Chorus (Four)

Background color
Font
Font size
Line height


Why did he have to give me his damn hoodie?

And why did it have to smell so damn good?

What kind of cologne did he even use anyway, some kind of thousand dollar bottle imported from Paris?  Because, fuck.  I was going to need some of it to stash away in my room and sniff at night like a creepy stalker psycho.  

That, or I was definitely keeping this hoodie.  He could suck my nonexistent dick.  He wasn't getting this back if he had to pry it off my dead, cold body.

That would serve him for being so insufferable.  And Hot.  Unattainable and hot.  Fuck, of course that was my type. 

And of course, he just so happened to be the Superior Asshole Lord Almighty who stole my music, but did that negate the fact that I'd basically been in love with a celebrity archetype of him and not the actual person for years?  No, unfortunately, it did not. 

Apparently a celebrity crush doesn't just immediately disappear the moment said celebrity steals your intellectual property. 

Oh well, and girl could only hope.

"Um, Ivy?"

"What?"

I snapped out of it just as he stood off to the side holding one of those baby bottles of water, the kind that stingy places of business give out for a dollar fifty when they were probably only really worth ten cents. 

"Want some water before we start?"

I glanced down at myself and cringed at the drenched sight of the bottom half of my green silk dress still clinging to me like saran-wrap and was about to make some kind of joke about how I'd had plenty of water, thanks, but I couldn't do it.  I couldn't diffuse the tension in the room that had built between us like a rushing river. 

That joke would cut like a dam through those river rapids and then we'd have a kind of common ground, some solid footing in which we could base the rest of the day off of and have some kind of sense of camaraderie.  

"No thanks, I'm good.  Let's get started."

I angled down toward a worn, plush brown couch in the corner and fished my phone out of where I'd stashed it in my bra—unoriginal, I know, but I wasn't going to let it get ruined by the pouring ass rain—and pulled up my notes app before glancing back at Kade again. 

Big mistake. 

Of course it was a mistake looking at Kade Hendrix for longer than a half a second glance—he was always damn near impossible to look away from. 

Day old stubble covered the jagged edges of his cheekbones and sculpted jaw, giving him a sharper aura, like he were someone you'd find in a dive bar clutching a motorcycle helmet from his fingertips and sporting a leather jacket nursing an hour-old whiskey on the rocks which had long melted away. 

"I kind of want to just brainstorm today, not just use some lyrics that you've already got written out.  Is that okay?"

I promptly locked my phone after receiving call after call and text after text from Catalina and my father. 

Clearly they were pissed I didn't stay for his little campaign speech.  

For some reason, I couldn't find it in me to give a shit. 

Kade slid into the large desk chair in front of the mixing board and swiveled it around to face me and suddenly I was struck with the complete surreality of the situation. 

Never in a million years had I ever imagined even meeting the man in front of me, but there I was, sitting across from him as he lounged around in comfortable jeans that plastered to the thick muscles in his legs like the denim was tailor made to his body, which, of course they were.  

He was a millionaire. 

Why wouldn't he have ridiculously expensive jeans custom made for him?

It was probably the first thing Catalina and my father would buy once he made it to office, if he didn't already have them. 

I wasn't new to the wealth game; money didn't impress me.  What you did with that money was what impressed me. 

New designer clothing?  Brand new Mercedes?  Those were only material things.  They didn't matter in the grand scheme of things. 

Who cares what you wear when you'll be in the ground and that clothing will wither away into rags within five years?  Who's going to remember you being best dressed if all they think of when you come up in conversation is your horrible attitude and greed?

My father stopped giving me thousands of dollars as birthday and Christmas presents when he realized I always donated it to the Substance Abuse and Mental Health Service Administration, as well as the facility where my mother had been receiving in-patient care for the past two years. 

She was still adamant that she never relapsed and her drug test was tampered with.  

I didn't know what to think anymore.  Sometimes I wondered what exactly my father was capable of when he didn't have control of every situation and person in his life, although the thought of my father being vindictive and hateful enough to fake a drug test from my mother halfway across the country just to get me from her care and with him permanently was a bit of a stretch, even for him. 

"What do you think about brainstorming for a relaxed catchy song?  Something more laid back but also has charting potential?"

"Do you just...automatically think of the type of song you write and then write it?  Is that how your process works?  That's definitely not how my brain works..."

"Not really, but if I don't think of music in a way that will help me get a rough outline of what I'm going for, I'll end up with an album of slow ballads with low charting potential.  I still need to make money, remember?  Gotta keep this record deal."

"Keep your record deal?  Why would that even be in question?  I mean, come on.  You're Kade Hendrix."

