Page 113 of The Sound Between Us

The doorbell chooses that exact moment to start buzzing with the kind of obnoxious persistence that suggests whoever’s pressing it has no intention of giving up.

“Who the hell uses the front door?” Dad grumbles, but he doesn’t move to answer it.

“Probably paparazzi,” Hailey brightens at the prospect. “Careful not to get papped, you’re famous now!”

“I’m hardly Beyoncé, Hails,” I roll my eyes.

But I push back from the table anyway, the warm bubble of family acceptance still wrapped around me. Maybe it is photographers, or maybe it’s a delivery driver, or maybe it’s one of Dad’s music industry cronies dropping by unannounced.

The marble entrance hall feels cooler than the dining room, the family warmth fading with each step toward the front door. Through the frosted glass, I can see a dark shape standing on the doorstep, but the details are too blurred to make out.

The buzzing continues, insistent and somehow desperate.

I unlock the door and pull it open, expecting to see a camera flash or a man in a delivery uniform.

Instead, I find Harrison Carter standing in the pouring rain.

He’s soaked through, his hair plastered to his head, expensive clothes turned into a sodden mess. He looks nothing the polished pop star I’ve seen in magazines, nothing the confident performer who commanded a stage in front of thousands. He looks young and desperate and utterly vulnerable.

My heart stops. Actually stops.

For a moment, we just stare at each other across the threshold. The rain drums against the pavement behind him, and I can hear my family’s laughter drifting from the dining room.

“Seren,” he says, and my name in his mouth sounds like a prayer and an apology all at once.