“I bet at this pace we could have a full album by the end of the week,” I replied, pressing the guitar strings down to keep them from ringing. “Is that something you’d want to do?”

  “Only if you want it, too.” He clicked on his laptop, not looking at me. “Although I have to admit… if we made it to ten songs, I’d kind of want to put them out somehow.”

  “That goes without saying.”

  He glanced at me. “And… you’d be fine with that?”

  “I mean, we’re in a band. It would make sense for me to be okay with it, wouldn’t it?”

  Holding the guitar with my right hand, I reached out with my left and took his. He let me hold him, gazing at our fingers as they brushed against each other.

  “Are you sure?” he said softly. “Because it’s okay if you don’t want to after… everything.”

  “Can I tell you something?” I put the guitar aside and scooted closer. “The night we met, you taught me a valuable lesson that I only realized after I left.”

  “Me?”

  “Yeah.” I chuckled. “I know you didn’t mean to, but you did.”

  “What lesson?”

  “That I can’t hold on to my past.”

  I interlaced my fingers with his and rested our hands on his leg before leaning my head against his shoulder.

  “When we jammed that evening, and I let go of all those things I told myself for a moment, I finally enjoyed myself again for the first time in a long while. It didn’t hit me right away, but the next night, when I was alone with my thoughts, I started wondering… Why did I give up something I loved so much? Just to stick it to all of them?” I shook my head. “That was just stupid, wasn’t it?”

  I took a breath.

  “And then I realized it wasn’t just the music. I did the same thing with my family. I didn’t just stop talking to my dad. I shut everyone out. All because I couldn’t let go of one argument.” I exhaled slowly. “Getting to know you made me realize I don’t want to make choices based on things that went wrong in the past. I want to make choices that actually make me happy. And being here with you, making music, and talking about recording an album is what makes me happy.”

  I lifted my head slightly.

  “Sure, maybe things go wrong. Maybe people won’t like the music. Maybe my parents will yell at me if they find out. But so what? The first time I tried this, I thought I’d be a superstar by now, and look how that turned out.” I huffed a quiet laugh. “But this time, I know I’ll at least enjoy it. I already do, because I get to spend time with you.”

  I squeezed his hand.

  “So yeah, if you want to make an album and put it out, I’m in.”

  He squeezed my hand back and gifted me a smile. “That was beautiful, you know?”

  “Because it’s the truth.”

  His smile widened. “I really want to make an album with you.”

  “Then let’s do this,” I said, sitting up. “Four more songs. Should be easy for us.”

  We kissed hard after that, but instead of fucking again, we actually went back to work. We went through all his ideas, sketches, and demos. He had so many that he let me decide which ones should make the album. Otherwise, he’d pick all of them.

  By the end of the day, I had selected two more, bringing the total to eight—the three we had worked on when I was in Vegas, the three we had improved from sketches he had shown me the day before, one we improvised that morning, and one Alex had written the day before I arrived.

  The songs ranged from fast pop tracks to quiet ballads, but they fit together beautifully. He used a lot of similar synths, and every song he had shown me so far—as different as they were in tempo, tonality, and mood—clearly carried his artistic signature.

  It became a bit more challenging with the last two songs, though, since we agreed they needed to fill specific gaps that none of his existing tracks covered.

  We decided to just write two more, but the moment we set that goal, we hit a wall. We worked through the evening without a breakthrough, and the next morning’s session didn’t go any better.

  “How hard can it be?” I complained, setting Alex’s guitar down a little too roughly against the wall. “We’re only missing two songs!”

  “I guess two more would be perfect to make it a full album.” Alex skimmed the song titles in his notebook with his index finger, as if he could hear them just by touching the words. “One should definitely go between Point Blank and For The Love Of You. And one at the end. I love Your Voice, but I’m not sure it’s a good song to end a playlist with.”

  I leaned my head against his, looking at the list, too. “It’s too slow. I agree.”

  “Let me…” He flipped through the pages of his filled notebook, quickly scanning scribbles of lyrics. A couple of heavy breaths brushed my fingers. “No.” He let the notebook rest on his lap and leaned forward toward his laptop. He scrolled through folders of demos that could fill at least ten albums, his eyes narrowing with each scroll. “I don’t know. You’ve heard all of the good ones.” He sighed and let go of the trackpad. “I guess the ones we’re missing truly haven’t been written yet.”

  “Then we’re doomed. Are you sure you don’t have anything hidden away?”

  His eyes circled around me, and only after looking everywhere else did they finally land on me. “I’m not sure I should confess this to you.”

  “Confess what?”

  “All the songs you’ve picked…” His cheeks flushed. “All but one were songs I wrote after I met you. As in… they were all inspired by you.”

  A grin spread across my face. “So I’m your muse?”

  “If that’s what you want to call it.” He side-eyed me, scrunching his nose. “For all these songs, I had your voice in my head, and I let it guide me. Before that, it was just my own ugly voice in my head, but from the moment I heard you hum, things changed. Writing songs got so much easier.”

