13. James
Chapter 13
James
B y the time I get home, my mood is soured, tainted by thoughts of Lucas. If only other people could see him the way I did—beyond the smooth, practiced facade he wears so well.
I’ll never forget that bank holiday when he was completing his final year of university. I was still finishing my A-Levels and had been letting off some steam by playing guitar. He couldn’t hide his irritation. Storming upstairs, he burst into my bedroom, seething.
“It doesn’t matter how much you practice; you’re never going to make it. No one will ever take you seriously.”
Then, he twisted a peg on my guitar so violently that the string snapped.
I was devastated. Mum saw my distress and felt so bad, she quietly replaced the string the next day. At the time, she didn’t mention it, but I later found out that she’d skipped her weekly coffee with friends to afford that string. It’s a small sacrifice, but it matters.
After that moment, I made myself a promise: I would earn enough money playing music—something Lucas despised—to ensure Mum could have anything she wanted without hesitation. She’d never have to skip a cup of coffee, or sacrifice the little joys that made her smile, again.
Without a second thought, I head straight for my bass. She’s a beauty—a rare Spector, her body carved from spalted buckeye in the US, one of only thirty ever made. I saved every penny I earned as a barista after finishing school, knowing she had to be mine.
Grabbing her off the stand, I sling the strap over my shoulder and let my fingers find the strings. Her smooth neck feels like a natural extension of me, and muscle memory takes over as I slide my fingers along the frets, plucking out a familiar melody.
There’s something visceral about the bass compared to other instruments—it reverberates through my entire body, even when I play it without an amp. It’s heavy and gives immediate feedback—you know right away if you’ve nailed it or missed the mark. Beethoven composed music without the ability to hear it; he felt every note through the vibrations. That’s how I feel about the bass. It isn’t just heard—it’s experienced. You don’t just listen to it; you feel it, deep in your bones.
And when I plug in and play on-stage, the experience is out of this world. The sound pours out and fills the room, overpowering everything else, until there’s nothing left but me and the music. When I play, the rest of the world disappears.
Although I can sing, singing isn’t really my thing—that’s Tom’s job—but when I’m alone, I enjoy writing the occasional song. For me, music is like a journal. Every note carries a memory, every chord captures a feeling, and together they tell the stories I struggle to put into words. Music has always been my greatest refuge. When the world feels too heavy, the notes act as an anchor, pulling me back to solid ground. Words? They’ve failed me more often than not over the years. But music? Music never lets me down. It’s always been my preferred language.
The melody of my song pulls me deeper, and I’m lost in it. The notes become my emotions, vulnerable and bare. And suddenly, I realise—I’m playing the way I heard her . She says she’s fine, but it’s what she doesn’t say that screams the loudest. The truth is in her quiet tone, the way her voice wavers in the middle of a sentence. I wonder if she realises how much she’s revealing without saying anything at all.
I wonder if Lucas could ever hear it.
I’ve never spent much time alone with April—funny how that only happens now, after she’s finally rid of my brother. Lucas never deserved her. She was always too good for him. I knew that from the start.
From the moment I saw the worried expression on April’s face at their engagement party, I knew Lucas was hiding something. I could see it in the way he was constantly checking his phone, sneaking glances like a kid who’d just discovered his own dick for the first time.
It’s weird for a man his age to be on his phone that much.
But that’s Lucas. Always chasing more. Nothing’s ever enough—jobs, friends, relationships. He gets comfortable for a while, then it’s as if stability starts to itch. The second things feel settled, he bolts, always searching for something better, shinier, like it’ll somehow fix what’s broken inside him.
And the worst part? I think deep down he knew April was the best thing that ever happened to him. But his ego wouldn’t let him see it through, so he let her slip right through his fingers, like a whisper in a breeze.
Lucas and I were never close growing up. The five-year age gap didn’t help—we were in different worlds. When I started secondary school, he was already off to university. While I was learning algebra, he was drinking pints and studying. By the time I wanted to close the gap between us, too much distance had already settled in. We were too different.
We did spend a bit more time together in my early twenties, mainly during long weekends and bank holidays. I’d stay with Mum and Dad and bring Abigail, my girlfriend at the time, along. But outside of those trips, we stayed in our own lanes and kept to ourselves.
He always called me the Golden Child, but it was never really like that. When Lucas left for university, it was just me at home with our parents, and I always made more of an effort with Mum and Dad—something he never bothered with.
Mum struggled with her mental health while we were growing up. Some days she’d shut down, isolate herself and hide away from everything. Dad always tried his best, which was never great, so I’d try to step in and help her out.
