Riffs That Ruin (Survival Records #2)

30. Raina

I t feels like I’ve been underwater and have finally stuck my head through the surface. Not because I want to, but because I need to take a breath. Well, in this case, share the truth of what I realized. I can’t have Nash falsely accusing Darius.

My admission has every eye on me, but it’s Blake who responds. “What do you mean?” His voice is soft and encouraging.

“Keep playing?” I ask. There’s nothing like the deep, haunting sounds of his cello. It’s spoken to my soul from the very first time I’ve heard it, and it’s honestly the only thing making me feel the slightest bit better.

His bow glides over the strings, bringing the peace I need to start bandaging my broken heart. Taking in a deep breath, I hold a hand out for Nash. He’s clearly not doing well, and I don’t need to risk him.

My sweet bass player glances between me and Darius, giving me the distinct impression he’s battling with letting go of him, like he doesn’t want to pass up on the opportunity of hurting someone who hurt me.

“Nash.” Saying his name seems to do the trick. He releases Dare without a second glance, crossing the few feet it takes to get to me. He softly grabs my hand, and I guide him into sitting next to me.

Darius doesn’t move from the wall, and I don’t like him being behind me at all. Not because I’m worried about what he’ll do, but because I want to look him in the eye during this conversation. I want to know if at any time he looks guilty.

“You too,” I call, gesturing to him with my hand to sit where I can see him. He settles on the other side of the L-shaped couch, and I take a moment to enjoy Blake’s music. It seems to be the only thing truly keeping me grounded.

I’m surprised everyone remains silent. Well, except for Keaton. He’s always silent. But even he isn’t acting like himself. He hasn’t twirled his sticks or tapped them against anything all morning. I might have been wallowing in my sadness, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t know every movement my guys made.

The sad notes of Blake’s playing fill the room, creating a mournful melody that mirrors my own heart. I close my eyes, letting it wash over me.

When I open them, Nash’s gaze is locked on me, his fists clenched in his lap as if he’s doing his best to not punch the shit out of Darius. He’s ready to fight for me, but he’s focused on the wrong culprit, and this isn’t a battle that will be won with fists and threats.

“Last night as she was…” I trail off, my mind going back to that moment, remembering the way pain lashed into me as if she was wielding a whip. It hurt so much more than what Tristan did.

The song she stole was born out of my darkest depths of rock bottom. At least the way Tris twisted my lyrics was personal between the two of us. This is purely an attack of the most deplorable kind. You don’t go poaching someone else’s songs like a fucking pirate.

Shaking off the thought, I skip over the rest, knowing they can fill it in and start with the important bit. “Dickless was on the other side of the stage. He implied it’s because I didn’t do the duet like he wanted, but I think that’s an excuse he used to hurt me. Like I could’ve stopped this if I did what he wanted.”

I draw my knees up and wrap my arms around my legs, resting my chin on my knees. “Do you remember when my parents showed up at the beach house? After they left, I found my notebook in a different place than I remember leaving it.”

A sad sigh huffs out of me. I know the damage was already done at that point, and I can’t change anything, but I still wish there was something I could do. “I didn’t think anything of it at the time. But he must’ve found it and took pictures.”

I should’ve done a better job of protecting something so special to me, but I was in my safe space.

“That asshole walked into our house, and for all intents and purposes, ripped out a page in your diary like he owned the place?” At least it’s nice to see Nash’s anger where it’s deserved.

If I wasn’t so buried in sadness, I’d even feel a warm ball of happiness in my chest with him calling it our house, even if it’s mine. I love how Nash always inserts himself into my life like he’s been here all along.

“It’s probably safe to say he stole more than the one song. They didn’t produce it overnight. It takes time to write the song and get all the parts recorded.”

“So what’s the plan, then?” Blake asks, his bow continuing to slide across the strings of his instrument.

I hold my hands up and shrug my shoulders at a complete loss. “Wait to hear what the lawyers say?” I hesitantly suggest, my voice thick with the uncertainty that has enveloped me.

Blake’s bow slips on the strings, causing a dissonant chord to hang in the air. It’s as if it mimics the jagged edges of my emotions—raw, exposed, and uncertain. “There has to be something we can do.”

Nash’s hand squeezes mine tighter. His knuckles are white and strained, but he doesn’t let go. Does he feel as helpless as I do?

