Page 41 of The Sound Between Us
The memories taste bitter on my tongue. But I drink them anyway.
He nods, slow and deliberate. “You know, it’s not an excuse, but the business does strange things to you. It doesn’t matter how grounded you think you are, it picks you up and throws you.”
“Mm. All the groupies must’ve been hard to ignore.”
He leans against the island, legs crossed at the ankle, sipping his tea as though we’re discussing weather. “No sugar?”
“Sugar-free house.”
“Lovely.” He winces but drinks it again anyway. Then he says, “That’s why I made my New Year’s resolution.”
Rolling my eyes, I gag loudly. “I don’t think I want to know.”
He laughs, but it’s hollow, an echo inside of it. “I look in the mirror and wish I didn’t know either.”
“Surely that’s up to you to change.”
In my head, I picture him—hotel rooms, mascara-smeared girls, the kind of chaos that makes headlines. And for some reason, it makes my stomach twist. Not quite jealousy. Darker.
“When Tommy died, I thought we’d be different. I promised we would be.”
“And?”
He shrugs, but I see the twitch in his jaw.
“No one talks about Tommy much,” I prompt, because silence from Harrison Carter is almost deafening.
“I’m surprised you know about him, being such a fan and all.” His smile is all teeth now, no warmth.
“I know you had a bandmate who died before you hit it big. I might avoid the limelight, but I don’t live under a rock.”
He sets his mug down. Turns away.
“He died. Left us. And us spineless, selfish bastards just carried on without him.”
“What do you mean?”
He turns back, and I physically flinch. His eyes burn; his jaw is set. There’s a vein in his neck that looks as though it might snap. “We were working on the second album. Writing; arguing. Failing. And then he...”
“Overdosed?” The word cuts the air clean in half.
He gives me a smile. Fake; the kind you wear for press tours and promo interviews. “I still had to write. So I did.”
“The awful second album?”
“Say awful one more time and you might actually hurt my feelings.”
“Awful. Worst thing I’ve ever heard. My ears bled and there were stains on my cream carpet.”
He steps closer, too fast, too tense. Yanked towards me on some invisible string.
“Did you buy it?”
“Pre-ordered.” I stare straight at him. “Ripped it open, played it, and had my soul crushed.”
Heat flickers behind his eyes. My chest caves under the weight of it. The weight of him.
“Fuck.” The curse is low, but it lands hard. He closes the gap between us, his smell wraps around me, tension made tangible.
