Beautiful Noise

Chapter 8

CHAPTER EIGHT

E zren.

I paced back and forth in my room a foot away from the door I’d just slammed. Angrily my hands moved across my head and down the back of my neck where I gripped with enough pressure to leave marks. When I released the hold, I jerked my beard roughly.

After a few minutes I paused abruptly and stopped, staring blankly across my room, not really seeing anything that filled the space. The lack of focus only prompted another round of pacing but this time it was accompanied by an angry rant.

“What the fuck was that?”

My steps paused briefly before starting up again.

“And why the fuck am I so bothered?”

No, not bothered, fucking angry.

I had no right to be. She hadn’t done anything wrong, which meant Kori wasn’t the problem. I was.

She’d made me extremely uncomfortable by exposing something I didn’t want to admit. Something no one really knew about me. Well, a select few did, but even they didn’t put things in perspective the way that Kori had. How the fuck could a stranger read me so throughly?

I didn’t like how she made me feel nor was I ready to acknowledge the truth hidden beneath her words. She’d misinterpreted a small part, but dissected things painfully well.

“Fuck.”

My body was coiled tightly with emotions I didn’t have a gotdamn clue how to deal with. Normally I’d bury them between a woman’s legs but that wasn’t what I was aching for.

Well… not just any woman.

My eyes shifted left toward the wall that separated me from her .

“Fuck this shit,” I growled, stalking toward the French doors that closed me in. The minute I stepped into the hallway, I felt her. How that was possible only God knows, but her presence felt weighted and emotional. Instead of fixing what I’d messed up, I chose music.

By the time I reached my studio, my mind was reeling and I was raw, thoughts all over the place. I flipped on all the lights and powered up my sound board for continued recording and wrapped my hand around the neck of my acoustic guitar, stepping into the booth. I dropped into the loveseat against one of the walls, with a leg extended across the seat, the other resting on the floor, and positioned the sleek, custom, wooden instrument in my arms.

The minute my eyes closed, my fingers began to move and the lyrics began to flow. My voice paired with the melody my fingers created silenced my thoughts. I needed to get lost and music was the only way I knew how to lose myself.

Hours later, my voice was strained and my throat felt raw but my spirit was still heavy. Gently placing my guitar in the corner, I left the booth and stabbed at the button to stop the recording I’d made. I hesitated for a minute, contemplating whether or not I wanted to save the work I’d done but ended up leaving it in queue, when movement from the corner of the room caught my attention.

I tensed, peering into the dark past the glass panels that separated where I was from the lounge area, realizing Kori was curled up on one end of the L-shaped sectional. She had her knees drawn into her chest and both arms tucked beneath her head.

How long has she been down here?

The speakers in the recording booth were attached to the main sound system which meant she’d heard me while I was inside. I should have felt angry for the violation of privacy but oddly enough what I felt was anxious.

Anxious to know what she felt about my lyrics and melodies. The need to hear her thoughts was so intense that it left me unsettled. The desire was new. Some would call me arrogant or overly confident. I heard it all over the years but the raw, unbiased truth was that I knew who I was.

I never cared what others thought about my music because my gift was innate, something that only lived in a handful of people and I was one of them. The way things flowed through me was something no one could explain, not even myself. Sure, certain things inspired me, but I was solely responsible for what poured through me. Acknowledging my talent wasn’t arrogance, just unshackled belief that music was and would always be a part of me.

But now, at this moment, I was being driven by the need to see me through her eyes. There had been no intention, other than escaping, when I entered the booth hours ago, but for some unforeseen reason, her opinion mattered.

Mostly because she’d exposed me at dinner in ways that no one else had before, only she had one thing wrong…

Exhaling a sigh, I moved through the room until I was standing over her. The first sign of Kori’s presence was her scent. That damn smell I couldn’t seem to escape because it was all around me.

Kneeling down, I brushed the tip of my finger across her skin, tracing the outline of her jaw. She roused but didn’t wake, releasing a low moan that settled into a sigh once she found comfort again. I needed her eyes, her voice, so like the fool I was, I decided to be selfish.

“Ri, wake up.”

“Hmm?”

“Wake up.”

Her lids fluttered and slowly peeled open. It took a minute to realize where she was, but the moment it registered she untucked her arms, using one to lift to a seated position.

“How long you been down here?”

Her eyes bounced around before they met with mine again. This time, she appeared calm, yet cautious, which had my chest tight. “For a little while.”

“So you heard me in there?”

Awkwardly, she nodded. I sensed every move she made was done with caution, not knowing how I would react. I deserved every bit of apprehension she displayed.

