Page 114 of The Sound Between Us

28

kiss the rain

Harrison

London rain has a particular quality to it—not the dramatic downpour of movies, but a persistent, soaking drizzle that gets into your bones and stays there. I’ve been standing on this doorstep for exactly thirty-seven seconds, which is thirty-six seconds longer than any rational person would wait before pressing the doorbell. But rationality abandoned me somewhere over the Atlantic, along with my career, my dignity, and any remaining connection to the life I’ve been sleepwalking through for the past fourteen years.

My clothes are beyond salvaging. The jeans plaster to my legs. My old hoodie clings to my chest. Water drips from my hair onto the marble doorstep of a house that probably costs more than I’ll ever see again, now that I’ve nuked my career for the chance to stand here.

The door is painted black, with brass hardware that gleams even in the grey afternoon light. Through the frosted glass, I can see movement. Shapes passing back and forth, the warm glow of family life that I’ve never really experienced. Laughter drifts through the walls, genuine and unguarded, and I wonder if I’m about to destroy something beautiful just by knocking.

But I press the bell anyway, because I’ve come too far to turn back now.

The buzzing echoes inside the house. Guilt crawls up my spine, but it’s nothing compared to the desperate need that’s been eating me alive since I watched her walk away from me in LA.

Footsteps approach, and my heart does something complicated against my ribs, part hope, part terror, part recognition of the moment when everything changes and can never go back.

The door opens, and there she is.

Seren.

Looking exactly herself—no makeup, hair slightly messed, wearing jeans and a jumper that’s probably older than her step-siblings. She’s beautiful in that understated way that makes magazine covers look desperate, and for a moment I forget how to form words.

Her dark eyes widen with shock, then something that might be fear, then something I don’t dare hope might be happiness.

“Seren.” Her name comes out, an exhale after holding my breath for months.

“What are you doing here?” Her voice is barely audible over the rain drumming against the pavement behind me.

“I couldn’t stay away.” The honesty tastes strange in my mouth after so many years of carefully crafted responses. “I tried. I got on a plane to Japan, performed the hits, smiled for the cameras. But I couldn’t... I can’t...”

Behind her, I can hear the sounds of family dinner, voices talking over each other, the clink of cutlery against plates, someone laughing at their own joke. It’s warm and chaotic and everything I’ve never had, and she’s part of it in a way I’ll never be.

But I have to try.

“I want to be a different man, Seren.” The words tumble out, desperate and unpolished. “The kind of man who doesn’t forget to change his locks. The kind of man who has something bigger than himself that grounds him.”

Her expression shifts, softens slightly, but she glances nervously over her shoulder. I realise there are probably neighbours watching, Ring doorbells recording, curtains twitching at windows. In an hour, this moment will be all over social media.

I don’t care.

“I can’t go on being Harrison Carter if he’s not the man who could be in love with you every day of your life.” My voice cracks on the word love. “I can’t wake up every day wishing I knew what you were thinking, knowing we’ll never get a chance to find out what this could be.”

The rain is getting heavier now, turning my declaration into something that probably looks more tragic than romantic. Water runs down my face, my hair plastering itself to my skull.

“I know I fucked up in LA. I know I let you walk away when I should have fought for you. But I can’t...” I take a shaky breath, tasting rain and desperation. “I can’t pretend anymore. Can’t perform being happy when the only time I’ve felt real in years was sitting next to you at a piano, writing something true.”

A pigeon lands on the railing beside me, cocking its head. Seren follows my gaze to the bird, then looks up at the row of pigeons perched on the roof opposite, all of them staring down at us with beady-eyed judgement.

“Stop,” she says, and my heart plummets into my expensive, waterlogged shoes. “You’re embarrassing the pigeons.”

The deflection hits. She’s joking. Deflecting.

This is over before it starts.

Of course it is.

I take a step back, shoulders dropping, already calculating how to extract myself with a shred of dignity.