Phoebe
F ebruary turned to March, and ’s new routine was forming nicely. After her post-therapy nap, she walked to her art studio across the road from her apartment. She couldn’t paint yet, but she had some prints to package from her website and being in the studio with all her supplies and work made her feel safe. Despite her therapist’s advice, she was still napping during the day to help combat her insomnia—her nights were haunted by the recurring nightmare of Cillian reaching for her as paramedics pulled her from the crumpled vehicle. Though, last night, she had dreamt of another event that frightened her, this time involving a beautiful set of red lips and dark eyes. She hadn’t mentioned Axel—or his lips—to her therapist because she was too busy celebrating her physio telling her the mobility in her thumb was improving faster than anticipated, and it shouldn’t be long before she could start working on holding a pencil or paintbrush again.
As she reached into her bag for her studio keys, a call from Axel lit up her phone. She wanted to share the good news, but she hadn’t spoken to her brother or the others since the funeral two weeks ago. She’d been avoiding their calls, especially Axel’s. He was taking up enough of her thoughts already. Now wasn’t the time for complicated romances.
Her foot crunched on glass on the front step outside the abandoned bookstore turned art studio. She startled, noticing the smashed-in window panels in the front door, which hung ajar.
Why the hell would someone want to break in? She didn’t have cash inside, and even if her paintings had tripled in price since the accident thanks to the onslaught of media attention, large canvases wouldn’t be easy to take or sell.
Carefully, pushed open the door with her sleeve in case there were fingerprints. She flicked on the studio lights, and her blood ran cold. The intruder hadn’t been interested in stealing her work, but destroying it. Slowly, she approached her last unfinished commission. The original sketch was of a fire-wrought figure in pink overalls blowing glass over a furnace. A glass artist had commissioned it for their workshop, but now, the word ‘IT’ had been streaked across the canvas in neon green. Taking a step back, she saw the paintings on the red brick walls were sprayed with ‘SHOULD’, ‘HAVE’, ‘BEEN’…
She nearly slipped on the paint spattered wooden floor, where she found the final message. ‘YOU’.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me?” she muttered to herself as her bag slipped from her shoulder. How could one of Cillian’s fans go so far?
The paint on the floor was still wet, which meant whoever did this wasn’t gone long. Reaching for her phone to call the police, she heard a scuffle coming from the back. She froze, terrified they might still be here. Ruining a canvas was one thing, breaking and entering another, but the threatening message left her trembling. From her toolbox by a stack of new canvases, she grabbed a box cutter and followed the sound through the small hallway to the storage room and kitchen. The light in the hallway had gone out months ago, and she suddenly regretted not getting it fixed sooner. There was a back door in the kitchen, so she hoped all she had heard was the intruder leaving.
“Come out! I’ve already called the police!” yelled.
She swung open the kitchen door, brandishing the box cutter, hoping to scare off any intruder. Instead, a silhouette advanced on her. She lashed out with a loud cry. A curse and loud hiss caused her to jump back. She opened her eyes to find Axel holding his forearm and cursing wildly.
“Axel? Why are you lurking around my studio in the dark?” she yelled, only to notice the blood on the box cutter.
“Why do you have a knife?” Axel growled, holding his arm.
“You scared the shit out of me!” she said, forgetting about apologising. “It’s not a knife, it’s a box cutter. And I was scared because you broke in! Did you see the spray-painted message?” Not that she owed him an explanation.
He glared at her like she was the one breaking and entering. “I didn’t break in! Nick said you’d probably be here; I was coming to check on you since you aren’t answering our calls. When I arrived, the door was open and the window smashed. I came in through the back in case the person was still here,” Axel said, examining the cut on his forearm. She had sliced through his jacket to his arm. Not bad, given she couldn’t use her dominant hand. Moving around him, she turned on the kitchen light to get a better look.
