Stone Cold Notes: A Rock Star Romance (The Seasons Change)

THE LONGEST I’D EVER GONE without speaking a single word was fifteen days. It wasn’t on purpose, not at first. Two or three days had passed before I’d realized, and then I’d wondered how long I could go. I was around people. I was constantly around people back then. On the road, backstage, after-parties. It was just…no one expected much from me. Or nothing, really. And that was what I gave.

By day fifteen, I panicked. Silence had become too comfortable. I walked outside the venue we were playing and screamed the alphabet at the top of my lungs. Just to make sure I still existed. That I could be heard when I wanted to be.

Right now? I wanted to be heard.

I latched onto the back of Adam’s shirt and yanked him down the hall, away from the studio and prying ears.

“What are you playin’ at?” I gritted out.

His eyes flared with innocence. “Dude, I have no idea what you’re talking about. You’re going to have to be specific.”

“Inviting that girl to one of Benson’s parties.” I crossed my arms over my chest. “I told her no.”

Adam sputtered, laughing me off like he always did. He didn’t take anything seriously. That worked for him. He was a twenty-six-year-old man-child. I’d known him since I joined the band when I was nineteen, and he hadn’t changed one iota. The money got greener, the parties better, the girls more plentiful, but Adam remained constant. A free-wheeling fuckboy.

“You can’t tell her no. I was the one who invited her.”

“Can and did.” My molars ground together. “What are you thinkin’?”

“I’m thinking Wren is cute. She says things like ‘holy granola,’ for fuck’s sake. She’s my type. A little plump, sweet perfection. I could spend the next couple weeks flirting and buttering her up, but why waste my time? I’m taking her to Benson’s. If she’s into it, I’m golden. If she’s not, I’ll send her on her way in a car. No harm, no foul.” His eyes narrowed. “Why the fuck do you care? I gotta say, this is kinda out of character.”

“I don’t want her there.”

This was something I wouldn’t budge on. I rarely went out, never indulged in drugs or had debauched nights of trashing hotel rooms and being captured on film by the paparazzi. Adam and I lived opposite lifestyles, except one thing:

I liked to watch, and he liked to show off.

No surprise Adam was an exhibitionist. He used to bring random groupies back to the van we all traveled, slept, and basically lived in, and fuck them, whether we were all in there or not. And it wasn’t some subtle fucking. It was skin-slapping, moaning, dirty-talking, ass-banging, filthy sex.

Roddy and Iris would run for the hills, and I did too at first. But one time, the girl asked me to stay. Adam gave me the nod, so I did. I watched. I got harder than I ever had in my life.

And a kink was born.

Since those early days, we’d grown up some. The minivan had been traded in for sex clubs and the occasional swinger party. But Adam still liked to fuck with an audience, and my voyeuristic tendencies had flourished.

We didn’t do it often, but it was enough to call it a habit.

A habit I had indulged in more than once at a Benson Martin party. It had been a long time since I’d been to one, but the scene never changed. It was a den of iniquity where voyeurs and exhibitionists came to play.

Adam rubbed the back of his neck, his brow pinching. “Can I ask why you don’t want her to go? You don’t think she’s cute?”

“She’s fine, but I can say with absolute certainty she’s not into what you are.”

Wren was more than fine as far as that went, and it was true, Adam did have a type. He liked his girls thicker than average, with girl next door faces and soft attitudes. Wren fit that to a T. But like recognized like, and this girl was shy. She was no exhibitionist.

He cleared his throat. “What we are.”

I tipped my chin. “Sure. What we are. You know she’ll turn right back around once she sees what kind of party you’ve taken her to.”

“She doesn’t have to do anything she doesn’t want to do.” He squared his shoulders, preparing to go to battle over this. “You don’t get to decide this. I’m not backing down.”

“Did she say yes?”

He hesitated, tucking his hands in his pockets. He was already backing down. Hedging his bets, so when he inevitably admitted defeat, he could pretend he’d never expected her to say yes in the first place. “Not yet. But she will.”

Iris stuck her head out of the studio door. “Hey. If you’re done with your Girl Scout meeting, it’s time to actually do some work. Get your asses in here, honey bunnies.”

We fell in line easily, dropping our conversation to follow Iris’s orders. There was magic in her ‘honey bunnies’ that made Roddy, Adam, and me want to do her bidding. Since the day she marched up to us after one of our very early shows and told us she’d be a better lead singer than Adam, she’d been our leader, caring yet firm. She kicked our asses when we screwed up in rehearsals or performances, and even though I’d always shied away from authority figures, it had never bothered me.