Needing space, I stood, clearing my scratchy throat. “I’m gonna make some tea, you want some?”

“Yeah, sure.” There was a pause. Hesitation was visible in her eyes. “If you don’t mind.”

“No, I don’t.”

She followed me to the small bar that outlined the kitchen, separating it from the lounge. I filled mugs with tea, courtesy of the Keurig my mother insisted I have and eased one in her direction. Still not ready to face the firing squad, I fumbled around for a few more minutes retrieving honey and spoons which I eventually placed between us. I was on one stool, facing Kori while she avoided eye contact by facing the bar.

The mug I’d given her was cuffed between both hands, like she needed the feel of the porcelain as a lifeline. After a few moments of her staring blankly into the steamy brew, I’d had enough and decided to get the awkwardness out of the way.

“Care to share your thoughts?”

Her eyes clashed with mine, displaying a bit of panic and irritation. “About what?”

“Me, in there?” I tossed my head toward the sound booth and she frowned briefly, hiding behind her mug while she sipped cautiously.

“I don’t think I should. Last time I gave you my thoughts things didn’t fare so well.”

Agreed.

“I guess I should explain what that was all about, huh?”

“You don’t owe me anything but an explanation would be nice. Or at least tell me what I said to make you so upset.”

Damn, I was the one who exploded for no reason, yet here she was, giving me grace I didn’t deserve.

I pushed my mug out the way, moving my stool closer to hers. Adjusting us both so her knees were positioned between my thighs seemed necessary. She glanced down but didn’t attempt to change our position.

“I wrote Stoned Heart a week after my father passed.”

“Oh.” Her eyes flashed with recognition. “I’m…sorry, I didn’t know.”

I snorted through a hard laugh. “No one does, aside from my mother and my producer Clay.”

Keeping my eyes fastened to hers, my hand brushed over my head before I allowed it to rest on her leg. Her eyes lowered again but she didn’t demand that I stop touching her, which I appreciated. I needed the connection and the warmth of her skin beneath my fingers if I was going to get through this explanation.

“The day after we buried him, I locked myself in the studio and didn’t leave for a week and a half. I barely slept, don’t really remember eating, and refused to talk to anyone. I basically shut out the world. All I did was record. I was so fucking angry and broken because as close as I am to my mother and as much as I acknowledge that she’s my world, my father…” I paused, swallowing the tension that traveled from my chest to my throat. “He was my best friend. My fucking reason, you know?”

She nodded and I wasn’t sure if she truly understood but I sensed she really wanted to. Most people would have used this opportunity to get the goods, to have intimate knowledge, the story that had never been told, but Kori simply waited, giving me a listening ear and what little understanding she could offer.

“He was young, fifty-eight. Died in his sleep. No warning. A heart attack and that shit hurt more than anything I’ve ever felt in my life. It left me feeling…”

“ Hollow . That’s why you named the song ‘Hollow’?” she whispered, meeting my eyes so I had no choice but to acknowledge her words.

“It’s the only song on the album I titled. The rest Clay handled. Shit…” I laughed harshly. He handled all of it. The production, titling the album, the songs… The only thing I was responsible for was the music.”

She blinked at me a few times before her tongue moved across her lips and fuck if I didn’t want to kiss her. I needed to kiss her, so I did…

Her tongue met mine tentatively at first. She was uncertain about whether or not to fully dive in but when she did I knew I was swimming in dangerous waters. Her hands fisted my shirt and her strokes turned bold and aggressive, which I matched with my own. I moved in closer and she let me. She also didn’t protest my tongue exploring to the point of learning every corner, dip, and taste of her mouth.

But then…

My brain caught up with what was happening and I groaned into her mouth, regretting what I was about to do.

And just as I expected, when I pulled away, everything was different. From the way she held my gaze, eyes narrowed and intense, she felt the same.

“You were partially right about the album. It was the worst pain I’d ever felt and my emotions were raw, unfiltered, and according to most, Stoned Heart is some of my best work. It wasn’t inspired by a woman breaking my heart. I’ve never been in love, Ri, not once. That album was me embracing and then releasing the pain I felt when I lost my best friend. My father.”

The last part came out barely a whisper. It had been a while since I’d sunk into this space; one that left me angry and hurt and questioning shit that didn’t make sense.

“You said Clay handled everything, why?”

“ Stoned Heart wasn’t intended to be shared with the world. It was my therapy. When the decision was made, I had very little to do with pulling it together. I wasn’t in the right frame of mind back then. The album wasn’t released until a year after my father passed. I was still grieving, figuring things out.”

“I don’t understand?”

