Riffs That Ruin (Survival Records #2)

24. Raina

A s much as we wanted to stay outside in the fresh air, our soaked clothes said otherwise. I probably didn’t think that one through, then again, I was doing anything I could to avoid sharing my lyrics with them.

There’s a chance I’m still a little gun shy from how painful it was when Tristan twisted my words into a weapon against me.

Fuck. Where is he?

Darius finishes setting up the phones to record the process of us creating a song. Although I’m doing my best to ignore them. I don’t need another thing in my head making it harder to share my lines.

I unlock my phone and text Izzy for an update and drop the device to the cushion beside me to grab a cup of coffee from Keaton. Taking a sip, I smile at him with how closely it tastes to how I make it. He’s been watching how I do it, even as he makes us breakfast.

“Thanks, big guy,” I say as he leans down to kiss the top of my head.

“Arms up, roomie,” Nash orders. A moment later, my cup of coffee is taken out of my hold and his sweatshirt surrounds me, smelling just like him. It’s like getting a constant hug from him. He flops onto the couch next to me and bites at his lip ring while grabbing his guitar.

Not even a second later, Blake drops a blanket around my shoulders and rubs his hands along my arms, working warmth into them.

Tilting my head back, I smile at him, feeling all kinds of love from all my guys. They are going above and beyond with their affection today. Especially considering Darius is in front of us.

“Hey, what happened to my coffee?” I ask, my lip popping out in a pout.

The sweet sound of Blake’s laugh falls on me. “I think your one true love will always remain coffee.”

This time, Keaton’s rare laugh draws all our attention, every head in the bus turns to take it in. “Why do you think I made her one?”

“Smart man. He plays dirty.” Nash gives a fake scowl toward his best friend, then runs his fingers over the strings, checking his instrument is tuned.

Blake grabs my cup and hands it to me, giving my forehead a kiss before I move. His hand slips to the side of my neck, soothing his thumb back and forth.

“Okay, I’ve asked once and never got an answer, so I’m asking again,” Darius says, his gaze traveling over each of us before he lands on me, tilting his head to the side and studying me like he can extract the answer. “Which one of them are you dating?”

I’m not surprised he’s asking. Although I’d think it was clear by now. It’s not like we’ve been hiding as well as we were at first. We really should be protecting ourselves from the threat Dickless gave about Darius keeping us in line, whatever that means. But then again, he is so damn genuine I can’t see him selling me out, not like that asshole implied.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” I give him an exaggerated wink, and he throws his hands into the air.

“I’ll keep your secrets, Raina. Not like I’d want to share something that would lose me the title of your fake boyfriend.” His voice holds equal parts honesty and tension, making me frown and study him closer.

“Ready to show us those lyrics, roomie?” Nash asks, bringing my attention back to what we’re supposed to be doing. The mere thought ignites a blazing inferno in my stomach.

I reach for my notebook and hold it in my lap, staring at it for a long moment. This is such a big step. These songs were therapy for me, a piece of my soul woven within each and every one.

The silence stretches until it becomes uncomfortable, and yet nobody says anything, like they know I’m coming to terms with it. Taking a deep breath, I look up. Of course the only person I see is Darius, which makes my nerves even worse.

Keaton steps into my view, holding his sticks in front of him with one hand on top of the other, pinned close to his chest. He gives me a slight nod, a reassurance that everything will be okay. You can do this.

“They’re good, baby. What has you all shy?” Nash whispers, but with how close everyone is, they can all hear.

The confidence is nice, but he hasn’t read them all. I didn’t even want him to read what he did over my shoulder. Can you even use that phrase if they were sitting next to you?

Lifting the notebook to my chest, I hold it close to my heart, protecting the words for a little longer. “These songs aren’t like anything I’ve ever written before.”

After a pause when I don’t continue, Blake says, “That’s a good thing, though, isn’t it? You don’t want to be stagnant in your music. You’re not the same sixteen-year-old who put out first love songs or the eighteen-year-old with the break up ballads or the twenty-year-old with party anthems .”

“Hey, all of those were excellent phases! Your music has always been amazing,” Darius adds.

“You’re showing off your fanboy status, D. Might want to be careful with that,” Nash says with a snicker. I wasn’t even sure they heard that confession.

“You made it sound like I had a lot of variance in my music, when it was all done in the sickeningly-sweet-pop-star-gag-me-sparkle-Barbie-doll style.” I hold up the notebook. “But those songs were written before—” I cut myself off, not wanting to admit so plainly that I tried to take my life. That would open a can of worms that I can’t deal with right now. “Rehab,” I finish quickly.

“That’s okay. We’ll just change your sound. No more sparkling like the rain while the sun shines. It’s time for a new era of Raina. Let the dark storm clouds roll in and unleash your thunder.” For a second I’m shocked that Nash can pin the vibe so well, but then I remember he’s seen at least one of them.

“Okay, but I haven’t changed any of the words yet. Everything is in its raw form,” I tell them, studying the pages to find the one Nash already read.

“What are you on about?” Darius asks.

I should’ve probably realized how still the room became, how Dare leans closer with puzzlement or the guys share loaded looks. But I don’t. Not until it’s too late. Which is why I answer him. “All of my songs are coded. Anything sad is replaced with something that’s happy. It’s all a game of opposites. Like in the first song Tristan and I wrote where we talked about laughing on a park bench under the shining sun… In truth, it was on my bed in the dead of night. My parents would’ve killed me if they knew.”

