39. James
Chapter 39
James
A fter an eventful morning, one that fortunately ended peacefully, I head home to play my bass. The last few weeks with April have been euphoric. It’s been so great, I almost feel like I’m living in a dream I half expect to wake from at any moment. Whatever times not spent working or practicing has been spent with her, and it’s bliss.
As hard as the last few years have been, after all the shit my brother put me through, I’ve finally found a place where my life is starting back up again. Every day April and I spend together, getting to know each other more deeply, I feel myself falling further. It’s happened faster than I ever imagined. She is so unexpected. It’s this strange, exhilarating kind of freedom, like we’re both free-falling, yet somehow, together, we’ll land safely.
She’s gorgeous, intelligent, and funny, and every little thing I discover about her only makes me want to hold on tighter. The way she dances around the house singing when she’s happy. The way she steals glances and smiles shyly. The way her face glows when she’s excited. The way she speaks to Basil in hushed tones when she thinks no one can hear her. She awakens thoughts and emotions in me that I’ve never had about anybody before.
I finish up prepping some meals for the week ahead before picking up my guitar and running my fingers across the strings.
After a few minutes of tuning, I set into one of the harder songs we’ve been perfecting. I’m lost in a musical trance when inspiration suddenly hits me, and I pause. Walking to my bookshelf, I pull out my notebook, then head back to the sofa with my bass. I drop into the cushion, setting the notebook on the coffee table and flip it open to a blank page. Reaching into the coffee table drawer, I sift around until I find a pen. I pull the cap off with my teeth, spit it aside, and dive in.
I jot down notes and lyrics, spilling the melody from my mind onto the paper. I alternate between singing, playing, and writing, scribbling and crossing out notes until I’m satisfied with the sound.
Hours must pass until I come up for air. It’s dark out and my stomach grumbles in protest as I glance down at my notebook. Pages full of emotion and raw vulnerability that I needed to expose. A sense of pride swells in my gut and a smile spreads across my face.
I just wrote a whole damn song.
I wake the next morning feeling energised. The audition is next Friday, and it’ll run like a mini festival. The competition spans two days, with each band assigned a day and time to perform one set—ideally of their own music, and we’re playing day two. Bound to Oblivion and their management will be there, so we’ve decided to stick with our usual progressive rock sound. It’s our favourite, and it’s what the crowd will connect with. Only one of our songs requires a little more fine-tuning, but I think we’re ready to show just how far we’ve come. We’re up against some impressive talent, but I’m feeling good. And no matter the outcome, we’ll know we gave it our all.
I get ready for the day, load my gear into my car and head to Oliver’s.
Oliver’s place is out in Richmond. It’s lush, with sprawling greenery and paths along the Thames, not to mention some excellent pubs. It’s a great place to be in the warmer months. The lucky bastard had it made with a solid finance background; both his mum and dad were investment bankers, so they’re not short of a quid. They were gutted when he chose not to pursue law after earning his degree, and instead, chose to pursue a career in music. They got over it after seeing how happy music made him and witnessing the dedication he’s poured into the band. He’s an incredible drummer, and I couldn’t imagine playing without him.
I pull up, switch off the engine, and round the boot. The front door swings open, and Oliver strides out to help with the gear. He claps me on the back, greeting me with a quick “Hey.”
“Hey. The other guys here?”
“We’re just waiting on Will.”
We carry the equipment through the house, navigating our way to the garage next to the utility room, where I begin to set everything up.
Tom saunters into the garage with a sly look on his face. “How you doing, mate?”
I narrow my eyes at him. “Good, Tommy,” I drawl. “You?”
“Not as good as you, apparently,” he says, leaning against the brick wall and crossing one leg over the other, fixing me with a pointed look. I can’t contain the smirk tugging at the corner of my mouth as I focus on untangling a cord.
“Oh, you’ve got it bad, huh?” Tom teases in a playful tone.
Oliver walks past me, clapping me on the shoulder. “Give him a break, yeah, Tom?”
Tom grins. “So,” he says, pushing off the wall and stepping closer. I drop the cord on the floor.
“Yes, Tom,” I say, opening my arms wide. “What is it you’d like to know? Just ask me.”
He cocks his head. “You and April?” He lets the question hang in the air.
“Yes,” I confirm, holding his gaze. “Me and April.”
He cocks an eyebrow, curious. “Does Lucas know?”
“Yes.”
“Shit,” he says, clearly not expecting that answer.
“Yes,” I repeat, nodding.
Oliver’s gaze darts between us, a look of amusement spreading across his face.
“How?” Tom asks.
