I bought a house on three acres in the rolling hills outside of Hillsboro about four years ago. It’s gated, and monitored closely by security. The main house is bigger than I’ll ever need, but it was the pool and, most important, the pool house that made me fall in love with it.

I love to swim, and I work out in the pool every single day I’m home. My best friend, and cofounder of Hard Knox, Max Bishop and I converted the pool house into a full studio and partnered up to begin Hard Knox Productions. Since starting business two years ago, I’ve had everyone from U2 to Usher in my studio, laying down tracks, writing songs.

Making music.

The music feeds my soul and has since I was nine and got my first guitar for Christmas. It’s a magic I haven’t been able to duplicate or replace with anything else. And for a little while, when I thought I’d abandon music altogether, it felt like I was living in purgatory.

A necessary purgatory, but fuck, how it hurt.

I park and jog around back, bypassing the house altogether, and am not surprised to find Max already at work when I walk into the studio.

“You’re late,” he mutters, then bites his pencil and tickles the keys of the baby grand in the corner that looks out over the pool.

“I got a job,” I announce and lean on the piano, reading the music lying in front of Max.

“Who’s coming now? I thought Maroon 5 had to postpone, since Adam has to tape the auditions for his show.”

“No, a regular gig job.”

His head jerks up, and for just a moment, there is so much hope in his eyes, it makes my chest hurt. “You got the band a gig?”

“No.” I shake my head and stare at the top of the piano. “There’s a new restaurant in town that needs a weekend musician. I’m going to do it.”

Max doesn’t say anything for a long moment. “Who are you?”

“I was thinking it might be fun for you to come with me sometimes. We can perform some acoustic versions of some of the old songs. Show off our harmonies.”

“Are you sick? Should I call an ambulance?”

“Fuck you,” I reply and turn to walk away. I don’t need his shit. I should probably call Addie and tell her I’ve changed my mind. This is a ridiculous idea.

“Jake,” he says. “Talk to me. You hate to perform.”

“No, I just can’t perform the way we did,” I reply and turn around, hands in my pockets. “It almost destroyed my life once. And I’m sorry that when I lost it, so did you.”

“I didn’t have to,” he replies matter-of-factly. “I’ve been offered other lead guitar gigs in other bands. You know that. I don’t want to do it without you.”

“Let’s not talk about our feelings. We’re dudes.”

“Tell me about this gig. What made you decide to look into it?”

“Christina told me about it and asked me to.” I drop into a leather couch and sigh, my head leaned back on the cushion, and stare at the ceiling. “I love producing and writing with you. I don’t miss touring. I don’t miss the booze or the girls. We still have the same friends, and we still make music, so I have nothing to complain about.”

“What do you miss?” Max asks.

I chew my lip, and immediately remember Addie doing the same, and wonder what it would be like to feel her full lips under mine. To feel her full everything beneath me.

“I miss singing.” I glance over at Max and see him nod. “I miss watching the crowd sing along with our songs. I miss the feeling I get when I’m singing so hard and long that my lungs are screaming and my throat feels raw, but I don’t even care because it’s just the music that matters.”

“I know.”

“And when I did the open-mic thing last weekend, it just hammered home how much I really do miss it.”

“I know.”

“So, for a couple hours a week, I want to sit in a room of people and strum my guitar and sing.”

“I think that’s awesome.” He grins. “And I can’t wait to show off our harmonies. Because we kick fucking ass.”

“Of course we do.” I sober and link my fingers behind my head. “So, tell me straight. You don’t think it’s a bad idea?”

“I think it might be the best thing you’ve done for yourself since you quit the band.”

I nod thoughtfully, but then shake my head no. “This studio is the best thing I’ve done.”

“It’s a great thing, and it’s making us a shit-ton of money, and we love it, but I think the music, singing, is going to heal you. And I don’t think you’ve done that quite yet.”

“Have you?”

“I was never broken, friend. That was your journey. And it makes me fucking happy as hell to see you in this place, because I haven’t seen it in a long time, and I’ve missed it.”

“Feelings. No feelings.”

“Yeah, yeah. If you’ve finished being lazy, you can help me with this song. I can’t figure out the second verse.”

I stand and return to the piano, feeling better after hashing the Seduction gig over with Max. He’s right. I need it.

“We talked about the second verse building in intensity, and then falling abruptly at the end. That’ll make the chorus that much more powerful, remember?”

“That’s right,” he says and swears under his breath as he erases what he wrote earlier. “You think you’re so damn smart.”

I smirk. I’m not smart, or special. I just know music.