Wicked

Chapter 23 (Seven Years Later)

Tim POV: 

I hold the headphones to my ear, hearing the track start to play. I tap my foot to the beat, trying to count in to where I need to start. I nearly miss the beat, quickly moving toward the microphone. 

"Maybe I should call you up right out of the blue. Maybe you'll pick up and maybe I'll get through this time, cause all I wanna tell you is you were right... I miss you... and I'm sick of me too." I sing, before Byron gives me the thumbs up from the mixing board. 

"That'll do it." He says, as I set the headphones down and start into the mixing booth. He adjusts some of the levels, before playing it aloud. I swear, I will never enjoy hearing my own voice. I hear the door to the studio open, but I'm too focused on the mix to care. "Oh, hey Bud!" Byron exclaims, standing to greet Grant as he walks in. I turn in my chair, watching him sit down on the couch in the back of the room. 

"Mom said you two would be here." He says, as Byron laughs. He's always adored him, even as a teenager. I slide a couple of the levels up, watching Byron raise his eyebrows, like I'm messing up his mix. "Actually, Dad... Byron and I wanted to talk to you." Grant lets out as my eyes drift toward Byron. Byron puts up his hands in surrender, leaning back into his chair. I turn toward Grant, watching his foot tap nervously on the ground. 

"He wants to record a demo." Byron says, noticing how nervous Grant appears. I feel my stomach twist as I rub my forehead. 

"Why?" I ask, shutting my eyes as I hope he doesn't say what I feared. Byron looks over toward him, letting him take over the conversation. 

"I have been thinking really hard about the offer from Stanford, but–" He lets out before I roll my eyes, leaning my head back. 

"Grant, we've talked about this." I groan, feeling my exhaustion with the topic grow. 

"I know we have, but I was thinking maybe putting together a demo and testing it out to see if it'd get any traction –" He starts to argue, as I glare toward Byron. 

"Don't look at me. He brought it up." Byron says in selfdefense. 

"Grant, you're going to school. You're going to do your four years, get a degree, and then we can talk about demos." I assert, watching him sink into his seat. 

"What's the point in wasting four years, when I could get a head start–" He tries to defend, as I turn back to the mixing board. "You went right to Nashville after you graduated." He argues as I sigh.

"I didn't have the money to go to school, nor did I have a full-ride to fucking Stanford, Grant." I shout, as Byron looks at the mix, eager for a distraction. "I didn't have the options you do. If I could afford a degree, I would've done that in a heartbeat." I point out as he crosses his arms and shrugs. 

"But –" He begins before Byron starts to mess around with a different mix, letting it play over our argument. 

"It's not up for discussion. As long as you are under my roof, you follow my rules, and you're going to get a degree before messing with any of this crap, alright?" I say, watching him hang his head. "Am I clear?" I shout, as he sighs. 

"Yes, sir." He says in response. 

"I want to get lost in some corner booth, Cantina Mex–."  Her voice comes over the speakers as I lean my head back. 

"Byron!" I scream, at my whits end. He quickly hits pause, before shrugging toward me. 

"It's not my fault you two recorded the same demo and you both had me mix them on the same fucking computer." He argues back, the tempers in the room flaring. I pinch the bridge of my nose, trying to take a few deep breaths.