“Sorry, I panicked, can you please sit down at the counter? I’ve got some plasters under the kitchen sink and some disinfectant. I don’t think I’ve ever washed this.” She put the box cutter down by the pink kettle. She had plenty of plasters since she always nicked herself putting together canvases.
“It’s a scratch, but if you insist,” he said, and rolled up his sleeve. Blood seeped from the thin slice but the tattoos hid the damage.
“I do. I don’t need fans thinking I’m trying to kill another band member. If they hear that I cut you they might go from spray paint to burning the place down.”
“You saw the new posts?” he asked while she grabbed the first aid kit from under the sink.
“You mean the ones accusing me of using his death to make money because people have been reselling my latest collection at triple the price? I’m well able to make my own way without him.” She felt better getting it off her chest.
“I’m sorry you had to see that. We hoped you hadn’t.” He looked at her like she was spiralling. heard ‘we’, but the look in his eye told her ‘me’ .
“Did the others send you? Sorry I didn’t answer a few texts and calls, but you didn’t need to send in the cavalry. Speaking of cavalry, I should call the police,” she said, dabbing the blood away from the wound with cotton wool and some disinfectant.
“I sent myself, and don’t worry, I called the police when I first arrived. If you’d have answered your phone, you’d have known that,” he said as she took his hand in hers. He held her hand tighter as she secured the dinosaur plaster.
“Big baby, it doesn’t need stitches.” She smirked. “The cartoons really go with your tattoos.”
“Really brings out my bad boy persona.” He pulled down his sleeve.
“Thank you for calling the police. I got distracted by the mess. I never expected someone to go this far.”
“They should be here soon,” he said, taking a seat across from her.
The silence threatened to drown her as the space filled up with all they wanted to say.
“Can I ask if you’ve been avoiding me since the funeral? Is it because of what happened?” he asked, cutting to the point.
This is why he came here, not because I hadn’t been replying, she thought, remaining on the other side of the kitchen table.
“It wasn’t because of what happened between us,” she said, putting the bloody cotton wool in the bin. “I needed some breathing room and I’ve been focusing on my physio and keeping up with my orders to distract me from all the chaos online.”
When she turned around, her eyes landed on her purple notebook in his hand. Instantly, she forgot about the spray paint, the break-in, even their kiss.
“Why do you have that?” A cold sweat caused her to shiver. “I thought I lost that in the accident.”
It was the only remaining evidence that she had helped write their songs. She wondered what the fans who hated her would think of their precious Cillian if they knew he had been taking credit for her work for years. All the lyrics they quoted, screamed at concerts, sang in the shower and tattooed on their skin were hers, not his. Well, theirs.
“I came here to tell you that we need each other.” Axel put the notebook on the paint-splattered table beside them. The kitchen was the best place to mix paints, even if it made the room look like a Jackson Pollock painting. She listened. “You clearly need protection, and the band needs songs. Anita is trying her best to hold off the label, but they want to use all the publicity to their advantage.” Axel’s words dripped with disgust.
“Death is free advertising. But why come to me? Everything you need is in there.” scoffed, putting the cap back on the disinfectant. At least the police were on the way so Axel couldn’t stay long. She wanted to start cleaning up the mess outside.
“Because you left this in my tour bus that day—”
She cut him off. “I didn’t write them alone. The lyrics, yes, but Cillian did the arranging with you guys. Keep the notebook, use it as you please.” She backed away like the notebook was a weapon.
“Were you ever going to tell the band you’ve been writing their songs?” he asked, following her until she backed into the fridge.
‘Were you ever going to tell me my dead fiancé was cheating on me?”
He took a deep breath at that.
“Sorry, that wasn’t fair,” she said. They had all apologised enough.
“I think him taking credit for your work is worse than cheating,” Axel added, giving her some space as he went to stand by the sink.
“Spoken like a man who has never been in love.” She crossed her arms over her chest, and he waited for her to continue. “I didn’t want the credit. Seeing him happy on stage, singing our songs was reward enough.”
