Chapter Three

Cardinal

Lying in bed, I punched my pillow for the tenth time.

Today had been the worst kind of hell.

And like a ghost, it was haunting, refusing to give me a moment’s peace without the memory suffocating my serenity.

Jaya.

Damn.

It had taken all of my self-control not to react when I played the song for the first time in the sound booth.

The mix was decent.

The tempo solid.

But her voice — her words.

They’d burned through me as if I was experiencing each syllable.

It had been a long time since a song had affected me that way, and, similar to a drug, it was like a hit to my system.

Like an addict, I needed more.

But as I listened, I’d heard the second part, the one that she’d left out. It was so beautiful in its simplicity, so necessary that it’s absence made the song half done.

And I’d known the part by heart before I even finished the track. It would be effortless, so easy to sing.

Yet it felt like I’d be selling my soul to give a part of me to Jaya — which was what singing with her would feel like.

I wouldn’t be able to keep a distance while I sang. It wasn’t in my nature, and it was a huge risk.

But I couldn’t stop the words.

I couldn’t hinder the music.

It called to me, demanded.

And I followed like a lamb to the slaughter.

But what haunted me was the way our voices blended when we worked on the preliminary second part. Damn, her voice mated with mine, creating something so tangible that goose bumps had risen on my arms.

I had forgotten about her voice.

It was sultry, sexy, a perfect mix between Rhianna’s bad-ass tone and Mariah Carey’s massive vocal range. A perfection that didn’t happen often.

Too bad the voice belonged to a backstabbing bitch.

I tried to remind myself of that the whole afternoon.

When my body had reacted to her voice, I’d focused on what she had done.

When I’d wanted to lean into the sound of her voice, I’d backed away and put up the wall.

But as much as I’d tried to keep her away, her voice bled through all my barriers.

And it scared me shitless.

Because I had to be up in a few hours and relive the whole sordid mess again.

For the next week.

I wasn’t sure if it was going to kill me or somehow, I’d just become stronger.

And I wasn’t sure I wanted to find out.

By 4:00 a.m., I still hadn’t slept, so I left the disastrous mess of sheets and thrown pillows on my room’s floor. The moonlight illuminated the hall as I walked to the music room where my Steinway grand waited. As I sat, my bare ass stuck to the piano bench, and I fleetingly thought I should have at least put on a robe, but I craved freedom tonight.

I didn’t want clothes.

I didn’t want anything between me and the music.

I placed my hands on the cool keys, and my skin prickled. I leaned in and started playing one of Chopin’s nocturnes. My fingers flew over the keys effortlessly, the music winding around my body, relaxing my frayed nerves. I crescendoed the music, closing my eyes. My hands knew the piano well, as if it were an extension of my body. As I finished the piece, I heard a transitional melody in my head, and I carefully modulated the key to better suit the song that was slowly unwinding in my mind.

A high descant descended to the middle range of the piano and wove through till it was a melody that sounded strangely familiar.

My hands froze above the keys, the silence louder than the song.

It was Jaya’s song.

Damn. I couldn’t get away from it.

From her.

With a deep sigh, I faced the inevitable. I had to get it out of my system.

Reluctantly, I replayed the modulation and, knowing the song’s other tracks, I played an alternate melody that fed into the first, complementing it, completing it.

Like I completed the song with my voice.

It was beautiful, and in my head, I could hear the two parts make the whole.

When I hit the last note, I rested my head on the musical display, breathing heavily, my heart pounding out a rhythm that would have melted perfectly in the song.

The song needed to be recorded while it was fresh.

I rose from the piano and walked back to my abandoned bedroom. Soon I was driving down the freeway toward my studio. Thankfully, Starbucks opened early, and I darted through the drive-through before I tucked my Tesla into the parking spot reserved for me in the parking garage we’d rented.

Armed with black Pike Place brew, I unlocked the side door and disarmed the alarm.

The building was dark, and as I walked down the hall, so I flicked on switches till I reached the door I was needing. After turning on the light in the recording studio, I set my coffee down by the grand piano and adjusted the microphone.

Some producers liked to use electric pianos because they were easier to adjust on the master track. I loved the sound of a real piano. The fact that it resisted that perfect adjustment made it sound human, alive — living and breathing.

After the mic was set, I turned on the sound booth instruments and opened up a new project on my computer. Soon I was back at the piano. Twisting my neck and shaking out my hands, I closed my eyes and placed my fingers on the ivories. Silently, I counted off in my head and then started into the arrangement.

Twice I recorded, both times adjusting a few things that might make one version a better fit than the other.

As seven rolled around, I was mixing the piano track with Jaya’s master, blending the layers together seamlessly. The piano part was the perfect complement to the pop beat, which made it contemporary, while the piano made it classically beautiful.

My thoughts flickered to Jaya, seeing the similarities.

Her white hair was in direct contrast to the golden hue of her skin, a testament of her Latino heritage. While she was edgy in appearance, she carried herself with a class that couldn’t be taught; it had to be part of a person’s nature. Cool, chic — somehow she made it work for her.

