More Than A Feeling, page 3
He took his guitar and a notebook and crossed the yard. The barn smelled like wood oil and history, with a hint of salt air that drifted through whenever they left the doors open. He flipped on a few lights, no more than he needed, and sat on the low platform they used for small rehearsals.
The first chord echoed too brightly in the empty space. He tried again, softer, letting the sound settle. Music always told the truth. Lately, it had been telling him things he did not want to hear.
He picked at a simple progression, something he and Sean had messed with on the road but never finished. The melody wanted to lift and then fall, like breath. He hummed along, rough and low. Words came in scraps. He wrote them down and crossed them out. Try again. Write. Cross out. The pencil smudged the edge of his hand.
He heard her voice in his head. Not the business voice from yesterday. The softer one from last night. Fans need to believe that you believe. He had smiled for years and meant every one of them. Somewhere along the line, he had started smiling on cue. It was not the same.
He set the guitar aside and stood to shake out his hands. The empty space answered with a faint metallic ring from somewhere in the rafters. He looked toward the doorway, half expecting to see Carlene walk through, and snorted at himself. She had probably been up since dawn, writing a plan, while he sat here arguing with a blank page.
Footsteps sounded on the stones outside. He turned and saw Sean’s silhouette, backlit by the bright square of morning.
“You're up early,” Sean said, coming inside. “I brought muffins from Mae’s. Livia texted and said we would need carbs for whatever Carlene is about to put us through.”
Jami laughed. “Smart woman.”
Sean set the paper bag on the platform and crouched beside the notebook. “What are you working on?”
“Trying to find words that do not lie.”
Sean studied the chords he had sketched and hummed a few bars. “Feels like a sunrise.”
“Or like trying to remember how to breathe.”
“That too.” Sean’s mouth curved. “You want help?”
“Always.”
They played through the progression together, letting the second guitar slip under the first like a shadow. The melody steadied. The shape of a verse formed, slow and simple. After a while, the back door opened again, and Axel wandered in, hair damp, sticks in one hand, and a to-go cup in the other.
“You two started without me,” he said, but there was no heat in it. He tapped the sticks against his thigh, testing the room.
Jami grinned. “This needs a heartbeat. Not heavy. Just there. We're trying to work out a new song.”
Axel gave them a pulse, the kind you felt before you heard it, and the song settled into itself. Jami tried a lyric. It landed close, then fell short. He tried again.
“No,” Maddyn said from the doorway, soft but sure. “That one tasted like you were saying it for the crowd.”
He looked up as she stepped inside with Livia and Tony behind her. Maddyn had a second bag from Mae’s and handed it to Axel the way she handed him everything he needed before he asked. She set her coffee on the platform and leaned one hip against a speaker.
“What if the first line is a question?” she said, eyes on Jami. “You have been giving answers for a long time. Maybe you start by not knowing.”
He nodded and wrote it down. He sang it, not fully formed, a man asking the room for something he could not name. The small hairs on his arms lifted.
“Better,” Sean said.
They circled the words. They carved the verse tighter. The barn warmed as the sun climbed. By the time Tony finished a call with their sound tech and came back, they had a verse that worked and the bones of a chorus that did not. Jami hated forcing a chorus. It should arrive like the tide.
They took a break on the sofas. Axel demolished two muffins and a banana without slowing down. Maddyn tucked her feet under her and rested her head on his shoulder. Tony leaned into Livia, who reached up and toyed with his collar in a way that made Jami look away.
“You're doing it again,” Livia said to Jami, eyes kind.
“Doing what?” He reached for another coffee he didn't need.
“Watching us instead of the page.” She smiled. “That has always been your trick. You watch people until you know what they feel, and then you sing it. It's one reason the fans believe you. But today you have to look at yourself too.”
He swallowed. He looked at the notebook and then at his hands.
“Try the chorus as a promise,” she added. “Not just a feeling. A decision.”
Something in his chest clicked into place. He stood without thinking and picked up the guitar. Sean followed, always the right hand at his back.
A promise, not a feeling.
He played the verse again. He let the last chord hang. He took a breath and sang the first line of a chorus he had not found yet. His voice caught on the first attempt. He tried again and found the center of the note.
“It has to be more than a feeling,” he sang, quiet and sure.
Silence held for one long second. Then Sean nodded once, firm. “That.”
Axel’s sticks tapped the rim in a clean count. Maddyn came in under him, a low harmony that braided their voices together. Livia found a third line above, and it lifted the whole room. Jami sang the line again, this time opening it up, letting the words ring.
More than a feeling. More than hands in the air and cameras in his face. More than lights and noise and a smile you learned because it worked.
He wrote fast while Sean played the chords on a loop. He scratched out the bones of the chorus.
It has to be more than a feeling
More than a moment in the light
If I give you what I am now
Will you meet me in the quiet
It was rough and it was true. He looked up and saw the others watching him with the kind of attention that made him want to do better.
Tony cleared his throat. “That is the headline,” he said. “Right there. That line.”
Jami rolled the words around in his mouth. They didn't feel like a slogan. They felt like the thing he had been missing and had not known how to ask for.