“Loving you would’ve meant giving you the credit you deserved,” Axel huffed, putting his jacket back on. “If we’d known, we wouldn’t have given Cillian so many chances. The reason we thought he was acting out, drinking, partying, was because of the pressure the studio had him under to produce a new album, but it was you writing them this whole time.”
“Have you told the others?” said, afraid of what he would say.
“No, but can you tell me why you had it that night in Munich?”
“I wanted to surprise him with the finished songs. It took me longer than expected to add the final touches because of my art show,” she confessed, and it felt good to tell the truth. “I didn’t realise the toll it was taking on Cillian. This was the only time he relied on my input so much.”
“He was partying it up while you were doing his work for him,” Axel scoffed, his leg bouncing.
“Can you stop making this worse? I hate him enough at the minute already,” she snapped.
“Sorry, but I’ve got to tell the others. They deserve to know, and I won’t continue this lie. Nick would kill me if he found out that I’d kept this from him.”
“They’re grieving, you can’t put this on them. Why can’t you leave it alone?” she asked, not wanting him to complicate her life any further.
Axel hesitated. “I won’t tell them for now, but we have to tell them at some point. Cillian doesn’t deserve to have us lying for him anymore.”
couldn’t argue. Though she wondered if he was being so hard on Cillian because of his own grief. They had never been super close, but after five years living in the same house and being on the road together, they had a brotherly bond—and that didn’t always mean they had to like each other.
“How can you be okay with someone, anyone, using your work?” he asked softly. “What if someone was copying your artwork and reselling it?”
There was no point in discussing something he couldn’t understand. She went to him and took his hand.
“Please just use the songs, I don’t care what you do with them. I don’t want anything, please just take it, and think of it as a gift. Happy birthday and Christmas,” she added, trying to get him to accept it so they could move on. “It’s only one more album, and if you don’t take it, then you’ll have to face Anita with no songs. You’ve got enough to deal with without having to come up with a new album. Just say thank you.”
Axel studied their joined hands. He stared at the long scar along her thumb, and he let out a sigh. “I can’t say no to you. So, thank you,” he conceded, putting the notebook back inside his jacket. “But you have to agree that we will tell them?”
She nodded eagerly. “Not now, but soon.”
Axel took her breath away as he kissed the back of her hand. The feel of his lips against her sensitive nerves made her light up—he wasn’t grossed out by her scar. She turned his hand, and much to his amusement, kissed his palm, calloused from years of drumming.
“We’ve shook on it, so no take backs,” he said.
“No take backs.” She released him as the electricity became too much. “The last thing to do is to clean up. You’ve bled all over my floor.” She grabbed a towel to clean up the droplets.
“Remind me to never surprise you again,” he grumbled.
“Are you going to help?” She tossed him a rag. “I don’t want the police coming in and seeing the blood.”
“The police are the least of our concerns,” he muttered under his breath.
The sound of footsteps echoing down the hall interrupted them. The police had arrived. Voices called out their names.
“Maybe we shouldn’t have called them,” fretted, putting the towel on the counter. “I don’t want the break-in to get leaked to the press. Getting the police involved only draws attention.” She was afraid of what the headlines would be. That, and she had her own plans to find out who did this.
“Someone broke in, and they deserve to be punished. This is about your safety. Even if it gets leaked, the intruder might get spooked and back off,” Axel said, resting his hands on her shoulders. She stared up at him, knowing he was right.
Axel guided her out of the kitchen, and they found two stern-looking police officers looking over the studio.
“Axel Adler? You called about an intruder?” the officer with red hair and a long beard said, squaring his shoulders as Axel shook his hand.
“Yes, thank you for coming,” Axel said. “I got here about thirty minutes ago, and I noticed the broken window in the door. I went around back to see if I could catch the person, but they were already gone.”
The officer looked to . She felt that was her cue to continue.
“I noticed the door, and came in to turn on the light. That’s when I saw the threatening message on the canvases and the floor,” she added, feeling like she was back in the hospital in Munich being questioned. She had seen enough uniforms to last a lifetime.