A smile comes out of nowhere with the memory, on its heels is the reminder of him not being here right now. He always should’ve been by my side. This kind of sadness is why I chose to bury it under the haze of drugs.

“Okay, you ready?” I glance around the room, finding them in various stages of trying to hide their reactions to my confession. Shit.

Oh, well. Too late now.

“Read it for them,” Nash encourages.

Blake comes around the side of the couch to sit on my other side, and Keaton takes his place, looking at the page over my shoulder. Even Darius scoots to sit on the other side of Nash, everyone crowding in.

Taking a deep breath, I spill my soul laid bare on the page. It’s not so bad at first, but the further in I get, the more my hands shake, and my voice becomes thick with emotion.

When I’m finished, I wipe the tears from my face. “Like I said, I haven’t changed any of the words yet. But this gives us a baseline for working on the rhythm.”

“Don’t change a word,” Darius breathes out, sounding like he’s pained by the thought.

“But this is too honest. Too raw and painful. Nobody wants to hear this,” I object.

“Leave it,” Keaton growls.

“Raina,” Blake starts, waiting until he has my attention before he continues. “Showing this kind of raw emotion is everything your fans don’t realize they’ve been wanting from you.”

“It makes you relatable,” Darius adds.

“Regular like the rest of us,” Nash tacks on.

“It’s you.” Two words, yet they pack such a punch. Keaton consistently comes in saying things that are laden with more weight than all the other statements combined.

“I know, but… it doesn’t fit with any of my other music.” I twist my fingers together.

“So?” someone says, though I’m not sure who. My mind is racing, trying to make sense of the sudden support I’m receiving. It’s hard to make sense of it with how I’ve been treated in the past whenever I mentioned wanting to explore different genres of music.

“I’ve been down this road before, only to be shut down by the label,” I explain.

Darius shakes his head like he can’t believe it. “As one of your top fans, I don’t care what genre you sing in, I just want to hear it. And as someone in your band, I only wish to be a part of the magic.”

“It’s settled.” Nash claps his hands together. “Let’s work on the rhythm.”

“Okay,” I say, my voice barely a whisper as I set the notebook down. A ripple of energy pulses through the room, like a slow-rolling wave before a storm. This is the moment that it will all start to change—my music, my persona in the industry, even the dynamic within our band. This will become songs we wrote together, bonding us more than anything else ever could.

I won’t be simply Raina anymore, it will be Raina and the Desert Nights. A new beginning that I’m not so opposed to. Proof that I’m no longer alone.

For a moment, everyone seems lost in their own thoughts. Then Blake grabs his guitar and settles on the couch, pushing his glasses up on his nose with a determined expression. Keaton adjusts his drumsticks and looks at me with that quiet strength that has always made me feel safe. Darius finds his guitar and strums a short riff that echoes perfectly with my mood, tentative but full of potential.

“Those lyrics deserve a strong passionate rhythm. Something with a bit of darkness.” Blake’s eyebrows pinch together in thought and his fingers run through a few options of note combinations before nixing them.

“A hint of grunge,” Keaton adds.

“And an undercurrent of strength.” Darius gives me a wink and I pretend it means nothing to me.

Nash presses his leg against mine, comforting me as I take another breath. Seriously, why does this feel so big? So life changing?

We dive into the creation process, turning my lyrics from words on a piece of paper to a full-blown song. Keaton starts us off, tapping out a rhythm on the counter, soft and steady.

I love this part of composing songs, being able to witness it all coming together. It’s like a romantic slow burn, building each layer of the song until it’s something else entirely.

Blake picks up a tune working on harmonizing his rhythm with Keaton’s. They have to start and stop a few times, figuring out how the different parts will fit together cohesively. It’s a time-consuming process, but one that is so damn fulfilling at the end.

Nash joins them, adding a layer of depth and emotion that tugs at my heartstrings. The music slowly takes shape around the lyrics, wrapping them in an atmosphere that breathes life into them. I keep my eyes closed as the sound envelopes me, allowing the rhythm to seep into my core.

I hum along, working to figure out my own part. My heartbeat syncs with Keaton’s drum beats while my mind ebbs and flows with Nash’s guitar strums and Blake’s chords. And when Darius layers his electric guitar riffs over it all… it’s magic.

Before I know it, we’re working through each verse of my song, molding it and shaping it until it feels right.

The words float through my mind as we play, raw lyrics tinged with the sorrow and pain I’d always kept hidden beneath bubbly pop tunes and catchy beats. Yet now they feel right out in the open air around us.

For the first time in a while, I realize I don’t want to hide my pain anymore. It’s not only about giving fans what they want, it’s about healing myself too. That sense of liberation almost chokes me, but instead I channel all the emotions into singing.

I lose myself to the song; the lyrics carved into my soul so deep that I don’t need the paper they’re written on. Standing from the couch, I close my eyes and surrender to the pull, giving in to the freedom of releasing my pain.

Nothing could be more healing than this. I realize now I’ve been holding myself back for so long. I caged myself behind a wall of fear, but now I’m flying free on the high of singing.

Each note feels like a release, a shackle broken, a step toward something greater than all of us. A unity that transcends from this life into the next.