  “Looks like meeting each other had an impact on both of us.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Oh, never mind.” I nodded at the notebook. “Let’s focus. If you say that working with my voice made it easier for you to write new songs, then this shouldn’t be too hard. How do you usually do it? Write a song?”

  Alex flipped through the notebook again. “It’s hard to describe. I mostly get inspired by real-life stuff. Often, it’s small, seemingly insignificant experiences. They just happen, and whenever they do, I make a quick sketch on my phone and come back to it later.” His jaw clenched. “I usually have so many ideas that I can’t even keep up with them.”

  “So what do you do when you feel empty?”

  “I… do something else. Break the routine to get some new inspiration. Go for a walk or something.”

  “Maybe that’s what we should do then. Take a little break. A walk actually sounds like a nice idea. After all that progress, we deserve one.”

  “So much progress despite all the fucking,” he joked.

  “That was just recharging our energy.” I chuckled as I got up. “Come on, let’s get dressed.” I had spent so many years away; it would be interesting to see some of the downtown places I used to frequent before they closed. Now, with the diner newly renovated, I wondered what else might have changed. “I’d love to go downtown, if that’s okay with you.”

  “Aren’t you worried someone might see us again?”

  “No? We just have to keep our hands to ourselves. And if we run into anyone, I’ll tell them what I told my parents—that I’m here to study. No one can deny me a break.”

  “That... sounds reasonable.” Alex slapped his hands on his thighs. “Okay. Let’s go for a walk. There’s a place downtown I like to go to recharge sometimes. If you want, I’ll show it to you.” He winked at me and reached for his pants, which were still lying on the floor by the door from when he’d tossed them there two days ago.

  When I lived here, I would go downtown every now and then. It was only about a twenty-minute walk down the hill if you knew all the shortcuts through people’s backyards.

  We didn’t hold hands or anything as we climbed through bushes and cut across yards. We didn’t even talk much. But we stole glances that made me smile so hard I had to rein it in whenever someone drove past or noticed us walking by.

  Eventually, we reached the old town hall, the only building whose doors and windows weren’t boarded up. Downtown had never been big—just two streets with ten to fifteen stores each. But seeing all of them empty and abandoned like this twisted my gut more than I expected. It was a sunny day, warm enough to be out in just a shirt, and fifteen years ago, this place would’ve been full of people.

  “I still remember when everyone came here after work,” I said as we strolled down the sidewalk. “Not even to shop, just to meet friends or get some ice cream.”

  At least the trees planted along the sidewalk weren’t dead. All of them had grown leaves, the green a perfect contrast to the blue sky.

  “So, this is where I wanted to take you,” Alex said.

  We stopped in front of an old bar that my family and I used to frequent years ago. The sign above the entrance was gone, and the windows were covered with faded newspapers. Alex scanned the street before pointing to a small passageway on the left side of the building. He led me between two brick walls toward the back.

  Hidden behind the building was a paved area with four tables covered in a decade’s worth of dirt and a few metal chairs chained together. Moss covered the walls, growing wild and rampant.

  “I feel like one of those urban explorers on MyTube,” I giggled, keeping my voice low.

  “It gets better.” Alex turned to the glass back door. Next to it was a broken window that allowed us to see into a dark, winding corridor. He reached through the hole and fumbled around with practiced ease.

  A second later, a click rippled through the air, and the door creaked open. Holding it with only the tip of his index finger, he led the way, gently pushing the grimy glass so I wouldn’t have to touch it as I slipped inside. Alex’s decisive step pulled me after him. As the door fell into its frame behind me, a little dust fell from the ceiling onto us. The smell reminded me of my grandparents’ attic.

  The walkway led us past the restrooms on the left and into a dining room that was still fully furnished. Framed pictures were left hanging on the walls. On the right, next to the covered display windows, there was a bar with nine stools in front of it. The dark green paint on the wooden countertop had already peeled in places. The empty shelves that had once held all the bottles of alcohol still reminded us of the better days this place had seen.

  On the far left was a small raised platform that had been either a seating area or a stage, depending on the day you came, but it was now stacked with tables and chairs, leaving only a narrow strip to stand on. I remember coming here to listen to people play their guitars for everyone to enjoy; my grandpa had sometimes been one of them.

  “This is my secret refuge,” Alex said, lifting his hands to show it off as he walked onto the stage. “I come here whenever I feel a little lost. I don’t know why, but being here always clears my mind.”

  “When I was young, this place was bustling with people.” I wandered toward the bar and ran my fingers over it, regretting it right away as they turned black from all the dust that had settled on the countertop. My eyes drifted across the barstools. The third one looked like it had been cleaned recently. I walked over to it, skimmed it carefully, and seeing that my fingers didn’t turn black, I sat down. “So what do you do here when you feel lost?”

  “Not much… Sitting around, looking at the pictures on the walls, maybe scribbling down some words or singing to myself.”

  “So you do sing?”

  “Doesn’t everyone sing sometimes?”

  “I mean, I know I do. But you mentioned so often that you hated your voice that I didn’t expect you to still do it.”

  He hid his hands in his pockets. “Just because I hate my voice doesn’t mean I can’t sing for myself every once in a while.”

