Page 136 of The Sound Between Us

“What’s happened? Are you hurt? Is it Harrison?”

Is it Harrison? Harrison who told me he loved me. Harrison who made me feel safe. Harrison who apparently fucked my half-sister and thought it wasn’t worth mentioning.

“I just need to come home.”

“Right. I’ll sort flights. Are you somewhere safe?”

Safe. Twenty-four hours ago I knew what that word meant. Now my skin feels crawling, exposed on all sides.

“I’m at the hotel.”

“Stay there. I’ll call back in an hour.”

I hang up and stare at the phone. I’ve just called Daddy to come save me. Six years old again.

I should go somewhere else. Hide in the lobby. Wait for Dad’s call.

Instead, I find myself walking toward the lifts.

The lift ride takes thirty seconds and feels endless. When the doors open, I walk down the hallway with mechanical precision, someone who’s made a decision they know they’ll regret.

I don’t knock.

The door slams against the wall with enough force to wake half the hotel. Harrison bolts upright, hair sticking up, eyes wide with panic.

“My sister?” My voice cracks. “My fucking sister?”

His face goes white. His mouth opens, then closes. His eyes dart away from mine.

Guilt. Pure, devastating, unmistakable guilt.

“Seren, wait—” He scrambles out of bed, reaching for me.

“Don’t.” I yank my jeans off a hanger with enough force to snap the plastic. “Don’t you dare.”

“It wasn’t... it didn’t mean anything. It was before I knew you, before we were anything⁠—”

“Before what, Harrison? Before you decided I was worth lying to?” I pull the jeans on, hopping, furious at my own clumsiness. “When exactly were you planning to mention you’d fucked my sister? During pillow talk? A cute anniversary card? Maybe as a wedding toast?”

My voice cracks. Tears burn my eyes, spill down my cheeks before I can stop them.

“It wasn’t⁠—”

“What was it then?” I grab his tour shirt—the one I wore to bed. “Enlighten me. Paint me a picture of exactly how innocent it was.” My throat closes. “Oh my god, the day we met, when you told me you’d met her... and you said—you said—’not particularly memorable, to be honest.’”

I clamp my hand over my mouth and breathe through my fingers that still smell faintly of coffee and him.

The image is there now, seared into my brain: Harrison and Hailey, her perfect body that’s never seen the inside of a Camden record shop, her designer lingerie perfectly fitted to her sculpted frame.

He runs his hands through his hair. The light catches the gold in it.

“I was drunk. She was drunk. It was one night, two years ago, and it meant absolutely nothing. I barely remember it⁠—”

“Oh, you barely remember it?” I laugh, high and sharp. “How romantic. How special she must have felt.” My hands shake as I shove things into my bag. “You lied to me and she lied to me too. I sat in her goddamn apartment and she warned me—told me not to let Harrison Carter shrink me... because she’d already been there, done that. Done you.”

I’m shoving my feet into boots, no socks, the leather cold against my skin. “But I bet it meant something to her. I bet she’s been laughing this whole time, watching me fall for you whilst she knew exactly what kind of man you really are.”

“That’s not— Seren, please, you have to understand⁠—”