“A few days after I left the studio, I caught a flight to Africa. I was there for two months and then I was in Barbados, Honduras, Italy. I traveled for an entire year. I wasn’t sure what the fuck I was doing or if I wanted to do music anymore. My pops bought me my first guitar, taught me how to play it.” I motioned to the one hanging on my wall. I hadn’t touched it since he passed.

“We sang together when I was a kid and he sent my first demo to the label. And it wasn’t a real demo. Just recordings of me performing. Something he filmed on his phone. They called him right away. We had one meeting and before it was over, I was signed for three albums. Three fucking albums at fifteen years old. My pops negotiated terms that were unheard of. I own the masters for everything I’ve ever done and even back then there was a clause in every contract that stated if and when I wanted to, I could walk. No questions asked. He never wanted me to feel pressure with the one thing I loved the most. He made sure that I was always free to make my own decisions. ‘ Your soul is music, Ezren. Your soul should always be free to drift and land wherever it decides. Never let anyone own your soul, son. You can share it with them but never give anyone ownership’ .”

“Wow.”

I chuckled. “Yeah, wow. That was my pops though. He was deep as fuck and so damn smart. The crazy part is the only formal education he had was high school. He did a few years in college but didn’t finish and that was mostly bullshit courses that couldn’t hold his attention. He dropped out to pursue music and then had to support me and my mom when he found out she was pregnant.”

“And he negotiated those terms with your label?” She frowned.

“Damn sure did.” I grinned at the memory. I had no clue what he’d done for me back then but I understood now.

“And they agreed, just said yes?”

“Hell yeah they did. I’m talented as fuck, Ri. They saw it back then and had dollar signs in their eyes. They couldn’t hide the greed and my pops used it against them. It was either his way or we walked. They agreed. And yeah, I made them a lot of money but what they made, I made, and now it’s all me. Nobody is attached to what I do, which is unheard of.”

“Damn sure is.” I chuckled and she grinned. “So you almost gave up?”

“Yeah.” I shrugged. “My mom was suffering too and it was worse because she not only lost my pops, she lost me. I left and didn’t look back. I think it was why she gave Clay permission to release the album. She knew, or at least hoped, it would bring me home.”

“So that’s why he handled everything?”

“From start to finish. He took what I recorded, cleaned it up, did his thing with it, and sent it to me. I held onto the album for weeks before I had the courage to listen to the finished product.”

“And…”

“And I cried like a baby for days, then got my ass on a plane and went home. I felt like I was dishonoring everything my pops wanted for me by running. Hiding . That hurt more than anything.”

“But you named ‘Hollow’?”

I nodded. When Clay sent it to me “Hollow” was the only track left untitled. He never said why but we both knew it was because that track was the one. The one that gave me the closure I needed to get back to me . It was a love letter of sorts to my pops, but one that allowed me to express how hurt, angry, and broken I felt because he was gone but also how much I loved that man for everything I was blessed with because of him. He gave me the nickname Eccentric. He always told me I wasn’t typical and that the name Ezren wouldn’t sell records. My pops was the reason for all this.

“ Stoned Heart was the only thing you’ve created that wasn’t inspired by a woman or sex, then.”

I smirked and glanced toward the booth before admitting something I was going to regret.

“Not exactly. There’s a few more that were not inspired by sex, but definitely inspired by a woman.”

She frowned and her eyes followed mine to the booth. “What you heard tonight, while you were in here creeping and invading my privacy, was inspired by a woman, Ri.”

“Oh, I just assumed…”

I leaned in closer so our lips were almost touching. “Inspired by you .”

“Me?” Her eyes expanded in surprise and I nodded.

“I was fucking pissed that you saw right through me. You recognized things no one else ever has and I didn’t like how exposed it made me feel, so I blew up instead of admitting the truth. Then I came down here and recorded some dope shit.”

Her eyes flashed with amusement and her smile was slow. Our mouths were still a breath away from connecting when she said, “Then I guess that means you owe me a personal thank you, for being your muse.”

I laughed, pressing my forehead to hers, gripping the back of her neck. I wanted her something terrible. The thought of Kori beneath me coming undone had my pulse thrumming erratically and my dick hardening to a very painful degree. I had felt this before, more times than I could count, but the odd realization was, when it was all over and I had my release, I would want to run like I typically did.

I was a bit selfish with women. I took what they offered but as soon as I had my fill, the release, the inspiration, I shut those same women out. But not this time, not with Kori. I didn’t sense the urge to take and run. And that was what had me asking a question I prayed she answered the right way. “I suppose I do. How would you like me to show my gratitude?”