“Well, he figured it out pretty quickly when he showed up on April’s doorstep and found me coming down her staircase in a towel,” I say, a smug grin breaking through.
“Oh, shit !” Tom shouts, pressing a fist to his mouth to stifle his laughter. Even Oliver’s trying to contain his delight. He can’t stand Lucas, so I know this is music to his ears. I can’t help but feel a small sense of satisfaction at the memory.
Was his unplanned, unannounced arrival at April’s awkward? Definitely. But seeing the look on Lucas’s face … I have to admit, it felt pretty good.
“What did I miss?” Will bursts into the garage, sweaty and out of breath, clutching his guitar case—no amp, no cords.
Oliver raises an eyebrow. “What the hell happened to you?”
Will grins, waggling his eyebrows. “Stayed over at Victoria’s place last night,” he says between pants.
I eye him suspiciously. “Why are you so sweaty?”
“Had to leg it from the station,” he replies, dropping his guitar to the floor.
I shake my head. “I would’ve picked you up, mate.”
“Well, maybe you could have mentioned that!” he shoots back, irritated.
“And how the fuck was I supposed to know? I’m not a bloody mind-reader,” I reply.
Before he can answer, Tom cuts in, “Lucas knows James is shagging April.”
Will’s head snaps to me so fast I’m surprised it doesn’t fall off. “You’re shagging April?”
“Yup,” Tom says, smiling. I roll my eyes.
“I’m dating April,” I clarify. Tom wiggles his eyebrows.
“Well done, my man,” Will replies, walking over and clapping me on the shoulder. “So, how’d brother dearest find out?” he asks, wide-eyed.
I open my mouth to answer, but Tom beats me to it. Again. “Caught James at April’s place in nothing but a towel.”
Will’s gaze swings to me, and I just shrug.
He beams. “That’s amazing.”
“Serves him right,” Tom says.
I crook a small smile and get to work plugging in my cables.
“Do you think he’ll say something to your parents?” Will asks.
I straighten up. “Doubt it. He’s not exactly in a position to start airing my shit.”
Oliver chimes in, more serious now. “Does April know? About Lucas and Abi?”
I let out a sigh, running a hand through my hair. “Yeah, she does.”
Whenever the guys used to bring up Lucas and Abi, I’d cringe and quickly change the subject. But now … I don’t feel anything about either of them. And it feels like I’ve broken free from the chain.
Oliver nods, understanding. “How did she take it?”
“As well as I’d expected,” I say. “She was surprised, hurt … worried.”
Oliver nods, and Tom tilts his head. “So, what’s the plan?”
“Nothing changes,” I say. “We want to be together, and Lucas will just have to live with it,” I take a steadying breath. “I’m going to have to tell Mum.”
“What do you think she’ll say?” Oliver asks.
It’s a question that’s been weighing on my mind for weeks. From the moment this thing with April began, I knew it would eventually lead to this conversation. It won’t be comfortable, and I have no idea how Dad’s going to respond, but it’s inevitable. One thing is certain—nothing will keep me from her. Not Lucas. Not Mum or Dad. Not even the possibility of touring, not anymore.
“I honestly have no idea. But there’s only one way to find out,” I say. Walking over to Oliver, I pull my notebook from my back pocket and hand it to him. He flips it open and begins scanning over the chords I scribbled down yesterday.
His brow pinches as he turns to me. “What’s this?”
“I wrote something. I know it’s late notice, but I thought maybe we could try it out,” I say, suddenly nervous. It’s been a while since I’ve written a song, let alone sung, but this one feels right. I opened myself completely, like I took a dagger to my heart and spilt my blood onto the pages.
He nods, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Yeah, alright, I reckon we can give it a shot.” He holds up the notebook. “Let me scan a few copies and we can get started.”
When he returns, Tom steps aside, giving me the mic, and we dive straight into it. We work through my song bit by bit, making adjustments until it blends perfectly. A current buzzes through me as we play, and I can tell the guys are loving every moment.
That’s what I love most about this band—we feed off one another’s energy and offer unwavering support.
After a few run-throughs, we’re all in agreement—if we can nail it by next week, we’ll add it to the set. The thought alone sends my pulse racing, and I can’t help but imagine what it would feel like performing something so personal, sharing that moment with my best friends.
By the time we’re done, the sun has sunk, and we’re completely exhausted, especially Oliver—drumming’s no joke and takes it out of him more than the rest of us. Not that he ever complains. The bloke is jacked. We exchange a few tired goodbyes, and I load my gear into the car, drop Will off at his flat, then finally head home.
With Lucas out of the way and the band on track, there’s just one final hurdle to clear.
I’ll tell Mum about April and me tomorrow.