The barn door at the far end opened a little wider. Carlene stood there, hair pulled back, tablet in one hand, watching like she had been there the whole time. He hadn't heard her come in. No one had.
She lifted a hand in a small and careful hello. “Don't stop. Please.”
He sang the chorus again. This time, he didn't think about the way her gaze held him in place. He thought about how every night, a hotel room felt too quiet. He thought about walking offstage and feeling the high rip out of his chest before he reached the wings. He thought about last night at the bar when she asked what he believed in, and he could not answer.
He believed in good music, loyal friends, and work that made his bones tired. He believed in the feeling when a crowd went silent for a high note and then thundered back at him like a storm. He had not believed in much else for a while.
He finished the chorus, and the barn exhaled with him. Carlene took a step closer. Her eyes shone in a way that tightened the back of his throat.
“That,” she said softly. “That is the story. Not a stunt. That.”
He tried to shrug it off, but the words landed. He nodded once and looked down at the page.
“Bridge ideas?” Sean asked, businesslike, giving him a step forward.
“Keep it simple,” Maddyn said. “One image. The thing you want when the lights go black.”
Jami wrote down porch light and found it too easy. He scratched it out and wrote something truer. He wrote a kitchen light at two in the morning. He wrote bare feet on cool tile. He wrote a mug on the counter with lipstick on the rim and felt insane and also very alive.
They worked on the song for another hour. Carlene grabbed a legal pad and quietly noted structure, timestamps, and mood words. She did not offer marketing language. She didn't offer any language at all. She listened like a fan.
By late morning, the verse held steady, and the chorus had muscle. The bridge was a sketch that made his chest ache in a way he trusted. Livia tried a descant harmony over the last chorus, and it sent a ripple up his spine.
They took a breath together. The room hummed.
Tony checked his phone and then slid it into his pocket. “We have a label call at one. Lunch in thirty. Rehearsal after that. Jami, send me that chorus line. I want to push it to socials later this week.”
Jami hesitated. “Not yet.”
Tony studied him and then nodded. “Your call.”
The others drifted toward the sofas. Livia squeezed Jami’s arm again as she passed. You found it, she said without words. Don't let it go.
Carlene lingered at the edge of the platform. “May I?” she asked, motioning to the notebook.
He handed it over. She read the chorus and the bridge sketch. When she looked up, her gaze was steady and warm.
“If you want the campaign to work,” she said, “we build it around this one line. Not as a hook. As a truth.”
He tried to play it cool. “Thought you liked math.”
“I do,” she said. “But this is the part you can't measure.”
He laughed under his breath. “You are full of contradictions.”
“So are you.” She handed back the notebook. “Rehearsal at two?”
“I'll be here.”
She gave a small nod and stepped away to take a call, already in motion, already making a path he couldn't see.
Jami looked at the page again. He set the pencil beside it and picked up the guitar. He played the chorus once more, soft and private, just for himself.
It had to be more than a feeling.
For the first time in a long time, he believed it could be.
Chapter Six
Carlene took the far sofa and spread her tablet, legal pad, and a neat row of color tabs across the coffee table. The barn had shifted from morning hush to work hum. Someone had put on quiet music through the ceiling speakers, just instrumental, the kind of guitar that warmed a room without stealing focus. Sunlight fell in soft grids across the floorboards.
She had not planned on staying all day. She also had not planned on a chorus that hit her in the chest and anchored the entire campaign with one line.
It has to be more than a feeling.
On her screen, she built a structure around it. Not a gimmick. A lens.
Phase 1: Hometown Connection.
Low-stakes visibility in Blossom Springs. No staged paparazzi, no tabloids. Let fans see who he is when he is not chasing a spotlight. Local radio. Mae’s Bakery. A quick stop at the marina. Photos that look like a day in his life, not an ad.
Phase 2: Story Moments.
Short interview clips that tie the lyric to something real. What makes the lights matter? What matters when the lights go out?
Phase 3: Controlled Rumor.
A visible plus-one when the time is right. Not famous. Not loud. Someone who reads as warmth. Hand in hand. Shared laughter. A single image that says he is choosing something steady.
Her pen paused on that last line. She stared at the words until they ghosted. Warmth. Steady.
Livia slid in on the opposite sofa, a bottle of water in one hand and a tidy calm in her eyes. “You look like the world’s neatest tornado.”
“Occupational hazard,” Carlene said. “If I do not color-code it, it doesn't exist.”
“I respect that.” Livia took a sip and leaned forward, elbows on her knees. “Start with what you need from us.”
“Phase 1 is simple.” Carlene flipped the tablet and showed her a schedule grid. “Radio at KBS this week. Quick on-air acoustic clip and a short chat. Then Mae’s, unannounced. We buy a tray of muffins and let staff snap a few photos. One sunset acoustic on the bluff if the weather cooperates. No publicity alerts. We let the town do what towns do.”
Livia considered it. “Real first. Good. That fits him.”
“Phase 2 rolls out short video clips next week.” Carlene opened a folder. “No hard sell. Just Jami answering soft questions. Not about fame. About the first guitar he loved. The first song that felt like home. What he means when he sings that line.”