Being the youngest, I noticed when Mum’s mood began to shift. I was more reliant on them, so I saw when Mum needed support. I spent more time with her, played music for her when she was down. She’d take me to my guitar lessons and would stay to watch when I asked—that always made her happy. We had a bond. Not because I was placed on a pedestal or because I was the youngest, but because I cared—something Lucas never had time for.
He proved my point when he betrayed my trust and let me down harder than anyone ever had. It was the kind of betrayal you don’t come back from. Honestly, he’s lucky I still fucking talk to him.
When my hands finally grow tired and my fingertips sting from the strings, I set my bass back on the stand. I pull out my phone and shoot a message to the lads.
Me: We all good for practice tomorrow?
Oliver replies immediately.
Oliver: Absolutely. See you boys then .
Will: Yup .
Tom: All good. See you tomorrow .
Settling into my usual spot on the sofa, I drop my phone beside me and flick on the TV. I select my favourite show with the intention of distracting myself, but I can’t stop thinking about April—how sad she looked. Meek and tired.
When Anna told me April hadn’t been going to work, guilt gnawed at me. And when I saw her—when I took one look at her—I knew how defeated she was. My heart fucking broke for her.
The skin around her eyes appeared bruised with exhaustion, her skin pale and lifeless, missing that glow she always seemed to carry. Even her hair was undone, like she didn’t have the energy to care. April’s the kind of woman who takes pride in herself—always effortlessly beautiful. But when I saw her, her spark was gone. The woman I saw wasn’t the April I know.
My own flesh and blood did that to her.
And I can’t fucking let it go.
“Again!” Oliver shouts, clicking his drumsticks together overhead. I dive straight into the bass line. My fingers work on autopilot as they glide over the frets and my pick finds the strings.
Practice has been ramped up to multiple times a week, on top of the gigs we’ve already got locked in. It’s tiring, but that’s part of music.
We run through a few more sets, and by the time we’re done, we’re drenched in sweat and our bodies are heavy from exhaustion. Tom, our singer, grabs a water bottle and downs it in one go, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he catches his breath.
We start packing up, winding our cables and unplugging amps, my ears still buzzing from the music. As I coil my bass lead, Oliver asks, “So, how was your weekend, mate?”
I casually detail April and Lucas’s break-up, and how I spent my weekend caring for Basil and tidying up April’s townhouse, brushing it off as if it was no big deal, even though it was anything but.
Oliver chuckles, shaking his head. “You’re way too noble for your own good, mate.”
“Shit. I’m surprised,” Tom says, scratching the back of his head. “I didn’t think they’d ever break up—I thought they were, like, grossly in love .”
“Can’t say I am,” Will chimes in, folding a cable. “He’s an absolute twat. Never deserved her.”
Tom isn’t finished, though. “Why’d they break up?”
I exhale through my nose. “Apparently, he wouldn’t open up to her. Said he couldn’t be honest, and she figured if they couldn’t even have a proper conversation, there wasn’t much hope for the relationship.”
Tom wrinkles his nose. “Bullshit.”
“I know,” I reply flatly.
Will opens his mouth, his expression sly. “Do you think he?—”
“No idea, don’t care,” I cut him off before he can even finish the thought. “All I know is he fucked up.”
Will grins, the mischief in his eyes obvious. “Well, if you didn’t shag her, you’re a better man than me. She’s fit as fuck.”
My jaw tightens at Will’s comment, and I have to bite down the urge to react. Instead, I focus on pulling the strap off my bass, slinging it into the case with more force than necessary. I keep my tone flat as I say, “Can’t imagine why I’m still single, with you lot as role models.”
Oliver walks over and gives me a light-hearted clap on the back, the slap making my sweat-soaked shirt cling even tighter to my skin. Excellent.
Oliver’s my best mate—we’ve had each other’s backs since primary school. He’s been more of a brother to me than Lucas. There’s nothing I keep from him, and he always knows when something’s off.
“You good, mate?” he asks, his voice low.
“Yeah, man. I’m fine. Why?”
He shrugs, giving me that familiar, concerned look I’ve never liked. “Just checking in. I know Lucas?—”
“Oliver, it’s fine,” I cut him off, my tone sharper than intended.
He holds my gaze for a second, then nods slowly, accepting my boundary. “Alright, alright. See you at the gig.”
“Sounds good,” I say, giving him a quick fist bump.
And just like that, he drops it. That’s the thing about Oliver—he knows when to push, and when to let me be.
I wipe down the strings and then close my guitar case. “I’ll see you guys at the Mayfair Lounge on Friday,” I say, giving them a quick nod before turning towards the door. Slinging my bag over my shoulder, I head out without another word.
I need to focus on the music.