Live It Out

Jenn Alexander

Description

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Years after a fractured teenage romance, an up-and-coming musician and a youth counselor team up on a project that rocks everything they thought they knew about themselves and each other.

Spencer Adams was never expected to be anything more than a high school dropout. She’d been a troubled teen, spending more time at the skate park than in school, at least until her music teacher introduced her to the guitar, and music class became her lifeline. Ten years later, she is the guitarist in a band that has become a breakout success, and she wants to use that success to help other teens who have had the same rough start as her. She takes on a volunteer project with local youth as a way of honoring her past, not knowing that it will force her to revisit the one part of her past that she’d hoped to forget.

Faith Siebert has always had high expectations to live up to, and she has tried her best to fulfill those expectations, to be a good daughter, a good student, and a good friend. When she fell for Spencer in high school, she knew her family and friends would never approve. Scared of their reactions, Faith ended things with Spencer, following the path her parents wanted for her, even at the immense personal cost. Of course, it had only been a high school romance, destined for brevity anyway. At least, that’s what she told herself. But when Spencer shows up in her life once again, partnered with Faith on a youth music project, her world is rocked and she is forced to re-examine everything she knows about relationships and herself.

Live It Out is a second-chance romance about forgiveness and finding one’s authentic self.

Sujets

• Romance contemporaine
• Fiction
• Romance
• Contemporary
• Lesbian
• Contemporary history
• LGBTQ+
• Rock Stars

Informations

• Publié par: Bywater Books
• Date de parution: 04 avril 2023
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781612942629
• Langue: English