It was distracting, beautiful and utterly lethal when combined with her smile.

Because it wasn’t just her lips that bent in the familiar expression.

Her whole face lit up, like the sun had risen just over the horizon. It was radiant.

But like the sun, get too close and a person would end up burned.

Which is exactly what had happened.

I slipped off my headphones and played the track through the booth’s system, listening to it again.

“Whoa, you’re up early.” Max’s voice was raspy as the door to the small room clicked shut.

“Or up late, however you want to look at it.” I turned to look at my friend. He was in his usual black t-shirt and jeans, hat on backward and coffee in hand. Longingly, I glanced to my empty cup.

“Ouch. Rough night?”

To say the least. “Yup.”

“Did you do this?” Max pointed to the computer’s highlighted track.

“Yeah, I couldn’t sleep. Therefore I did something productive.”

“Leave it to you to improve on perfection. Damn, I hadn’t listened to the song either. I was kinda just thinking it was the same ol’ same ol’, but whoa… Cardinal… that song…” Max whistled low.

“I know. It’s killing me.”

“I didn’t know she could write,” Max replied softly.

I shrugged. “Me either. I assumed…” I left the phrase hanging with implication. After all, why would she steal my song if she could write like that?

“Me too.”

Max took a long breath, and I tensed. “You holding up okay? You looked like you were losing it yesterday.”

I hung my head, my chin resting against my headphones. “Surviving. I swear that woman has my number, and I don’t know how to stop it.”

“If it makes you feel better, I think you have her scared shitless.”

I chuckled. “Actually, it does make me feel better.”

“Good. Because she’s on her way in.”

I tensed. “Early?”

“Apparently, you weren’t the only one with a restless night.” Max arched a brow as the door opened.

I blinked as I took in the person in front of me. Gone were the high heels, the designer clothes, and face full of makeup. Jaya’s hair was twisted up in a messy bun, and she wore a soft off-the-shoulder, long-sleeve sweater that tempered her small frame, almost giving her curves. Her green eyes watched me hesitantly, a vulnerability that hit me like gut punch as I stared back.

“Hey.” She lifted a cup carrier. “I figured we could use this. I wasn’t sure if you guys would be in this early, but…” She extended the tray to Max. “I guessed, but you look like a caramel macchiato kind of guy.”

Max grinned, reaching out and taking a cup carefully. “Why do you think that?”

I grinned against my will, something about the situation amusing me.

“Lucky guess.”

“You guessed well.” He lifted the cup to his lips and took a slow sip. “Heaven.”

Jaya gave a soft laugh then turned to me, her expression growing slightly wary. “Black?”

She damn well knew I liked back coffee. After all, that was how it had started.

Five years ago, she’d been new to the business. I’d been hosting a party at my house. And we both had tried to get away from the maddening crowd.

The kitchen in the lower level wasn’t being used, and I found her there. We had talked, and her gaze shifted to the coffeepot. I’d made her coffee, and we laughed about being boring, only liking our coffee black.

Then I kissed her.

It spiraled from there, and next thing I knew, we were in my room. Her body sang to me, the music of her breathing, the heated touch of her hand. I nearly lost my mind with each stroke inside her. Her heartbeat was the perfect rhythm to the love song we wrote with our bodies through the night. And when she fell asleep, I tiptoed to the lower kitchen, the party finally having ended, and I wrote the song that I’d heard, the song her body had sung to me.

I was in such a hurry I didn’t write a title, didn’t write a name, nothing.

When I went back to my room, she was still sound sleep, and I wrapped her in my arms and drifted off to sleep as well.

Only to wake up to betrayal.

Little did she know I was going to give her the song in the morning.

Only it was meant for two people to sing. But she’d clearly wanted to do it alone.

So it had grated on my nerves, irritated my heart every time I’d heard it on the radio, reminding me of her betrayal, reminding me of the missing part.

Turning something meant to be sung — experienced — together into one person’s display of selfishness.

Max snapped his fingers, and I jerked. “You with us, dude?”

I blinked.

Clearly, I still had room for improvement on the focusing aspect of my life.

“Yeah, thanks.” I reached out and took the coffee from a nervous Jaya, trying to hide my reaction to her. To the memories she brought to the surface.

As I turned back to the computer to restart the music, I finally pieced things together.

No wonder I hadn’t been able to sleep.

Duet.

The song I’d written for Jaya had been meant as a duet.

Her composition that we were overhauling had been meant as a duet.

I was finally singing with her — only it was too little…

Too late.

I clicked the cursor to the beginning and silenced the other tracks, except for the piano.

“I worked on something last night.” As the music played, I turned toward Max and Jaya, sipping my coffee and studying their reactions.

Jaya sipped her drink as well, staring unfocused at the ground, all her senses seeming to absorb the music.

Max leaned against the wall, apparently trying to be less obvious as he studied Jaya’s reaction.

When I glanced back to her, I saw a slight wetness on her cheek. I narrowed my eyes and watched as a tear slid from her nose and landed on my carpet.

A piece of my heart cracked, and desperately I tried to reinforce my resolve.