I passed by her on my way into the studio. She squeezed my arm.

“Callie,” she cooed.

“Irie,” I answered back.

“You good?”

“All good.”

“Good.” She slapped me in the center of my back, propelling me forward.

The Seasons Change were in the midst of recording our third album. We spent the last week writing and had started to put it all together this week. It was a shit show. Iris and Adam did the bulk of the writing and melodies, while Rodrigo came up with the beats. I was mostly a silent contributor until I had a strong opinion, then I voiced it in one way or another.

I knew sounds.

Not just instruments, but nature, animals, fabric brushing fabric, wind rustling trees. Being silent most of the time had attuned me to the world around me. I wasn’t waiting with bated breath to jump into a conversation. I often checked out in social situations. When the world became too big, I narrowed it down to the rustling of a plastic bag blowing in the wind.

A therapist would have a field day with me. But I grew up as a Traveling Rose—and we didn’t do therapy. We also didn’t do public school, taxes, land ownership, rent, or vaccines. It wasn’t something to brag about, just a fact.

The upside to my head being full of sounds was I could listen to a song and have an instinct for what was missing.

We weren’t at that stage yet. Adam and Iris were bickering. The producer had his own opinions that didn’t mesh with Iris’s vision. Roddy kept leaving the studio to make calls or got distracted by texting, which was pissing Iris off.

There was a lot of pressure on us. The dreaded follow-up album to a hugely successful one—would we sink or swim?

Hours passed, recording and listening back to the shit we produced. No one was happy. I was at the window, losing myself in the view of the city sky rather than tuning into the tension at my back, when she showed up.

The girl from downstairs with the copper hair and memorable eyes.

“Hi, I have your dinner order.”

She barely spoke above a whisper, and even that was strained. I gave her credit, though. If I didn’t know the people in this room on a bone-deep level, I wouldn’t have been able to force myself to walk inside and announce my presence.

I turned to watch her place bags on the table in the middle of the room. Rodrigo, ever the gentleman, had taken the drinks from her and thanked her profusely.

Her oversized, owlish eyes flicked to me, then away just as fast.

“Is there anything else I can get you?” She had an accent. It was soft, but there was no mistaking a Jersey girl.

Adam was sprawled on the couch, his arms draped over the back. “Come sit and listen to the shit we just recorded. Tell us how shitty it is.”

“Um…” Somehow, her eyes went even wider.

Iris snapped her fingers. “Actually, yes. It would be fantastic to have an unbiased pair of ears. Can you give us five minutes, Wren?”

She tugged on her top, straightening it over her round hips. I tried to picture her, bent over for Adam, her flesh giving way to his. Would she moan loudly when he pounded into her? Would her inhibitions fall away when she was turned on?

Something stirred in the pit of my stomach. Something ugly and snakelike. Almost violent. It slithered around as my feet moved me without intention, until I was standing over Wren, who’d settled on the couch a safe distance from Adam.

He frowned at me, a crease carving deep between his brows. “Sit down, dude. Don’t be creepy.”

I hated being called out like that, and he knew it. But he was pissy from earlier and this was how he expressed it. Fuckboy.

Wren sucked in a breath when I took the cushion beside her. The sound felt better than most. Dulcet. Like worn flannel on a winter night. She scooted closer to Adam, and the snakes in the pit hissed.

The song started, and the girl listened. I watched.

Small hands were folded in her lap, over the soft pudge in her middle. Each of her nails was a different color. Her legs were short, and the couch was deep, so her feet didn’t touch the ground. Her feet were small too. Encased in black ballet flats with little bows in the front, pale skin lined with blue veins peeked from the top. I wondered if her toenails were rainbow too.

She held still, barely breathing. Her breasts rose and fell with shallow breaths, and I got caught there. They were full, softly round, and flaring out to the sides. Much more than a handful, even with how big my hands were.

Those snakes writhed, and I pressed on my stomach, ready to set fire to the pit to end this silent war.

The song cut out. Her hands splayed on her thighs, fingertips digging in. Everyone turned to her, including me, even though I knew she had to hate it. I would have.

Her mouth trembled. “I liked it.”

