He’s not looking at me, but Cannon, who writes most of our songs. Cannon holds his hand out for it and reads it quickly.
“Not mine, but…” He pauses, looking at me, having recognized my handwriting.
“It’s mine,” I confess, raising my hand slowly like a kid in school.
All their eyes turn to me and I want to
shrivel into a ball and roll away, but fuck if I’m doing that.
Hayes gives me a nod of acknowledgement, surprise in his eyes. “This just might be your song.”
We all know he doesn’t mean my song, but our song, the song that everyone will know is The Wild. The song that will live and thrive even when we’re all dead and gone.
“Wow,” I breathe.
Cannon pats his hand down on my shoulder, the only praise I’ll get from him.
“Do you feel comfortable putting this on the album?” Hayes asks me, his gaze steady. He knows from the lyrics, the words I poured my heart and soul into, how personal it is. He knows I might not want it out there for everyone to hear. I appreciate him giving me the choice to say no. My words for myself, my vows to Mia, do I want everyone to hear them? They won’t know who it’s about, but I will, she will.
“Can I think on it and get back to you?”
He nods. “Sure.”
The guys look at me, Cannon’s green eyes seeing too much. He knows who those words are for, why I’m hesitating to say yes.
Before his questioning gaze can probe too far, Hayes calls for him to enter the booth. He pushes off the couch and heads inside, grabbing his bass off the wall.
Relief floods through me at not having Cannon breathing down my neck.
Rush plops unceremoniously into the spot vacated by Cannon.
He smirks at me, tilting his head in…
Fuck.
“Kira?” I ask softly, the word only a hush under my breath.
“Yep.” He nods, still smirking—and I know the smirk has nothing to do with getting laid.
“Did you see…?” I trail off, letting him fill in the blanks.
“Yep.” He nods again, and I want nothing more than to punch the smile off his face. “Enjoy your night?”
“I’m not talking about this,” I growl. It has nothing to do with Hayes being in the room—though it is a deterrent. I refuse to talk about Mia with Rush, with anyone.
“Really?” He raises a brow and I know then he’s baited me on purpose. “Since when?”
“Since now.”
Since now everything has changed.
* * *
Hours later Mia strolls into the studio in a tight pair of jeans hugging her hips and a white shirt with red on the sleeves.
“Coffee,” she says, passing the drinks around.
I give her a thankful smile and nod my head.