soren. "I'll be fine, Marine. Go do what you need to do."
"You're sure? I can wait until later."
"Gideon. I'm not going anywhere, and no one is getting in here. Soren is here. The band is here. I'm fine."
He hesitates for a moment and then jerks his chin in a nod. "I'll be back within the hour." He drops a kiss on my forehead and then another on my lips, lingering for a moment before he pulls away.
I watch him as he slips out of the room.
"You ready?" Soren asks.
"Yeah," I whisper, clearing my throat. "Um, can we skip Whiskey River and record Traces right now? It's ready to go, right?"
"Yeah, it's ready." Soren frowns like he isn't sure why I want to record it now instead of Whiskey River when that's what the label wants to hear next, but he wasn't at the bar last night. The crowd loved Traces. I think the label needs to hear it.
And I need to sing it again, just so I can remember the way Gideon looked at me while I was belting it out to him. That's what I want to think about when I remember last night. Not those damn photos hanging all over the dressing room. But the way he looked at me on that stage and the way I felt in his arms when we got home.
Those are the memories that matter. Those are the ones that will linger long into the future. The rest will wither and fade. Darkness always does.
Thirty minutes into recording, Soren cuts the backing track. I lift my gaze to the window overlooking to mixing booth to find John standing there, staring at me.