Iris pushed the bags of food aside and perched in front of her on the coffee table, narrowing her eyes. “But did you love it? Did you feel like it was missing something? Missing everything? Would you want to hear it again?”

“I don’t know.” Hair tuck. Lip bite. Cheeks flame. “The chorus was…well, the chorus is the part I always remember, you know? Even when I can’t remember the rest of the words. And this one…um…”

Iris propped her chin on her fist and smiled at the girl. “It wasn’t memorable, was it, honey bunny? You’re right. God, you’re absolutely right.”

“I’m not an expert. Don’t…don’t take my opinion for more than it’s worth. That was just my first thought, so…” she trailed off, glancing toward the door.

Adam laid his big hand on her shoulder. “You did good, Wren. So good. Now we have a direction. We can fix something if we know it’s not working. Honestly, I was ready to scrap the whole fucking thing.”

“Don’t do that,” she rushed out.

Iris laughed. “We won’t. Adam’s just a drama queen. It’s been a rough day. We’re all about ready to set fire to the studio and walk away.” She eyed me. “Except Callie. He’s as cool as a cucumber while the rest of us are losing our minds.”

Wren gave her a wobbly smile. “I’m glad I could help even though I don’t feel like I did anything.” She scooted forward. “I need to go, so, if that’s it…?”

Iris let her by after a profuse thank you, and Wren headed for the door. Adam followed her into the hall. I watched. He was going to try to talk her into the party. After I told him not to. After I said I didn’t want her there. After seeing how uncomfortable she was in this room of a few strangers. He wanted what he wanted, reality and consequences be damned.

Anything they were saying to each other was lost on the other side of the soundproof door and walls. The room was filled with bags crinkling, tearing plastic, squeaking Styrofoam, crunching, chewing, swallowing. Dinnertime.

Adam ducked back into the room. Not smiling, but not frowning either. He grabbed dinner and didn’t look my way. That was fine. As long as she hadn’t said yes, all was well and we didn’t have to talk about it.

Four and a half years ago

Dear Callum,

What was your first kiss like? Now that I’m 18, I feel like we can talk about these things.

I don’t know if I want to wait on my shadow. First of all, I’m not sure that’s ever going to happen. Secondly, shouldn’t I be experienced so I can kiss him right if the time ever comes?

On that note, I bought a prom dress. I still want to die when I think about going alone, but I’ve missed out on so many things because I’m afraid. This is my only chance to go to prom. So I’m going. I’m not shrinking. Are you proud of me?

Holy granola, a farm! A Southern accent! Oh, that’s perfect.

I’m a Jersey girl, so yeah, I have an accent. I’m sure it’s not as pretty as yours.

Where are you now?

Your brave boss babe,

Birdie

Little Bird,

My first kiss was in a dark movie theater. A friend of a friend decided she wanted to kiss me, so she did. I didn’t like it, and I didn’t want it.

When your shadow finds you, you’ll be perfect for him. He won’t mind if your lips are unsure. So don’t waste it, Little Bird. Trust me.

I am proud of you. It’s hard not to shrink, just like it’s hard not to disappear.

We’re traveling up the East Coast. We’ll pass through New Jersey tomorrow. I’ll look for a little bird out the window. I never drive, so I can look the whole time.

Next time you write, tell me all about prom. I never went, so I want to know what it’s like.

Be good.

Callum

Dear Callum,

I’m sorry it’s been so long since I last wrote. I just…didn’t have the heart to write back.

Can we not talk about prom? Can we forget I ever mentioned it?

Please tell me something good. Anything. About the farm or Alabama or your band.

Birdie

Little Bird,

No, no, no. Did someone hurt you? Was it Karthik fucking Singh? Tell me now, and I will bury him. You don’t even have to tell me what happened. I will destroy that kid. Tell me, Little Bird. Let me make it better.

Don’t hide from me. Give me all the ugly. I’ll take it and carry it for you.

I’m proud of you. Don’t shrink. No matter what happened, don’t shrink.

Callum

Dear Callum,

Maybe I’ll tell you one day. The fact that you want to go to battle for me has made me feel better already. Your email made me smile for the first time in weeks. I’m sorry I hid from you after prom. I won’t do it again.

Can we get back to our regularly scheduled program? Tell me where you are. What are you doing? Did you see me when you drove through New Jersey? Wouldn’t that be something if you drove right by me? I’m telling myself you did.

Thanks for being my friend, Callum.

Your humbled and devoted pen pal,

Birdie