Page 117 of The Sound Between Us
“And?” he asks, voice quieter now. Like he already knows what I’m going to say.
“And I don’t know if I can get up there and pretend to be someone I’m not anymore,” I say, voice steady but low. My eyes flick to Seren, who’s watching me with something I can’t quite name. Not doubt. Not certainty. Something in between. “Not when I’ve finally figured out who I actually want to be.”
Silence settles like a blanket.
Outside, rain taps at the windows.
The muted hum of London drifts through the walls.
Then Kimba claps her hands together like we’ve hit the peak of a rom-com. Her whole face lights up. “Oh, I do love a good love story. Damon, remember when you gave up that tour to come back for me?”
“That was different,” Damon mutters. “It was just Europe. Not a bloody world tour.”
“But still romantic,” Kimba insists, shooting him a look that’s half fondness, half challenge. Then she turns that intensity on me. “You’re staying for pudding, aren’t you? Mrs. Martin’s made trifle.”
I glance around the table.
This loud, lovingly chaotic, certifiably unhinged family that Seren belongs to—who’ve just casually absorbed me into their orbit like it’s no big thing. Damon and Kimba are still bickering about tour cancellations and declarations of love. Felix is halfway through explaining to Hailey why grand gestures are an essential part of Western romantic mythology. Mrs. Martin is gliding in and out with the energy of a woman who could run a small country if she wanted.
And Seren—
She’s sitting beside me, close enough that her hand is almost touching mine.
She hasn’t pulled away.
She hasn’t shut me out.
She’s here.
“Yeah,” I say. “I’d love to stay for pudding.”
For the first time in years, I’m exactly where I want to be.
Even if my career is on fire.
Even if my team’s probably drawing up legal documents with my name in all caps.
Even if tomorrow’s headlines will crucify me.
Right now, I’m sitting at a dinner table, eating roast beef and Yorkshire pudding with people who actually see each other, flaws and all. People who fight and laugh and tease and pass you the salt like it means something.
This is what home feels like.
And when I look at Seren—really look at her, relaxed and soft around the edges, smiling in that unguarded way I thought I’d ruined—I know.
It was worth it.
All of it.
The tour. The career fallout. The mess.
Because this? This is real. This is mine.
For the first time since I was sixteen, I’m not performing.
I’m not Harrison Carter.
I’m just Harry.
And for once, that’s enough.