Extrait

To Sandra, Addie, & Eloise.
You are who I want to live out all my adventures with.
Chapter One
Spencer Adams furiously strummed the high E string on her guitar, her pulse accelerating as she slid her finger along the neck, pulling the note higher and higher. The tension of the song coiled tightly inside of her, and then with an exhale, she stepped on the effects pedal that melted the note down into an electronic whirring, pulsing and filling the room. She locked eyes with Mari Tanaka, who held the final bass note grounding the static whir. The air vibrated with energy, and then they simultaneously stepped on their pedals to kill the sound.
A long, empty silence followed, as though the energy had been vacuumed up.
Then, the four band members erupted.
“That was fucking awesome!” Sienna O’Brien, their singer, sat at the very edge of her seat, the enthusiasm so tangible Spencer half expected her to jump up. “Wow.”
“Hell yeah,” Mari said.
“We nailed it,” Wren Collins, their drummer, agreed.
Spencer had no words. She was still trying to catch her breath as she came down from the adrenaline high.
“I have a few new lyric ideas we can try out on our next run-through,” Sienna continued, “but oh my God, that new ending. Chills.”
Chills . That covered it. They all felt the power, and listeners would, as well. They dissolved into a wave of relief. The band had spent the better part of a month trying to find the magic needed to bring the song to life. What they’d started with had been good: a fun, energetic punk song. There had been nothing wrong , per se. But what they had now? This was a song the listeners would remember. They’d download the album after hearing it on the radio. The energy could finally be felt, not simply heard.
“This is it,” Spencer said. “ This is what we’ve been trying to write. All that’s left is to finalize the lyrics.”
High-fives went around the room.
All four members of Shattered Ceiling acutely felt the pressure for the second album they were trying to write. After the breakout success of their first, they’d managed to acquire a huge record deal with their top-choice label, adding pressure for their songs to be not only good, but perfect . They shared an acute need to prove that their success was more than mere luck. In the whirlwind following the release of their first single, they’d been hit with tour bookings, television appearances, and three Juno award nominations. Now, the eyes of the nation were on them, waiting to see if their group of lesbians was the real deal, or whether their first album had been a stroke of luck.
Spencer was confident it hadn’t been luck, but their first record had something their second didn’t: time. What looked like instant success on the outside was the culmination of years of hard work. She and Mari had been playing together for over a decade, since they met in their high school music class. Wren had been with them for five years, and even Sienna, the newest member, had joined the band a full three years ago. They’d had years to write songs, rewrite songs, and write new songs—so many new songs. When they had finally sat down to record their music, they selected the best of the best. They didn’t have that luxury anymore. If they didn’t want to fade away, they needed to release a second album before the buzz from the first went silent.
“We could release this as our first single,” Sienna said, as she scribbled ideas for lyrics into her notebook. “I think I can make the chorus really memorable. The weight of the lyrics will be in the verses, and the chorus can be something easy for listeners to pick up. If we get listeners singing along, even after the music has stopped, then we’re golden.”
Spencer was about to reply but Mari held up a single finger and looked upward, visibly thinking through something. Spencer killed her amp and began errantly plucking the strings of her guitar, giving Mari the space to listen through the piece in her mind in order to finish formulating her thought.
“What if we had some sort of repeating lyric during the breakdown?” Mari suggested, after a long minute had passed. “I think we could really grow the energy there, starting soft and moving into a chant. We already have a musical buildup. If we had a repeating lyric in that spot, then new listeners could catch on quickly and it would really amp up a live crowd.”
“The drums come in a little later,” Wren began. “When we play it live, I could get the crowd clapping along to that section.”
“Yes!” Mari exclaimed, then closed her eyes and bobbed her head to the tempo. “I like that. I think we could—”
But she was interrupted by Sienna. “What are you playing?”
Spencer turned at the interruption and found Sienna’s gaze focused solely on her. “What?”
“That song you’re playing.” Sienna pointed to her guitar. “It was pretty.”
She hadn’t even realized she’d been playing anything, but even so she knew what song Sienna had heard. She’d been working on it in private, playing in her downtime. She hadn’t made a conscious decision on whether or not she wanted to bring it to the band, but now, with all eyes in the room on her, her subconscious had made a decision.
She sat a little straighter and adjusted the guitar in her lap. “It’s one of the first songs I ever wrote, way back in high school. I was going through some old notebooks a couple weeks ago, found the lyrics for what started as a silly high school love song, and I’ve been playing around with it since. It’s starting to take shape now that I can do more than just strum basic chords.”
“Let’s hear it,” Sienna said.
Spencer pulled her guitar closer and began the opening riff, surprised at the sudden vulnerability she felt with each note she played. Guitar was one thing she knew she was good at. It was her one completely unapologetic form of self-expression. But this song differed from the aggressive punk songs she typically played with her band. It was quiet and gentle, and had been written during a particularly sensitive period of her life. She felt naked and had to close her eyes to shut out the faces of her friends and allow the music to take over.
When she finished, she opened her eyes and looked to each of her friends, seeing genuine interest and appreciation in each of their gazes.
“Wow,” Wren said.
“It’s really pretty,” Mari added.
Spencer relaxed into the praise her fellow band members offered. It wasn’t hollow praise. This band was a career for each of them, and they treated it as such. None of them ever hesitated to speak up when something wasn’t working.
Sienna’s eyes shone with interest and she leaned forward, really holding Spencer with her gaze. “I love it. You said there were lyrics?”
Spencer nodded. “I can send them to you, but keep in mind I was seventeen when I wrote this. They’ll need some work, but if it’s okay with you, I think I’d like to use them as a jumping-off point, at least.”
“Absolutely,” Sienna agreed.
“I know we don’t typically play ballads,” Spencer offered. “It’s not really our style.”
“I actually think it could fit perfectly on our next album,” Wren said. “We have a lot of fast, heavy punk songs. A ballad would give it room to breathe and would potentially bring in new listeners who wouldn’t immediately pick up our stuff.”
She had a point.
“I think there would be a lot of room to push myself vocally,” Sienna added.
Spencer hadn’t realized how much a positive reception would mean to her, and she was surprised to feel her face warm at the all-around interest.
“We can play with it then,” she agreed, her confidence building. “I have a few ideas for ways we can bring it to the next level. I was thinking it could start with just guitar and vocals for the first verse and chorus, and then the drums and bass can jump in with the second verse. The section at the end, just before the last verse, could really be expanded instrumentally.”
“Play it again,” Mari suggested, “but turn your amp on this time.”
She did as instructed, this time, feeling nothing but excitement as she began the opening riff. When Wren and Mari jumped in at the start of the second verse, she felt her pulse quicken at the added layers. Mari added a walking bass riff that transitioned them perfectly into a much bigger, fuller chorus than the first. The song took on a new life, as the musicians all added their own voices to the conversation.
Spencer loved this part of song writing—the moment when they just jammed out something new, each instrument falling in seamlessly with the others, allowing the song to grow and take shape.
Sienna sat back, eyes closed, listening to the three play. When they finished, she let out a breath and simply said, “Beautiful.”
Pride welled within Spencer—a pride that reached down deep inside, through the years, to reach her insecure seventeen-year-old self.
They ran the piece a few more times with Wren and Mari both experimenting with different rhythms, notes, and textures. When they finished, it felt like a positive note to end their practice on.
“I’m so excited for these new songs,” Sienna said, as she grabbed her bag and headed for the door. “Spencer, send me the lyrics for that last one. I’ll see all of you on Monday.”
Wren headed out along with Sienna, neither of them having much gear to pack up. With the excitement from their last song, the practice had gone on longer than they’d planned, so there wasn’t the usual time spent hanging back and chatting afterward.
Mari and Spencer took a little longer to pack up, and Spencer was grateful for the chance to talk over the new song with her best friend.
“Honest opinion,” she began, “what did you think of the ballad?”
“It’s gorgeous, Spence.” Mari emphasized the words as she spoke to make sure Spencer knew how genuinely she meant them. “Wren was right when she said it will be really ac