Riffs That Ruin (Survival Records #2)

29. Nash

R aina hasn’t slept all night. I’m not sure any of us have. Her pain is our agony. She’s filled to overflowing with it, so I’m surprised we’re still alive. I suppose it’s so we can keep her together enough to heal from this, but I’m not sure how.

Can one even heal from a wound this deep? One that rips clean through you until it exposes the soul?

I stare at her huddled on the couch, her knees drawn into her chest with her arms wrapped around her legs. She stares blindly at the window, which is eclipsed by the closed blinds.

Her eyes have dark circles under them, and a brightness seems to be missing from her. I swear it’s probably all in my head, but even her hair seems more limp and lackluster. Like everything that bothers her in the world has become too heavy for her to carry.

“Keaton,” I say, elbowing my best friend in the side. “Make her a coffee. Maybe that will cheer her up.”

He grunts, but moves into action, going through the motions he learned from our girl to make her most favorite thing on earth. He leans over, his ass jutting out slightly where his sticks poke out of his pocket. I’m not sure I’ve seen him twirl, spin, or drum on anything since the end of the show last night.

Staring at Raina again, I’m struck with her strength. I’m not sure how she was able to pull herself together long enough to finish the show, but she did.

But ever since she’s been like this, a sad little bundle of heartbreak.

I’m not sure I can stand this for much longer. Her smile is my favorite thing in the world.

Keaton finishes her coffee and hands it to me. I’m a little shocked he didn’t hand it to her himself, but I suppose it was my idea. I don’t care who brings her the hint of happiness, just that she gets it.

“Hey, baby. I got you your one true love,” I tease, trying to get a hint of a smile from her.

“Thanks,” she says, her voice the most monotone sound I’ve ever heard come out of her. Her face never changes as she grabs the mug and sets it on the coffee table in front of her.

She doesn’t smile.

She doesn’t take a sniff.

She doesn’t taste it.

Fuck. She doesn’t even look at it.

A wave of emotion crashes over me, feeling a hint of the extent of pain that resides inside her. I turn my back to her, not wanting to pile my soul crushing sadness on top of what she’s already dealing with. Covering my mouth with the side of my fist, I do my best to blink away the tears.

No sooner do I get myself under control than a knock sounds at the door. Blake squeezes my arm as he passes, giving me another few seconds to school my features. We all know Keaton doesn’t like answering the door, it typically requires more talking than he’s willing to do.

“Izzy, come in.” Blake swings his arm out, ushering her inside.

Raina perks up, turning around to face her manager. “Izzy, what the fuck is going on?”

Her manager takes the seat next to her, grabbing her hands between her own and staring into her eyes. “Your lawyers are already working on it, but we don’t have any answers yet. I can promise you, though, we’ll get to the bottom of it.”

“It was that fucking asshole who stole it. I hate him so much, I just want to be done with this label.” Raina withdraws her hands and crosses her arms. She’s trying her hardest to contain her rage right now, evident with the way her nails dig into her arms.

“That will be our top priority,” Izzy assures. “In the meantime, is there anything I can do?”

“I want her to stop singing my fucking song, taunting me with it before each and every show of mine.” Raina goes back to staring at the spot of curtains that she’s been fixated on all morning, refusing to give anything else her attention.

“I’ll do my best. I’m sorry this has happened. You don’t deserve this treatment on top of everything else.” Izzy looks around the room, taking in the rest of us. “We’ll travel to Washington D.C. today, it’s about an 8 hour drive. Take the day to recover, the PR team and I will put out a statement. You don’t have to worry about anything else the rest of the day. We can pick back up tomorrow.”

She stands, brushing off her pants, and Darius shakes her hand as he leads her to the door. It’s utterly silent when the click sounds behind her. The newest member of our group stands at the door staring at it like it’ll give him some kind of answer, to what I don’t know.

He runs his hands over his fade, his head hanging low. It almost seems like guilt. I know I’m not the only one who noticed the riffs he used in our version were also used in that pop catastrophe.

They fucking murdered our girl’s words with that awful upbeat tune. It felt like an abomination, a sacrilege. Raina’s songs are her soul laid bare and what they turned it into... it was like someone ripped out her heart and stomped on it, all while mocking her with a grotesque, candy-coated grin.