Thankfully, the red-headed officer didn’t seem to care who he was interviewing as he took down the details of the break-in. It was the female officer with a pixie cut who offered them her condolences, and that damn slanted smile that made want to roll her eyes.
“Do you want to go to the hospital?” the redhead asked, looking at Axel’s torn jacket. “Did the intruder injure you?”
“No, I don’t,” he said firmly. “As I said, whoever broke in was already gone.”
“How did you get injured?” The officer arched a brow.
“I cut him,” admitted, not wanting to draw out the interview any longer than necessary. “It was an accident, I thought he was the intruder. The light is out in the hallway to the kitchen, and I couldn’t see that it was him.”
“Right, and you don’t need medical attention?” the redhead asked again, while the other officer examined the door.
“ already took care of it,” Axel said, holding his arm.
“Has anything been taken?” the male officer asked , taking notes on a tiny pad that looked comical in his large hand. The woman had moved on to taking pictures of the ruined artwork.
“No, I don’t think so. They slashed some canvases, and graffitied my work,” she explained. “Put the paintings together and it spells out ‘it should have been you’.”
“Have you received any threatening messages prior to this?” he asked, looking up when she hesitated. He looked between them like he already knew the answer.
“There has been some negative media attention about me recently. Mostly just internet trolls.” Since the officers were fans, she didn’t need to elaborate.
The officer nodded solemnly, like he understood.
“My agent, Lena, is handling my social media at the minute so I’m not sure of any specific messages or threats.”
Axel scowled as she brushed over the topic. She wasn’t going to mention the calls her parents had received.
“Have your agent take screenshots of the accounts and the messages, in case they delete their accounts or things escalate,” the officer instructed.
“Judging from the state of her studio, things have already escalated,” Axel interrupted.
pulled at the corner of his jacket, not wanting his tone to get him in trouble.
“I understand you’re upset, but you need to keep a level head,” the officer said, closing his pad. “We’ll find who did this.” He looked between them. “What is your relationship?”
didn’t like the implication in his tone, the way his gaze shifted between them as though they were guilty of something.
“She’s my best friend’s sister,” Axel said gruffly. “Why does it matter?”
“Sir, I’m only trying to get a better understanding of the situation. These are routine questions,” the officer said curtly. “Ms Fletcher, do you live with anyone?”
“No—I live alone, in the apartment building across the road.” wondered if ‘escalating’ meant they’d come to her home next.
The officers glanced at one another solemnly.
“Given that you live across the street, I’d suggest you stay with someone for the time being,” the man said. “Better to err on the side of caution, given your notoriety and connections.”
“Is that necessary? I doubt whoever did this even knows where I live. My studio is publicly listed for clients,” she argued, feeling Axel’s heavy gaze on her. This is exactly what he wanted. Ammunition to get me to move in.
“We can’t force you to follow our suggestions, but it wouldn’t be hard for people to find out where you live. If you decide to remain at home, here is my number. If you hear or see anything or anyone strange, please don’t hesitate to call,” the officer said.
“Thank you, I will.” doubted if there was anything to be done. At least no one was hurt and everything in the studio was insured.
“And I’d suggest you install some cameras. We’ll request the street cams, but their view won’t be perfect.” The female officer smiled tightly.
“I’ll get on it,” said. “I have to change the locks and have the door fixed anyway.”
“Right, well, we’ll leave you now and contact you again if we have any updates or questions,” the officer finished, having taken photos and prints from the door.
was amazed they left without asking for Axel’s autograph, though the bearded officer had looked like he was on the verge of asking before his partner called him away. Once the officers were gone, Axel helped her collect all she needed to take home from the studio without complaint. She accepted his help gratefully as she wanted to get out as quickly as possible. He carried the boxes outside and waited for her while she pulled down the rarely used shutter. She had never thought she would need to use it. She bolted it with a padlock, hoping that would prevent anyone getting in again.