"Yes, Ivy.  I know exactly who I am, and I know the pressures that come with being who I am, too.  If I don't do well in pre-saves, streams, album sales, charts, tour profits...it's pretty much game over for my deal with Spotlight.  I've thought of branching out and starting my own label, or even reaching out to Universal or Warner, but technically I still have five years on my contract, but they're allowed to drop me whenever they want.  So, it's either I play along with their rules and suffer the not knowing all the time, or I take my chances and end up with nothing.  I'm pretty stuck here, so yes, any kind of help you could give me in writing a potential Billboard charting song, it would be greatly appreciated."

There wasn't a disingenuous speck on Kade's body.  Not a flicker of anything I could pinpoint as distrustful.  

He didn't look like he had a dishonest bode in his body. 

So, how did he end up doing one of the most heinous things a singer-songwriter could do to someone else? 

"So...walk me through your process, then.  Laid back, but also catchy.  What kind of subject material are we looking at?  What's your inspiration?"

He blew out a breath like he was releasing some hidden tension from within the inner most part of himself. 

"Think 'Rude' by Magic, or the recent pop stuff by Harry Styles, the new Ed Sheeran pop.  Something upbeat but also something with a good meaning behind it."

"Of course, so like, the song of the summer then?  No pressure."

"No, no pressure," he agreed, a tentative smile encroaching on plush, pink lips that—

No!  Nope, no pressure at all.  Especially not when he was looking at me like that—like I was some kind of twisted salvation for him. 

I needed for us to go back to normal territory.  I needed to have a disdain for him unmatched by any other man in my life save for one Caleb Brentwood.  Or my father.  Or both.

There were plenty of men in my life I held unmatched disdain for, apparently.

They were easy to loathe.

I desperately tried not to check him out, I swear, I really tried, but...

My eyes slid down his face with the smooth curves of his lips still set in a sparkling smile from my agreeable attitude thus far, which I assumed meant he forgave me for the fact that I'd called him quite a few names and insulted him as casually as I would order something at a food truck. 

Something sharp and electric shot through my gut as my eyes wove a lingering path down the sloping expanse of his neck, the cut of his jaw ticking with the sudden realization that—yep, I was blatantly checking him out.  

And that damn smirk that pulled up one corner of his mouth told me that he knew it, too.  

Somehow, I couldn't find it in me to care. 

"What are your favorite topics to write about when you're in a block?  Like, something to just write down on paper to...get things flowing."

Shit.  Was it hot in here or was it just the humidity from the warmth of his sweatshirt heating up my cheeks?

"Umm...well, I'll just pick something in nature, like thunderstorms or an ocean wave, something like that.  But if I want to write about a relationship, I usually go for the throat with something really tragic or something really angry, there's not much in between there."

"Wow, tragic or angry, huh?  Nothing romantic?  So if I need help writing a love song—"

"Hey, now.  I'm not Sara Barreilles, I'm not gonna write you a love song."

Dammit.  Now I was joking around with him like he was Constance or Isaac?  What had gotten into me?

"I'm serious though—you've never written a romantic song?"

"Oh, I've written plenty of romantic songs...they're just not...happy ones?  I don't know, it's not like I have much inspiration to draw from that isn't—nevermind."

"What?"

My face erupted in flames.  I had just been about to discuss my personal romantic life with one of the most popular up and coming superstars in the world. 

Maybe I was losing my mind.

"It's nothing.  Surely your life will have much more inspiration to draw from once the time comes to write about it."

"Right..." Kade trailed off like he didn't believe me. 

I wasn't sure I even believed myself. 

"So, I like using a lot of metaphors in my music, and when I read up on you and went through some of your published poetry, I—"

"You read my stuff?"

"Yeah.  What, are you surprised I actually looked you up?"

"Honestly?  Yeah, kind of.  You didn't seem like you were in too big of a hurry to work with me, either."

"Like I would've wanted to work with someone who wouldn't stop insulting me?"

"Yeah well you deserved it."

"Maybe I did."

I sucked in a surprised breath as I realized that we'd been slowly gravitating toward one another, our knees almost touching as I was scooted to the very edge of the couch and he'd pulled the rolling chair close to where I sat. 

A spark of potent energy flared to life between us and I couldn't help but fall under the spell binding me to never look away from the darkness flashing in the richness of his warm amber eyes. 

That night in the dim light of the SUV on the way to his hotel, I had sworn they were dark pools of midnight that rivaled the blackest night, but here—with the sunshine trying to peek its way through charcoal clouds still spitting rain outside the house—they were golden. 

Kade cleared his throat and the spell was broken, and then it was finally time that I told myself to get it together. 

I didn't glance back at Kade once I scooted myself back in the chair.

"Let's get started, okay?  I have a test due tomorrow."

Lie.  But he didn't have to know that. 

"Alright.  How do you want to start?"

"We can just brainstorm some metaphors for relationships gone bad, or good, depending on your mood."

"Bad.  A relationship gone bad.  Works for me."

"Okay," I said, pausing as I searched the room for paper and something to write with. 