Raina sighs deeply, breaking the silence that has descended upon us. Her gaze still fixates somewhere beyond the window, fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns on her denim-clad knees.

“Are we even surprised?” It’s a whisper, so quiet that it almost blends with the hum of the air conditioner.

Darius shakes his head, running a hand through his thick hair as he turns to face us. “I’m so sorry, Raina. This industry is so bloody twisted at times.”

Keaton grunts from across the room, his large frame hunched over as he scoops an omelet onto a plate. He walks over to our girl and hands it to her, forcing the fork into her other hand. I think he’s suffering the same as me. Feeling helpless about how to make her feel better at all.

Raina doesn’t acknowledge him, not with words anyway. A subtle nod is the only recognition she gives before she goes back to staring out into nothingness.

She seems so empty right now; it makes my chest ache.

Blake sits next to her, gingerly tucking an arm around her shoulders, as if he’s scared any sudden movement might startle her. She leans into him instinctively, her head resting on his shoulder.

They sit like that for a while, and the sadness continues to thicken in the room. Something has to change, but I’m not sure what. Coffee didn’t work, neither did breakfast. Maybe I could grab her notebook, but that would probably add more insult to injury. Maybe we should try the coffee again?

Raina’s voice breaks through my internal turmoil, pulling me back into the room where she sits curled against my best friend. “Blake,” she croaks softly, her voice barely above a whisper. She doesn’t look at him, but he’s immediately alert, his eyes never leaving her face. “Can you play me something, anything?”

Anything but that godforsaken song that’s been masquerading as hers. I’m sure if it’s been playing through my head, it’s been running through hers, too.

Blake stands and grabs his cello from the instrument storage area. He runs his hand lovingly along his bow before tightening the horsehair. When he’s ready, he draws it over the strings, the deep sound of his cello instantly filling the air.

The notes seem to have an immediate effect on Raina. She stops staring at the blinds and instead watches Blake with her hands folded on her knees with her chin resting on top. Her shoulders drop, and she takes a deep breath.

Darius catches my attention where he leans against the wall. There’s no doubt about it; he’s fixated on Raina. Sadness mars his features, but I can’t help but wonder if it’s really guilt.

I think about it more and more until the atmosphere in the room is suffocating, each breath heavy and tastes of regret. We opened up our tight-knit group for Darius and this is what we get? His riffs in that god-awful cover? Even if it isn’t directly his fault, it feels like a betrayal. We thought we could trust him, but can we really?

I want to believe Darius didn’t leak it, didn’t sell out his idol for fame or money or whatever it is these snakes in the industry are after, but the coincidence is too glaring, too terrible to ignore.

It’s about more than Raina’s song being stolen—it’s about trust being breached. It’s about someone we let into our fold, turning their back on us. Even worse, turning his back on Raina.

Jumping to my feet, I cross the room in a blink of an eye. I don’t have time to think anything through; I’m simply acting. Needing to do something before I lose my fucking mind.

Darius only has time to widen his eyes before I’m fisting his shirt, pinning him to the wall. His hands grip my wrists, working to pry me off, but I won’t be dissuaded.

“Did you do it, Darius?” I growl, baring my teeth. “Did you fucking hurt my girl?”

In the background, Blake’s cello falters, echoing my rage in a discordant note. Keaton pushes off the counter, taking a few steps to make sure he’s between Raina and us, always protecting her.

Darius gulps, the bobbing of his throat a stark contrast to the stillness in the room. He tries to squirm out of my grip, but I tighten my hold, anger roaring through me like a wild beast that refuses to be tamed.

“What are you fucking on about, mate? I’d never,” he objects, shaking his head vehemently.

My heart pounds violently against my chest as I stare into his eyes. I want to find some sign of guilt. I want to see remorse. But all I see is terror. It confuses me, makes me hold on tighter because fear could also mean guilt.

“Then how did it happen?” I snarl, my voice shrill with accusation. “Because I’d love to hear any other theories.”

“Nash!” Raina’s voice is sharp, pulling me away from Darius. “He didn’t do it. At least not the stolen lyrics.”