Page 154 of The Sound Between Us

My voice isn’t perfect. It never has been. It’s breathy, it cracks, it strains in places. But it’s mine. Every note, every lyric, is mine.

I don’t just sing at them. I sing through him.

Through Harrison.

Because every love song I ever swallowed was about him. And tonight, I’m finally brave enough to let it out.

He never looks away. Not once. Not when the second verse punches low and raw, not when my voice quivers on the bridge, not when I close my eyes and pour the last chorus out like a confession I’ve been holding in since Tokyo.

When it ends, there’s silence.

Not an awkward one. Not confused.

Stunned.

For half a second, the world holds its breath.

Then Glastonbury erupts.

The kind of sound that vibrates in your bones. People who don’t know me are screaming. Damon’s fist is in the air. Vinny is crying. Even Simon is losing his voice behind the barrier. And the Elementary boys? All three of them are jumping like idiots, Dex shouting something obscene and Jamie waving Belle in her sling like she’s a tiny flag of victory.

And Harrison...

He’s just standing there, hand over his heart.

I want to run to him. To kiss him. To bury my hands in his hair and say, See? We made it.

But before I can even take a step, someone grabs my wrist.

“Seren Rogers?” A sharp voice says. “You’re live in thirty seconds.”

I’m pulled backstage and into a small white tent filled with camera rigs, cables, and two BBC producers talking into headsets. A sleek-looking woman in a teal jumpsuit with a handheld mic grins at me, instantly recognisable as the face of BBC Radio, Clara Fielding.

Christ, am I going to have to talk to her...

Too late to back out, she starts the interview.

“That was... electric. Welcome to BBC Introducing. How are you feeling?”

“Honestly?” I manage a shaky laugh. “Like my heart’s still somewhere out there on the main stage.”

She smiles. “That’s where it belongs. Seren, for those watching who don’t know—though I can’t imagine there are many—you’re the daughter of music legend Damon Rogers, and your godfather is Faith Jones’ original guitarist. What’s it like to grow up surrounded by icons?”

I blink. The air thickens.

“I guess I always thought it was normal. Until I realised I wasn’t supposed to be following in their footsteps. I wanted to carve my own path. And tonight... I just hoped people saw me. Not my name. Not my lineage. Just me.”

A loud voice from the crowd pierces the tent: “YES, MY TREASURE!” Damon, obviously.

I cringe and laugh. “And there’s Dad, right on cue.”

Clara chuckles, clearly delighted. “But it wasn’t just family watching tonight, was it? I hear there was a very famous pop front man cheering you on from the crowd. Certain boyband royalty, if I’m not mistaken?”

My gaze flicks to the side of the tent—there he is. Harrison. Shoving a hand through his curls, grinning like he’s just watched the stars fall from the sky and land in his lap.

I smirk, deadpan.

“Yeah. I’ve been teaching them how to make real music.”

Clara Fielding cackles. “Oh, they’ll love that one.”

But I don’t look away. Not from him. Not for a second.

Because I know—whatever comes next, whatever madness this performance sets off, it started the moment he looked at me and saw something more than a last name.