“Less is more,” Livia said. “He under-explains when he's nervous.”
“I noticed.” Carlene tried not to think about last night in the barn, the way he had asked her what she believed in, and then walked away like it cost him something to say it. “I will prep prompts he can answer in one sentence.”
Tony walked in, reading an email on his phone, then looked up and tipped his chin at both of them. “Label call moved to one-thirty. Sound tech confirmed for rehearsal at two. Axel is pretending he's not anxious about new drum mics.”
“Axel is never anxious,” Livia said, amused.
“He is when the new mics cost what they cost.” Tony looked at Carlene’s layout. “You ready to show them?”
“In a minute,” she said. “One more piece.”
He waited. Tony had the quiet patience of a man who lived in logistics. She appreciated that more than she had expected to.
She adjusted the Phase 3 header. The words would not land cleanly. Her job was to build a visible romance that fans could follow without it feeling fake. It would be easier if she didn't mind who stood beside him in the photos.
“Talk to me,” Tony said gently.
“Phase 3 is a visible partner.” She kept her tone neutral. “If we do it, we do it with respect. No blind items, no planted ‘mystery woman’ stories. One clear image, then we let it breathe.”
Tony’s mouth flattened. “You're not wrong. But if we push that too fast, we'll have a circus. And it's my job to line up our performances. I don't want venues thinking we come with baggage and drama.”
“Which is why we don't push it fast.” Carlene capped her pen and set it down. “Phases 1 and 2 buy us trust. They also buy me time to see if Phase 3 is even necessary. If the song lands the way I think it will, the story may not need a face.”
Livia smiled. “Spoken like someone who heard the chorus and believed it.”
Carlene kept her expression mild. “Spoken like someone who likes results.”
The side door opened, and Axel and Maddyn came in mid-argument about snare tension. Sean followed, carrying two iced teas from Mae’s. He handed one to Maddyn and sat on the arm of her sofa.
“Are we in trouble yet?” he asked, eyes bright.
“Not if you like muffins and local radio,” Livia said.
Sean grinned. “I like both.”
Jami stepped in last. Clean T-shirt. Hair pushed back by careless fingers. He took in the cluster around the coffee table and then looked at Carlene as if he were bracing for whatever came next.
“You ready?” she asked.
“As I will ever be.”
She walked them through Phase 1: KBS Radio, Mae’s, Marina, Sunset Acoustic. Keep it quiet, keep it real. Then Phase 2: short, simple video clips around the chorus. Tony nodded through the logistics. Axel joked about needing a personal muffin handler. Maddyn already had notes about which harmonies worked best with a stripped-out acoustic.
When Carlene finished, the room felt settled. Not excited. Focused.
Jami sat back against the sofa, one ankle resting on his knee. “And Phase 3?” he asked. “The part where I hold someone’s hand and look like I mean it.”
She held his gaze. “We don't move unless we need it.”
His features eased a fraction. “Good.”
Sean glanced at the clock. “We have twenty minutes before the call. You want a dry run for the radio bit?”
Livia nodded. “Do two questions. One about the town. One about the chorus.”
Carlene picked up her pad. “Try this.” She looked at Jami. “First question: Why Blossom Springs, when you could live anywhere?”
“Because I need somewhere that doesn't care about my set list,” he said after a beat. “Somewhere that smells like breakfast and ocean and old wood. Somewhere I've lived my entire life.”
It wasn't polished. It was perfect.
“Second question,” Carlene said, before anyone could fill the quiet. “You sing that it has to be more than a feeling. What is the more?”
He hesitated. She watched him choose the honest answer.
“It's honesty,” he said finally. “Quiet after the noise. Company that feels like family.”
Maddyn’s eyes softened. “That will land.”
“It will,” Carlene said. She felt the words all the way down.
They broke for the label call. Tony took it in the studio so the rest could still move through the space. Axel and Maddyn sorted gear. Sean tuned and quietly ran the verse progression again and again, as if muscle memory were a prayer. Jami stood by the open door, looking at the line of the bluff and the bright smear of sky beyond it.
Carlene checked the weather app. The sunset looked clear. She texted a photographer she trusted in town. Shots for socials only. No credits on the images. It needed to look like someone’s girlfriend had taken a photo of him with a phone.
She caught herself on that word and corrected it. Friend. Someone’s friend had taken them with a phone.
Livia reappeared beside her, leaned a hip against the table, and watched Jami watch the sky.
“You don't enjoy thinking about Phase 3,” she said softly.
Carlene didn't pretend. “I dislike pushing people into pictures they cannot get out of.”
“Good answer,” Livia said. “Also true.”
“If I can run this on truth,” Carlene said, “I will.”
“You heard the song,” Livia replied. “You can.”
Tony waved them all in for the call. The label asked for numbers. Tony gave them numbers. The label asked for a hook and a plan. Tony handed the questions to Carlene. She laid out Phases 1 and 2, kept Phase 3 lightly worded, and anchored everything to the chorus. She used calm phrases. The line itself did the heavy lifting.
When the call ended, Tony grinned. “They want a teaser clip by Friday.”
Jami looked at Carlene. “You have what you need?”
