“Big weekend?”
He shrugged. “Couple of parties.”
“Did you meet a nice lady friend? Did she keep you up late?”
“Let’s see what you wrote,” Hale said, ignoring him.
Jake unzipped his backpack and removed his notebook, handing it to Sam. Jake may have been their lyricist, but Sam was the one who handled the instrumentation. He turned lyrics into pieces of music.
“‘Our Summer’？” Sam jutted his bottom lip out, the way he did when he was on the brink of reproach. “Is this another song about Molly?”
Jake opened his mouth to speak, but closed it. Sam looked up when he’d finished reading, his wheat-blond brows knitted together. He said nothing.
“Every song in this fucking album can’t be about your girlfriend, Jake.” Hale rolled his eyes. “‘Our Summer’？ That’s too fucking pop-y.”
“So we’ll change the title. Why don’t you read the damn lyrics before slamming it?” Jake glared at Hale. His high spirits were quickly dissipating. He could tell Hale was in one of his feisty, combative moods, coming off a long bender of a weekend that had probably started on Thursday after the Terminal 5 show, and he didn’t feel like bearing the brunt of his friend’s hangover.
Hale grabbed the notebook from Sam and started reading out loud.
Your blond hair on my pillow
Like silk across the sheets
An easy morning kinda love
The girl of all my dreams
Hale’s face twisted. “What is this shit, Danner? We can’t play this.”
Jake’s heart picked up speed, heat filling his chest. “Why don’t you write something, then, Hale? Instead of drinking and snorting your way through the weekend while I sit at home doing all the work for this fucking band.”
“Guys, cool it.” Sam snatched the notebook from his brother, his gaze growing stern. It was the same dynamic that had existed between the three of them since they were kids—Sam, the eldest, the most levelheaded of the trio, breaking up Hale and Jake’s squabbles. “Danner, what I think Hale is trying to say is that the new album is starting to feel a bit … for lack of a better word … well, yes, pop-y. Off-brand. We’re a Southern group at our core. We don’t want to trade that stroke of country for … well, something inauthentic.”
Jake rubbed the back of his neck. “We can be a little country and a little pop at the same time. That isn’t inauthentic. Look at Zac Brown Band.”
“This”—Hale stabbed his finger at the notebook—“is so far from Zac Brown Band. You just want to be a fucking pop star, Danner. You want to be Adam fucking Levine. Nick fucking Carter, maybe.”
Jake glared at Hale, suspecting he’d had more to drink than just the Heineken. Whenever Hale got really wasted, pent-up resentment inside of him tipped over the edge, and he was more hot-tempered than usual. Jake wondered how long these feelings had been brewing.
Sam’s gaze flickered to his brother. “Don’t be a dick, Hale.” He turned to Jake, his light brown eyes softening. “Look, I think part of the reason The Narrows worked so well is because it’s a true reflection of us, of who we are. It’s about North Carolina, growing up, crabbing in the bay, moving to New York. There are a couple of love songs, yeah, but it’s more substantial than that. And this new album is just feeling like … a bunch of songs about trying to get the girl back. ‘Molly’s Song’ works, obviously, but we can’t have a dozen renditions of ‘Molly’s Song’ that aren’t half as playable.”
The air in the studio felt suddenly stuffy and stale, and Jake desperately wanted to leave. He knew Molly wouldn’t be home yet, but he wished he were there, anyway, sitting on the couch with a glass of whiskey by the open window, waiting for her to walk in the door. “I don’t know what to say. We’re already more than halfway done with the album.”
“We haven’t officially started recording.”
“Why don’t you see what Jerry and Ron think before you tell me we need to start over.”
“I already have, Danner.” Sam’s mouth was a thin line.
“You’ve talked to Jerry and Ron about this?” Jake’s stomach seesawed. He felt like he had in the third grade, the day he and Hale got sent to the principal’s office for stealing Richie McNell’s lunch money from his cubby during recess. It had been Hale’s idea.
“They’ve seen the lyrics, Danner. They’ve heard the recordings of the songs we have so far, and they agree we’re starting to sound like a boy band.”