Page 16 of The Sound Between Us
“No.”
I hesitate. “Sorry, I know this is awkward, but... can I wait for my car? I was trying to stay off-grid.”
Her head falls back with a sigh, chin tilted.
“You really hate Elementary, don’t you?”
“I’m sure you’re all lovely human beings,” she says, deadpan.
“So it’s not the music?” I raise an eyebrow.
She laughs—and it transforms her face completely. “Believe me, I’m being polite.”
“Oh, this is polite?” I grin. “Wow.”
“I gave you clothes.”
“You gave me a jumper that obviously belonged to some guy you ghosted. Probably sat by the bin for weeks while you debated setting fire to it. After you doused me in strawberry milkshake—which, by the way, is a war crime of a flavour.”
She gasps. “Shut up. Chocolate is the worst. Always tastes like fake banana.”
“Which is why you always go for—”
“Vanilla,” we say in unison.
There’s a beat.
And then—knock knock.
Her eyes flick to the door, wary. I move to the latch.
“Thanks for the clothes,” I say, hand on the handle.
She reaches out. Grabs my elbow. Just a brush of her fingers.
“The music,” she says carefully, “only went downhill after the second album. After that, it was like... you stuck to the formula. Instead of pushing your ability.”
I freeze.
Her words hit too close to home.
“Tell that to the millions who still buy every record,” I manage. It’s bitter. Hollow. Too honest.
She shrugs. “Wasn’t talking to them.”
I stare at her. “Thanks. I’ll remember it tomorrow—standing on the stage at Wembley.”
“Don’t remember it then.” Her smile is devastating. Honest. “Remember it in the studio.”
My mouth opens. Nothing comes out.
“This has been...” I falter.
“A reality check?”
I laugh, a sound that comes out of my chest like it hasn’t in weeks.
Another knock.
