Page 53 of The Sound Between Us

That softens me. Vinny’s my safe place; the only member of The Revelry who never tried to turn me into a commodity.

I nod, barely.

Dad notices. “Ah, there it is. That’s the closest thing I get to affection these days.”

“You get affection from your wives.”

“Ex-wives. Please, keep up.”

I don’t answer. He doesn’t expect me to.

He’s halfway to the piano before I realise what he’s seen.

The song. Our song.

Still scrawled across a page, half-folded over the music stand. Harrison’s handwriting in the margins, my chord changes scribbled underneath. The pen I threw across the room when it got too much still lies on the carpet.

Damon sits down on the stool, fingers cracking, and begins to play. Soft, slow, not showy. And that’s how I know it’s good. He only restrains himself when music gets under his skin.

He plays it through, quiet and almost reverent.

When he finishes, he turns to me. “This is really good.”

I say nothing and my arms fold of their own accord.

He watches me for a beat, eyes narrowing as though he’s solving a particularly annoying puzzle.

“Why do you fight it, Seren? The music. The gift. Out of all my kids, you’re the one with the real thing. And yet you spend every day selling rubbish to dickheads.”

“Don’t let Vinny hear you say that.”

A smirk. But there’s a flicker underneath it; regret, maybe. Or guilt dressed as bravado. Hard to tell with Damon.

He starts to play the intro again, just the first few bars, the progression Harry and I built together, the rhythm that felt rhythmic and alive.

I flinch.

“You can have it. The song. If you want it. Slap your name on it and pretend it was your idea.”

He shakes his head and lets his hands fall from the keys. “Nah. It’s not for me.”

He stands, adjusts his cuffs as though he’s on stage. “See you at two.”

“I’ve got plans.”

“Cancel them. It’s Belated Family Day; you’re contractually obligated to suffer.”

“What! That’s not fair, it’s not my fault you weren’t here for Sunday.”

He pauses at the door and gives me a what you going to do about it shrug. “And Seren?”

“What?”

“At least try and make an effort.”

He leaves before I can tell him exactly where to shove that sentiment.

The silence rushes in, thick and humming. I drift back to the piano before I realise I’ve moved. My fingers hover over the keys as though they don’t belong to me.