  “Can I hear it?”

  “What for? You’d just hate it, too.”

  “How do you know? Maybe I’ll be the first person to like your voice. I certainly enjoy listening to you speak.”

  “You said yourself that speaking and singing voices aren’t the same.” Alex stood on stage like a lost child who wanted to sing but didn’t have the courage.

  “I’ll give you a kiss if you sing me a little song.”

  “As soon as we get back home, you’ll give me a lot more than a kiss, even if I don’t sing,” Alex laughed.

  He probably wasn’t wrong.

  We stared at each other for a few seconds, and just as I was about to tell him it was okay if he didn’t want to, he sighed. “Okay, fine. But don’t be harsh.”

  He swallowed, raised his head, and opened his mouth.

  It took a few seconds before his voice filled the room. The emptiness of the place gave it a soft reverb. He was shy and held back the strength he could reach with a little practice, but his voice wasn’t as ugly as he made it out to be. On the contrary. It made me question whether I should really be the one to sing his songs. With a voice like this, he could easily do it himself.

  The words and melody he sang were new to me. It was a ballad about a man’s hopes for a woman’s future. The chorus hit me hard:

  “All you deserved / more than I could afford.”

  So many of his songs seemed to be love songs, but when you read between the lines, there was so much more. They were full of hurt, yet still hopeful about the future. Words I could never have written. Melodies I could never have come up with.

  As he repeated the chorus, his voice gradually quieted, though he didn’t stop.

  I put on an encouraging smile, and only then did I realize I had started humming along again without noticing.

  When he reached the chorus again, I joined in as the catchy line was still stuck in my head.

  “All you…” I sang with him.

  Alex faltered on the next note. Our eyes locked. I nodded toward him and quieted my voice because I didn’t want to outshine him. Just then, he found his rhythm again. Our voices joined, growing more enthusiastic with each shared note. The muscles in his neck tensed as he leaned into it and let it all out.

  “… deserved / more than I could afford.”

  The song ended with the chorus, and I clapped. As his only audience member, I gave him the loudest applause I could. I cheered as if I had a hundred hands to clap with. Alex looked at the floor, blushing. It only made me applaud louder.

  “You’re incredible! Why did you hold yourself back?”

  He stepped off the stage and moved around the bar as if he were just a waiter who didn’t know how he had ended up in the spotlight in the first place. “You’re exaggerating.”

  “Why would I? Just to kick myself out of the band I so desperately want to be in?”

  “I could never do that without you. My voice isn’t nearly as beautiful as yours.”

  “But your songs are at least ten times more beautiful than my voice.”

  He glanced up, frowning, but I wasn’t having it.

  “I’m not kidding,” I quickly added. “When you stood on that stage and sang, I questioned why I was even here with you. What would someone as talented as you need me for? I’m just a has-been who can hold a note and strum a few chords on a guitar. You, on the other hand, have got real talent.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “That you should try singing your own songs, too. Believe me, if you’d heard what I just heard, you’d think differently about yourself. With some training, you could do all of this on your own. Not that I want you to, but you could.”

  My words made his shoulders slump.

  “That’s not true,” he said quietly. “I wouldn’t be where I am right now without you. I wouldn’t have written that many new songs in such a short time if it weren’t for you. I wouldn’t finally have demos I always wished I could produce. And”—his voice broke—“I wouldn’t have had so much fun doing this. Until now, it was more like an escape. But ever since I met you, it feels like I have a purpose. I want people to hear the voice that turned my life upside down. That voice is yours.”

  He shivered. His legs trembled as if they might give way at any moment.

  I was probably not as good at encouraging someone as I’d thought.

  “Hey, come here.” I got up from the stool, rushed around the bar, and opened my arms. He fell into me right away, letting me hold him. “I’m not saying you should do this alone. It just means we can think about doing duets, too. We should try that. It could enhance some parts where we felt something was missing.”

  “We could give it a try,” he mumbled, resting his head against my chest. “But I can’t promise anything.”

  FIFTEEN

  THE SONG OF ALEX

  ALEX

  I used to love singing. I think. My mom always joked that she knew I was coming home when she heard a kid singing in the distance. That kid was me. Whenever I was out on my own, my mouth would just fly open, and the melodies would come out. Singing quieted all the noise from the world long before I knew headphones existed.

  My mom and I used to sing together a lot, too. We sang while doing the dishes, when she put me to bed, and even when she drove me to school, since the radio in her car had been broken for a long time.

  This only changed when her first boyfriend, the one with the headphones and records, moved in. He was a burly guy she adored. I can’t remember his name—it was Brad or Chad or something like that—but I remember he had strong hands, twice the size of mine, and she was always seeking his touch. He wasn’t a bad guy. He let me listen to his records. He took us out to restaurants at least once a week. He even paid for a new radio for the car.

  But he always had headaches.

  He told me to keep my voice down in the apartment, which I did. I didn’t want to cause Mom any trouble. When I was out on the street, though, I sang at the top of my lungs. I didn’t care what anyone else thought. I was too young to even understand that others might hear me. Until one day, he suddenly stood in front of me on the sidewalk.