Music of the Heart (Runaway Train, #1)(27)

So instead, I took a cold shower and watched my wood shrivel under the stream. Just as I was about to turn the water off, a riff hit me like a train barreling through my mind. It took me so off guard that I had to lean against the stall for support. Pinching my eyes shut, I hummed aloud what was filling my mind.

Hustling out of the shower, I wrapped a towel around my waist before leaving the bathroom. Normally, I would have gone stark naked to the bedroom for my clothes, but I didn’t dare want to run into Abby like that. Once I was dressed, I grabbed my guitar, a notepad, some sheet music, and a pencil and headed to the kitchen. After flipping on the coffee maker, I flopped down at the table.

After scribbling down the riff I’d heard, I worked on the melody. Once it was done, I started hammering out lyrics to go along with it. All of the emotions I’d been experiencing converged on this moment. I only paused in my furious scribbling when my hand cramped from the excessive writing.

I eased my guitar onto my lap and started playing the music I’d written. I erased and changed a few chords before beginning again. Closing my eyes, I focused on the lyrics in my mind as I played.

At the sound of someone behind me, my eyelids popped open.

“Morning,” Abby murmured softly.

I glanced back at her and smiled. “Morning. Did I wake you?”

“Yeah, but it’s fine.”

“Sorry. The muse decided I didn’t need any more sleep,” I lied. I knew I would freak her out if I told her the truth. Jerking my head over my shoulder, I replied, “There’s some coffee if you want some. Of course, you probably need OJ instead.” I winked at her. “Don’t want you passing out on me again.”

Pink tinged her cheeks at my attentiveness. “Thanks. But I’m good for now.”

I nodded. “We’ll probably stop for some breakfast in an hour or so.”

“Okay.” She motioned towards the notepad with scribbled lyrics and chords. “How’s it coming?”

I grimaced. “Good, but it’s never going to work.”

“Why not?” she asked as she eased into the bench seat across from me.

“The label wants very specific stuff from us, and this,” I waved the notepad at her, “isn’t it.”

Drawing her knees up to her chest, she rested her chin on the tops of her legs. “You won’t know until you approach them.”

“Trust me, it’s not happening.”

She cocked her brows at me “Oh, come on Mr. Glass Half Empty. What’s it about?”

With hesitating, I replied, “My mother dying.”

Her face fell. “Oh Jake, I’m so sorry,” she whispered.

“I know. And thanks.” When I started to rip out the lyrics from the pad, she reached over and grabbed my hand.

“No, don’t.”

I clenched my jaw with determination. “It won’t work, Angel. I have to sing about love, relationships, and sex. You know, bullshit like that. A song about my f*cking heart being ripped to shreds because my mother is dying isn’t going to make an album, least of all a single.”

“What about Eric Clapton’s Tears in Heaven.”

I gave her a withering look. “That’s Clapton. He could tell any label to screw themselves if they didn’t like his songs.”

“Fine. Give me a minute here.” She drummed her fingers on the table for a few seconds. “Okay what about Alter Bridge’s In Loving Memory?”

My brows rose in surprise. “You actually listen to Alter Bridge?”

She rolled her eyes. “Contrary to what you think I haven’t been in a hole my entire life or jamming to the Jonas Brothers.”

I couldn’t fight my lips from momentarily turning upwards. “Yeah, well, Alter Bridge’s management isn’t necessarily marketing them the same way ours is.”

“You’re honestly going to sit there and give up so easily on something you obviously feel very passionately about?” She shifted her legs to where her elbows leaned forward on the table. “That doesn’t sound like the kickass and take-names Jake Slater I know.”

I scowled at her for a minute before blowing out a frustrated breath. “Okay Miss Fix-It, how do I make it work?”

Tilting her head, she chewed on her bottom lip, lost in thought. “What if you were to choose something symbolic to represent your mother’s…” I knew she couldn’t bring herself to vocalize the words.

“You can be a big girl and say it. Her death.” Abby started to open her mouth, but I silenced her with my hand. “Yeah, you’re sorry. I know. Now continue on about the symbol shit.”

“Like back in the day during the 60’s, people sang songs with symbols in them because of the FCC codes. You know, like the Byrd’s Mr. Tambourine Man was talking about a drug dealer, and I’m sure you know about Puff the Magic Dragon.”

I shot her an exasperated look. “And you just naturally expect me to know about the songs with the drug references?”

She grinned. “I didn’t mean any offense.”

I laughed. “I’ll have you know that I haven’t done drugs since high school, Angel.”

“That’s good to know.”

I made a circular motion beside my temple. “It messes with my creative side, so I like to just say no.”