Page 138 of The Sound Between Us

35

stripping away

Seren

Dad’s been knocking on my door for the better part of two hours. I can hear him pacing the hallway above, his footsteps heavy and restless.

“Seren, love, you can’t hide down there forever.”

Watch me.

I’ve got enough crisps to last three days, a bottle of wine I was saving for a special occasion—ha—and absolutely no desire to face the world. Sleep hasn’t happened. Jet lag and heartbreak have made it a luxury of the past, leaving me wired and hollow-eyed, staring at white walls until dawn crept through the basement windows.

“I’ve made tea.” He tries again. “Your mum used to say⁠—”

“Don’t.” The word comes out sharper than I intended, bouncing off the basement walls. “Don’t you dare bring Mum into this.”

Silence from upstairs. Then the creak of floorboards retreating.

Good.

I stare at my phone, which has been buzzing since I got home. Seventeen missed calls from Dad. Forty-three texts I haven’t read. Two voicemails from numbers I don’t recognise.

The only text I do read is from Flick: Coffee shop. 8am. Bring tissues and your fuck-off face.

I almost smile. Almost.

The red double-decker appears just as I’m trying to convince myself that stepping outside won’t kill me. Harrison’s face dominates the entire side of the bus—twenty feet tall, all cheekbones and that devastating smile that I now know he’s been perfecting on Rogers women for years. The advert is for some cologne, and the tagline reads: “Irresistible.”

I actually laugh. The sound cracks in my throat.

A woman waiting at the bus stop follows my gaze and then looks back at me. Her mouth forms a small ‘o’ and she fumbles for her phone.

Brilliant. Exactly what I need.

I pull my hood up and walk faster, but the damage is done. Three more phones appear. By the time I reach Grind, there’s a cluster of photographers outside, cameras at the ready.

“Seren! Where’s Harrison?”

“Is it over between you two already?”

“Can you comment on reports you’ve left the tour?”

I want to tell them all to sod off, but Dad’s voice echoes in my head: Never give them anything that can be twisted. So I keep my mouth shut and my head down, ducking into Grind.

The bell jingles my arrival, and Flick appears from behind the espresso machine, all righteous indignation in an apron.

“Right.” She pulls me into a hug that smells of coffee beans and fury. “Hailey, really? Are you absolutely sure?”

“Yep.” I sink into our usual booth. “Looks like I wasn’t the first Rogers to go there. Hell, maybe Felix has been there too. Probably has, knowing Harrison’s track record.”

Flick’s eyes narrow dangerously. “Want me to poison his latte if he shows up?”

“He won’t show up. Pretty sure Tokyo is far enough away to avoid awkward coffee encounters.”

“Shame. I’ve been practising my milk foam art. Was going to give him a lovely penis pattern.”

Despite everything, I snort into my coffee.