"Do you have a notebook and a pencil?"

"I usually use my phone, but I think Corbin—oh, here you go."

He fished out an old composition notebook and a pen that had seen better days from one of the drawers under the mixing table and handed them to me. 

"I had an idea for something involving war—like relating war to the end of a relationship or something toxic."

"Okay...not sure if it'll be the kind of vibe I was trying to go for today, but we can try it out.  Do you have a melody in mind?"

"Sort of.  I want it to have a staccato kind of beat—to kind of mimic the idea of a gun going off that symbolizes the end of the relationship."

Kade pulled up a folder on the computer that lay atop the mixing board and began pressing numerous buttons that I couldn't for the life of me figure out and then suddenly a snare drum beat filled the room. 

He layered a guitar riff and some piano chords and then it was time to add the lyrics. 

"Okay, so what were you thinking for the intro verse?"

"Definitely talk about bullets, then blood on hands, because someone is at fault for the toxic love.  Then putting the blame on the object of the song before the chorus starts."

"Bullet sprays, blood is on my hands...can you stay, when you don't understand—"

"How about, 'cause I don't understand'?  It's the narrator asking the object of the song what went wrong?"

"Okay, then 'what I've done, I'm on the run...from the metal in your gun'..."

"So then we could try to get the chorus to build up slowly with layering vocals and instead of electric this could just be done on the acoustic guitar to make it feel more haunting?"

Kade was so excited he was practically bouncing in the chair, and I had to admit that I was having fun, too.  Writing music collaboratively wasn't something I'd ever done before, but I was definitely enjoying it.

Maybe a little too much.

"Oh, and it could be like when one side of the war surrenders or calls for a—"

"Cease fire!"

I couldn't resist answering for him—it was like someone else had taken over my body and all my defense mechanisms to keep people at a distance had completely melted away and there I was having the time of my life with a stranger who had screwed me over once before already. 

How tragic was that?

"We could name it 'Cease Fire'!  'You're all loaded up, so fire away'—"

"'Say it's only tough love, can't make you stay...you take your aim'—"

"'The bullet sprays'—"

"'You say her name'..."

"Damn.  That totally makes the song make sense.  The other person is ending the relationship because they're either in love with someone else, or they cheated.  It's perfect."

"Yeah..."

Perfect.  

Story of my life.  Being in love with your best friend's boyfriend would give you plenty of metaphors for heartbreak. 

Speaking of Isaac...

My phone buzzed relentlessly by our group chat asking where I was. 

"You gonna get that?"

It had already been two hours that I'd been with Kade, although it only felt like two minutes. 

"No, they'll never leave me alone if I do."

"Why?  They jealous you're with me and want to get a picture of me or something?"

I stared at him blankly. 

"You know I signed that NDA, right?"

"Yeah, but as long as it doesn't get out in the media, it's not like it matters if you tell your friends, which I'm sure you already did if them bugging you like that is any clue."

"Wow..."

I breathed out a regretful sigh as I plopped the notebook and pen down on the couch beside me before ordering an Uber. 

My driver was three minutes away.  Perfect—just enough time to get out of there.

"What?  Don't act like you actually didn't tell anyone."

"The only person I had to tell was my father when he called asking why I'd retained his lawyers on a weekend and racked up a solid bill with their firm."

It was better this way, anyway.  We'd written a verse and a chorus for one song in less than two hours; I would just have to finish the rest on my own and send it to him.  If he didn't like certain words or phrases, he could change them. 

"I guess you'll want to meet again sometime this week?"

"Yeah.  Can you do Monday through Thursday, everyday after your classes?"

"Why do you want to meet that much?  We've already got that first song you took, the one we half wrote on the phone last night, and then this one.  Why the rush?"

Kade fumbled for his words for a moment, and I took a wary step toward the door before he answered. 

"The sooner we write this album, the sooner we can move on with our lives and never have to see each other again."

The fact that his words hurt enough to make me flinch was proof enough that in the short amount of time I'd come to know him, I already cared far too much of what Kade Hendrix thought of me.

"Fine, Monday through Thursday, at four.  Can't wait to get this over with."

I took one last parting glance at Kade, his narrowed, darkened eyes shining with the sun coming through the parting clouds as the storm swept away with a calming wind.

I couldn't help but feel like the real storm was just on the horizon. 



***


A/N:

What did you guys think of this chapter?

I've been erratic with posting lately due to huge edits on my werewolf stories on the platform, so that's why updates haven't been everyday (plus writer's block, but I'm slowly getting back into the swing of things!)

What do you want to happen next with Ivy and Kade?

Any fun dramatic confrontations you want to see?

Who are you most excited to meet Kade?  Constance and Isaac?  Caleb, perhaps? ;)

Until next time my lovely readers, 
Kristen :)


You are reading the story above: TeenFic.Net