SMELLING ROSES

Chapter Twenty-Five

When morning came, Wren was gone. In his absence, a sunflower laid on his pillow. It made me smile, but I didn't like waking up alone. Part of me was convinced all of this was a dream, but the beauty of the suite made it real.

When I realized I'd get to see California, I made plans for our entire week. I wanted to see Santa Monica and walk on Hollywood Boulevard. There were beaches and foods from other cultures. I wanted to discover the places they didn't show in the movies. But I wanted to do it with him. So, I waited for him. Every day.

In the wee hours of the morning, when he'd text, saying he was on his way and never showed. Or nights when I forced myself to stay up, only to fall asleep before he got in. Days went by before we actually had a conversation with each other. Most days, I'd wake up just before he left or after he'd fallen asleep.

The suite got bigger the longer I stayed in it, and by the end of the week, I practically lost it. He lived his life outside, and I wasn't a part of it. If he was too busy to do the things I wanted, then that was fine. I at least wanted to be at the studio. I kept waiting for him to invite me, but he never did. After talking to Uncle Ronnie, I found out where the studio was and invited myself.

It was going to be a surprise. I made a cake for him, but the building was bigger than expected. When I finally found his room, my cake's frosting started to melt.

I could hear his voice down the hall. It was hoarse and scratchy. He sounded like he had been through war. He belted the note over and over again, but it only got worse.

When I neared the door, I peeked inside. There was a sofa in the back and it was crowded with spectators. They grunted and moaned every time he sang. I had no idea who any of them were. They sat with their faces buried in their phones, snapping their heads up when he'd miss a note. They're presence even made me feel small, and I stopped myself from going inside.

An electronic dance break was stopped short when the producer cut the music. Where were the guitars? The drums? It was Wren's song but completely redone. It didn't sound like him anymore.

As the producer fell back into his seat, Wren wobbled out of the booth. The studio fell silent, and the judgemental back sofa looked up. Wren hung his head and stood at the producer's feet.

"How many times we gotta listen to you hit this note?" the producer asked.

The man beside him snickered. "Until his voice gives out."

He thought that was funny? Forcing him to sing until he couldn't anymore. Wren was tired. Did he do this every night? To think all these studio sessions had gone this way made me sick. They weren't encouraging at all.

"I-I'm sorry," Wren mumbled. "I'll try again. I can—"

"Don't nobody want to hear you sing this shit again," the producer sighed. He swiveled around to the back. "See? This the problem. These record labels think just because you got followers on TikTok, you deserve a record deal. This kid hasn't shown me any talent in three weeks."

Everyone laughed and the producer's sidekick swatted Wren away. "Just take a break."

Good. Because I was about to go in there myself. That producer really thought he was spitting facts. Yeah, a lot of people used followers to overlook talent, but that wasn't Wren. He deserved to be here.

When the door squeaked, I stepped back. Wren stumbled out and I held my breath. I shouldn't have come or at least warned him that I would. When our eyes met, he stopped in his tracks. His tight features loosened as he let out a breath. He looked like he was two seconds from losing it. Without saying a word, I took his hand and headed straight for the door.