More Than Music (Chasing The Dream, #1)(5)

Conversation around the room picked up again, but I slipped down the hallway and found the door Kyle had mentioned. It clicked shut and locked behind me, and the noise of the party faded to a dull thrum. The studio seemed to be a soundproofed garage with cheap carpeting that peeled up in the corners. The far wall had the Villain Complex logo and a bunch of quotes painted in black, including: “You don’t know the power of the Dark Side,” from Return of the Jedi; “You either die a hero or live long enough to see yourself become the villain,” from The Dark Knight; and “One lab accident away from being a supervillain,” from The Big Bang Theory. Under the quotes was a couch with an acoustic guitar flung across it and a small table covered in empty soda and beer cans. The rest of the studio was filled with microphones, headphones, pedals, amps, and cords crisscrossing the floor to connect it all.

I stepped carefully through the room, like I was walking on hallowed ground, and inspected the instruments on display. Kyle had a top-of-the-line keyboard that I wanted to run my fingers across, but I held back. I didn’t see the bass Becca had used earlier—maybe she’d taken it before her dramatic exit. The drums were here, though, in pieces, waiting to be set up again.

Jared’s black Fender sat in the middle of the room, propped up on a stand instead of in its case. It was already plugged into a small amp, like it was just waiting for someone, anyone, to play it. I glanced around the room—stupid, since I was obviously the only one in it—and took a step closer. I just wanted to look at his guitar, to figure out why it was plugged in when no one was here. Maybe Jared had been checking it after the show and had been interrupted. Or maybe he’d planned to sneak away from the party to be alone, just him and his music behind the soundproofed walls. If so, I could relate to that. Music had always been my way to escape and deal with the world on my own terms. I just didn’t think of Jared as the kind of guy who needed to escape, too.

The guitar was beautiful, with a smooth white faceplate, gleaming struts, and a shiny fingerboard. My fingers itched to touch the silvery strings, to form a chord and let it ring out through the amp, to hear what it sounded like without all the other instruments accompanying it. And if I was honest, I wanted to close my eyes and pretend I was on stage, playing for a crowd, hearing them scream for me. The longing I felt every time I went to a concert stirred up in me again. It wouldn’t hurt if I played one chord, right? That was it. One chord, and I’d put it back. No one would ever know.

Before I could stop myself, I picked up the guitar and threw the strap over my head. It settled against my shoulder, and with one hand on the fret board and the other on the strings, I was home. I closed my eyes, picturing Jared when he was on stage and how his talented fingers had moved across the guitar. I imagined him singing my favorite song of theirs, “Behind the Mask,” and the words and notes melted together in my head. I strummed the guitar, the sound ringing from the amp, the vibrations traveling up the ground and into my feet. God, I loved this guitar. It sounded just as good as my own, if not better.

Now that I had the guitar in my hands, the compulsion to play was irresistible. What was one more chord, right? I was alone and the room was soundproof. The door had locked behind me. Kyle was dealing with Becca, and he’d given me permission to come in here anyway.

I knew it was a bad idea. I knew I should put the guitar down and walk out of the room. But I started strumming anyway.

I was hesitant at first, but once I started, I couldn’t stop. My hands found the chords automatically, and the words flowed out of me with the music. Exhilaration swept through me with each note, and I closed my eyes and let the song take me away. Soon I was belting out the words, shredding the guitar like I was on stage playing for a massive crowd. I’d never do this in front of anyone else, but here, alone with this guitar, I could pretend. I could let myself go.

And then I opened my eyes and wanted to die.

Jared stood in front of me, his eyes wide and mouth open slightly. He must have come in while I was playing. How much did he hear? Or worse, see?

My fingers slipped off the strings with a screech, and I nearly dropped the guitar. Thank god for the strap. “I’m so sorry. Kyle gave me the key and I was just—”

There was no way to explain what was going on, so I shut up. I’d been singing his lyrics, playing the song he’d written. Not to mention, I’d been using his guitar. That was like wearing someone else’s underwear. You didn’t just play another person’s guitar without their permission.

I yanked the guitar off and tried to put it back, but knocked the stand over instead. Hands shaking, it took me two tries to right it again, all while Jared stood there, gaping at me. Why didn’t he say anything? Was he so angry he couldn’t speak? I set the guitar down carefully, then backed away like it was on fire—and ran straight into the drum set. Cymbals crashed as I fell against it, knocking the equipment all over the floor. Great, now he must think I’m a stalker and a complete klutz. I jumped up too fast, and my legs were so unsteady I started to topple over toward the table. Jared caught me before we had another disaster, his hands gripping my arms to balance me.

“You okay?” he asked, his blue eyes holding mine and making my heart pound even faster. If I stared into those eyes too long, I’d fall into them completely.



I jerked away from his touch and stumbled back. “I’m sorry, I—”