57. Chapter 57

Chapter 57

Willow

My days have been nothing but Tripp and this album. If Tripp wasn't recovering from a head injury, it'd be quite amazing.

We're taking a break from mixing songs, which are almost done. Next, we're tracking the last of the new songs left to be recorded.

"I mean, it makes sense he's bummed. That was terrifying," Emilie says as we find an empty lounge area to regroup before the next hours of work. "The press has been brutal. I'll never understand the need to show the clip on repeat." She shakes her cup full of iced coffee, mixing it together.

"I'm not sure bummed is the right word. I saw it once and never need to see it again."

"You're doing the right things. Being there. Keeping an eye on him." She tucks a red curl behind her ears.

"I know. Just want him to feel better. Anytime someone from the coaching staff calls or tries to come by for something, it's like he's on the edge of panic mode. He's short. Agitated easily."

"That has to be fairly normal, right? This was a major injury."

"That's what my research says. Concussions are weird. People have a wide variety of physical and mental symptoms afterward."

Emilie nods in understanding. "Have any of his teammates or friends come by? Maybe he needs something that isn't so… formal? "

"I don't think so. I don't know if they've ever been to his place. Like, Tripp does things with them during the week, and after games, but don't think people swing by his place a lot."

"Men are weird like that. I have Zack's number. We could call him and see if he's busy."

"Zack, huh?" I am not surprised. Emilie and Zack gravitate towards each other anytime we're in the same vicinity.

"We're friends." Her cheeks blush.

"Uh huh." I sip my warm lemon water, a go-to when I'm recording. "Thank you for taking this assistant position. Most of this year has been wild and you've made it easier."

"Someone's gotta pick up the designer pieces for the popstar," she jokes as she takes a drink of her iced coffee.

I lightly push her shoulder. "You know what I mean."

"I do. And I hope you'll need an assistant like me for a long time." She pretends to rub money in between her hands. This is one of the reasons I love working with her. She's intentional, thoughtful, and surprises me with jokes during borderline questionable times.

There's something about a bridge that makes me feel like I've got something. Something for the fans but specifically something for me. Especially this song because I wrote the bridge first. It came to me while Tripp and I were driving back from Golden Cove, but pieces of it flooded my brain after we were on the beach.

We saved this song for the end because I knew it'd keep me excited throughout the day to get to it. Find a musician who doesn't have a favorite track or two on an album and I'll show you a liar .

The click track fills my headphones. We're doing the first take of the bridge, one of my favorite pieces I've written for this album.

You're the coast I'm mapping

Every cliff, beach, and bay

You look at me like

It's worth finding our way

I want to mark each rock

the grains of sand

Explore the hidden coves

Where your secrets stand

We do a few re-records but not many. I know I nailed it and would probably be content with any of the takes I did. It felt right. Easy.

After I record the whole song, two more times, we're done for the day. They have everything they need for the whole album. Issues could come up when they're mixing or mastering, but the bulk of the work is done. It feels good.

"Willow—"

"I know, I know. You love the bridge!" I clap my hands together and jump up and down in excitement.

"I do, but that's not it." Her brows are creased and the warm demeanor I know is nowhere to be found. "Have you seen this?" She gives me her phone.

No Tripping Here – Tripp Owens to Announce Retirement

I scan the article and immediately know something isn't quite right. Quotes like "Sources close to Owens" and "An anonymous teammate" are what make up the entire piece. There isn't a single line attributed to Tripp, his team, or the Cosmos.

"This isn't true. I have to go. "

"Everything okay over here?" Erik comes over just as I'm about to make a break for the door.

"Yeah, I forgot about a dinner thing tonight. Have to get going." I tell the white lie because I don't want to draw a single ounce of attention to the article that's going to be or is already on everyone's social media feed.

"Get out of here then. Good work today. We'll be in touch after we get closer to finalizing the tracks," Erik says as I'm halfway out the door.