“That motherfucker better hope he doesn’t cross paths with me,” Nash growls, the veins in his neck straining against his skin, and Keaton grunts in agreement. It’s an empty threat and we all know it, but I appreciate their need to make it, anyway.

“I wouldn’t mind giving him a piece of my mind either,” Blake murmurs under his breath.

It’s easy for me to know how broken and upset I am about my song being stolen, but with how consumed I’ve been about it, I failed to realize how angry the guys are. It became their song too, not to mention how their feelings for me would affect how much they want to protect me from going through this.

“Let’s not start planning revenge just yet,” I caution, meeting Darius’ gaze across the room. He’s been uncharacteristically silent through all of this, sitting on the couch and studying us with those vivid eyes of his.

I can’t decipher his thoughts or feelings. But there’s an uneasiness in his posture that wasn’t there before. Is he worried about what might happen next? Or is he simply biding his time?

We haven’t addressed his riff being used, yet …

“We need to make sure we don’t inspire any other desires for retaliation. Lie low and wait. Get through the tour and give him one final album, then I’m free.” I reach for the coffee on the table in front of me and take a sip, immediately regretting it. I make a face and slowly set it down, glaring at it.

One more betrayal to add to the list—it’s fucking cold.

“No,” Darius says, finally breaking his silence. He pushes off the wall and steps into the middle of the room, the pinch of his eyes expressing how serious he is. “That’s not enough, Raina. We need to fight this prick.”

My heart stutters. I want to be angry at him about the riff, but part of me also desperately needs him on my side right now. His confidence is like an anchor in the stormy sea that my life has become. It’s why I haven’t asked him yet; I can’t handle any disloyalty on top of everything else.

Blake’s melody softly changes, the mournful notes transforming into something more hopeful, echoing Darius’ words. And I cling to it like a lifeline, letting it seep into me and bolster my sinking spirit.

“Fight how?” I ask, my voice small, almost drowned by the music. But he hears me because who wouldn’t hear that fear underlying those two words. I hate how I cower at the thought of pissing Dickless off even more.

“By standing together and not letting him bully us into doing what he wants,” Darius replies, his gaze penetrating mine. “By showing everyone what they’ve done to you… to us.”

Nash growls next to me, not liking Darius’ assertiveness in this situation. He gives him a glare before focusing on me once more. His hand squeezes mine, like he’s trying to hold me to his side. “We shouldn’t do anything without consulting the PR team. You’re right, we should hold off on doing anything at all until legal gets back to us.”

Blake’s bow halts on the strings, leaving a hollow silence that echoes through the room. He looks at me, concern carving creases into his forehead. “Raina, I hate to disagree with Nash, but we can’t just… wait.”

“I don’t know what else to do!” I explode, all the pent-up anguish pouring out of me like water from a burst dam. “I feel so helpless. I’m in the middle of my tour, my song gets stolen by some two-bit pop star who’s using it to climb charts, and my uncle...” My voice catches at the mention of Dickless. The breach of trust and wave of betrayal makes me shudder, making it all the worse by the reminder of our familial connection.

The room falls silent again. Darius purses his lips, his eyes almost apologetic. But it’s Nash’s reaction that’s most visible; every muscle in his body tenses as if anticipating a fight. He doesn’t say anything though, probably because he doesn’t know how to make any of this better.

Keaton slips in and pushes a reluctant Nash out of his way. He sits in front of me and cups my face between his hands, forcing me to focus on him and him alone.

My drummer has always had the ability to make the world around us fade out of existence.

“I love you,” he confesses, the smoothness of his voice curling around me like a warm hug, yet at the same time his words smack into me, threatening to lay me out on my back. It’s so fucking unexpected.

Do you believe the truth of it? he says with the tilt of his head, his eyes searching me for the answer.

“I do,” I croak. From the corner of my eye, I find Darius tilting his head, the question clear in his face, wondering what he missed since our spoken words don’t work well together.

“You’ve already broken out of your shell, taking a path of showing your fans who you are. Now it’s time for you to decide.” His thumbs caress the curve of my cheek and I itch to get closer to him. To wrap myself in his protective hold where I know nothing else can reach me. I’m safe there.

“Decide what?” I ask, but I think deep down I know.

“Are you willing to fight against the darkness trying to get you down, or are you going to cower in its shadow?”