Page 84 of The Sound Between Us
I’m already declining the calls, but they keep coming.
“Seren, turn it off. It will get worse before it gets better.”
“How do you know?”
“Because this exact thing happened to me two years ago. Different scandal, same feeding frenzy.” His voice is matter-of-fact. “Except mine involved a married actress and a very public divorce. The headlines were creative, I’ll give them that. ‘Home-wrecker Harrison’ was probably my favourite.”
Something twists in my gut at the mention of another woman. Another person he might have loved, might have lost himself in, might have been willing to destroy his reputation for.
“Did you love her?”
He stares at me, his gaze clear and unflinching. “For a time, maybe.”
The honesty hits harder than I expected. No deflection, no pretty lie to make me feel better. Just the truth, simple and devastating.
“You’re taking this very well.”
“Practice.” He shrugs. “The first time they tore me apart in print, I didn’t leave my flat for three weeks. Had groceries delivered, ignored my management, the whole dramatic hermit routine.” He pauses. “Then I realised they’re going to write whatever story sells papers, whether I hide or not. Might as well live my life.”
I power down the phone with shaking hands.
“I can’t go back. Not yet.”
“Then don’t.”
“It’s not that simple—”
“It is, though.” Harrison’s arms come around me, and for once I don’t pull away. “One week. Give it one week for the circus to move on to the next shiny disaster.”
I nod against his chest, breathing in that clean, warm scent that’s becoming dangerously familiar.
“Give yourself one week before you decide anything. One week to figure out what you want to do, where you want to go. Whether you want to give them the satisfaction of seeing you run.”
“What’s in it for you?”
His smile is rueful. “Maybe I’m tired of being alone with my terrible guitar playing. And maybe...” He hesitates. “Maybe I know what it feels to have the whole world watching you fail.”
I study his face, cataloguing the exhaustion around his eyes, the way his jaw tightens when he mentions the actress, the careful way he’s holding me.
“I pay my own way. Whatever your assistant buys, I reimburse.”
“Deal. But you’re getting the friends and family rate.”
“Which is?”
“Free.”
One week. Seven days to figure out how to face the music I’ve made of my life. Seven days to decide if I’m brave enough to stop running.
“One week.”
“One week.”
And maybe, just maybe, that’s exactly what I need.
