Page 141 of Finding Storm

“Everyone’s into money. Even the people who say they aren’t,” Levi adds.

I shrug. “I don’t know what to tell you. Stevie’s just not a materialistic person.”

Levi and Cash look at each other. Then, they look at Raze like he has the answers, but he just shrugs, looking equally perplexed.

“So, when you said she’s different,” Cash says slowly, “you meant, she’s actually different.”

“Yeah, man. She’s actually different.”

There’s silence in the room.

“And she doesn’t want your money?” That’s Levi.

“No.” I laugh, exasperated.

“Or your fame? Or to spend your money? Or live in your big apartment? Or drive your nice car?” Cash asks.

“Fuck’s sake, man! No! She’s not interested in any of those things.”

“Well, what does she want then?” Cash asks.

“Nothing.” I shake my head. “She didn’t want anything.” Except for me.

She wanted me.

And I left her.

I take another pull on my beer. Holding the bottle between my palms, I stare down into it.

“Those songs you brought to the studio,” Raze says, bringing my eyes to him, “you wrote them while you were there? While you were with her?”

It’s not a question because he knows. But I still answer, “Yeah.”

“They’re fucking good, man. Really fucking good.”

I stare back down to my bottle, hoping the answers I seek are in there somewhere.

“So, we’ve established that you’re miserable as fuck without her. And that you write really good fucking songs when you are with her,” Cash says.

I laugh without humor. “Pretty much.”

“So, what the fuck are you doing here?” That’s Raze, and it brings my gaze back up.

“If you’re miserable without her, go back to Arizona. Be with her.”

“I can’t. I need to be here.”

“Says who?” Raze challenges.

“Zane. I came back because he said if I didn’t get my ass back here and we didn’t get in the studio and start putting this album together, he’d bring in songwriters to do it, and we’d lose all creative control.”

“Fuck what Zane said!” Cash says. “Well, actually, don’t fuck what he said because he’s our paycheck at the end of the day. But why do you have to be here to do the album?”

I give Cash a stupid look. “Because you guys are here. The studio is here.”

“And Arizona is what, four hours away in a car? An hour on a plane? Commute. Or what-the-fuck-ever. You’re rich; buy a fucking plane. Write the songs there in Arizona. Because, honestly, the shit you brought to the studio is the best you’ve ever written, and if that’s because of this Stevie chick, then I’ll marry you guys myself. You move there, be with your girl, and then fly back here to record the album when needed. And when it’s time to tour, just figure that shit out as it comes. That’s the beauty of music, man. You can make it anywhere. Even in Arizona.”

Huh.