Betrayal.

Hurt.

Yet as much as I reminded myself, I still could feel the small fracture.

As the music came to an end, the room was in reverent silence, the sound of three people breathing the only noise.

Jaya spoke first. “Cardinal, what was that? It was beautiful.” Her brows were drawn over her eyes with sincerity in her expression.

“Listen.” I turned back to the computer and reactivated the rest of the tracks.

The moment she caught on, her entire face lit up with wonder and awe. Slowly her face broke into a wide grin. “It’s perfect. Honestly, I can’t imagine the song without that part. How did you…?”

I shrugged. It wasn’t something I could describe.

I could feel it. I could hear it.

I couldn’t explain even a portion of what I experienced when I’d just known.

“You’re Cardinal, enough said.” She lifted a hand. “It’s a masterpiece. Damn, I almost don’t even want to sing. I just want to hear the music over and over.” She sighed contentedly.

I glanced away then lifted my headphones over my ears as I established the connection between them and the computer. I could feel the gaze of Jaya heavy on my back as I continued to tweak the separate tracks. I gave myself over to the music, losing myself in it, drowning in its complex embrace as I silenced all the other distractions.

Finally, it was perfect, just missing one thing.

Voices.

We’d laid the preliminary tracks yesterday, but with the new piano instrumentation, we needed to rework a few parts to make it blend seamlessly.

I slipped my headphones off and rested them on my neck then turned to face Jaya and Max. “We’d better start warming up. Did you bring the lyrics you left out before?” I asked Jaya, taking a sip of my cooled coffee.

She lifted a folded sheet of notebook paper from her purse and handed it to me. “Feel free to change it.”

I froze with the cup halfway to my face as I replayed her words.

Usually songwriters were ultra-picky about modifying their lyrics, especially when they were as emotionally charged as the ones Jaya had written. It was surprising that she’d given me that license, that she’d be vulnerable.

The folded sheet was still extended toward me, and I reached out and took it from her hand. I turned to the sound board, finding a safe area to write. As I read through the lyrics, the piece unwound in my head, the echoes of the separate parts uniting and flirting with one another till they mated on the chorus. A perfect combination of give and take.

 

What I’ve lost, and what I’ve gained.

Was it worth the price of fame?

Lost my heart, sold my soul.

Push away, when I should have never let go.

Making it right, fighting the fight.

Love is worth it,

Even if it doesn’t last more than one night…

 

The lyrics haunted me, bringing memories to the surface once again. I pushed away the curiosity of whether these words were from her heart, or if they were just empty.

I schooled my features and set the paper to the side of the computer. “I’ll put these two separate parts together, then we can work them with the harmony we hammered out yesterday. Good?” I asked, tucking my hands in my pockets.

“Good.” Jaya nodded once. “I’ll go warm up.” With a tight smile, she left the sound room and walked into the studio. As she sat at the piano, she started humming a few scales.

“You good, man?” Max’s voice startled me, and I jumped then glared at him.

“Yeah, why?” I pulled up a lyric program on the screen.

When Max didn’t answer, I turned to him, raising a questioning eyebrow.

“History about to repeat itself?” he asked, his gaze intent on me.

“No,” I answered quickly, turning back to the computer.

Max didn’t reply right away, but I could hear the shifting of his feet that distracted me. I sighed. “You have something else to say?”

“Yeah.”

I turned impatiently to him.

He rubbed his neck. “It’s okay for history to repeat as long as you’ve learned from your mistakes. As long as the other person has too.”

I didn’t respond just turned back to the program and started to fill in the blanks of the old lyrics and mesh them with the new ones. As I typed, the song filtered through my mind, growing in intensity, in strength, in personality till it carried a flavor, a life of its own.

Less than a half hour later, it was ready.

I strode into the studio with my lukewarm coffee, and Max excused himself to go and set up a few other projects for the studio.

“You warm?” I asked, studying Jaya as she finished a C-chord on the piano and arpeggiated it.

“Yup. At least enough for the first few tries.” She leaned back, stretching her feet out from the piano, then stood.

I handed her the lyrics I’d printed out and waited as she read through them. I hadn’t modified much, just rearranged a few phrases to make them have a more emotional impact.

What people didn’t realize was that music was an expression of emotion. If a person didn’t have an empathetic response, then it wasn’t completed music, but missing an essential element.

“It’s exactly what I wanted it to be but didn’t quite know how to put together. Thank you, Cardinal.” Jaya spoke gently then walked to the microphone.

“Let’s start with just the piano, get in our groove, and then we’ll add in the other tracks.”

I kept my eyes on the piano as I slid onto the bench, letting my fingers rest on the still warm keys from Jaya’s use. My body heated in response, and I bit my lip, the meal ring clinking against my teeth. I pressed the keys, playing the introduction and leaning into the melody.

And then Jaya started to sing.

And I swore my heartbeat matched the music beat for beat as my body literally sang with her without even opening my mouth.

Maybe that was why the betrayal stung so badly.

Because the music had always been in my head.

But Jaya had somehow brought it out of my body…

Again.