Thatch - The Voice Of Reason
NATE
Nate
Practice is tomorrow. We need you there to finish this album. Call me if you need anything, yeah?
I hit send and watch the message go through to Tommy.
No response. Not that I expect one immediately—Tommy's been operating on his own timeline for months.
I recognize the pattern because I lived it. The difference is I had people who didn't let me slip away completely.
I set the phone down on the kitchen counter and pour myself a cup of coffee because it's going to be a late one mixing tracks tonight, eyes drifting to the window.
The cabin she's staying in is just visible through the trees, lights on, curtains drawn. She's been here a couple of days now, and I still don't know why I offered it. Why I'm letting her stay. Every part of me wants to pull away, create distance, protect whatever stability I've built.
And yet something insists I don't.
Maybe it's the faint hope that we can navigate this awkwardness without collapsing into the past. Maybe it's just that seeing her here feels right in a way nothing else has in years.
Movement catches my eye through the window.
The cabin door opens and she steps out, heading toward her car.
And I freeze.
She's wearing shorts—denim, frayed at the edges, riding up just slightly on her thighs—and a loose tank top that moves with her as she walks.
Her legs are lean and toned, curves in all the places I remember, and my brain immediately supplies the observation: she must still run.
The thought is automatic. Unwelcome. Devastating.
Because I remember those legs. Remember them wrapped around my waist, trembling against my shoulders, soft and strong and perfect.
And now I'm standing here watching her walk to her car like some kind of creep, unable to look away from the way the shorts hug her hips, the way her hair catches the afternoon light.
My chest tightens without warning.
My hands curl into fists at my sides.
This is torture.
Having her this close. Watching her exist in my space, wearing shorts that should be illegal, looking like every fantasy I've tried to bury for seven years.
I've forgotten how careful you have to be when someone carries as much of themselves as she does. How easily the weight can shift, how quickly things can break.
How impossible it is to maintain any kind of distance when she looks like fucking that.
Julian's in the booth running through a riff, his voice cutting through clean and honest the way it always does.
But I'm distracted.
"Yo." Julian's voice cuts through my headphones. "You hearing this or are you off on another planet?"
I scowl, pulling one side of the headphones off. "I'm listening. Keep going."
He grins, leaning against the mic stand. "That brunette staying in the cabin have anything to do with you being completely checked out today?"
"Shut up and sing."
He laughs, but there's curiosity in his eyes. "I'm just saying, man. You've been different since she showed up. Not bad different. Just... different."
"Your job is to finish this track, not psychoanalyse me."
"Multi-talented," he says with a shrug, but he drops it. Goes back to the riff, lets me pretend I'm focused on levels and EQ when really I'm thinking about that brunette.
My phone buzzes on the console.
Jay
Sonder tonight. You coming? Ollie's gonna be there. Drinks. Talking shit. The usual.
Nate
Yeah, we'll be there.
I glance at Julian through the glass. "You and the boys free tonight? Drinks at Sonder."
"Have you met these lads? They're always free for drinks," he says.
There's a soft knock at the studio door.
I look up from the mixing board to see Nora standing in the doorway, hands clasped behind her back, avoiding eye contact in that way she does when she's nervous.
"Hey," she says softly. “Sorry to interrupt but I, um... I accidentally broke one of the cabinet handles. In the kitchen."
Julian immediately perks up in the booth, pulling off his headphones with obvious interest.
I raise an eyebrow at Nora, fighting back a smile.
"I'm really sorry. I don't know how it happened. I was just opening it and it kind of... came off in my hand." She's rambling now, guilt written all over her face. "I can replace it. Or pay for it. Or—"
"Len." I cut her off gently. "It's fine. Accidents happen."
Julian pushes the talkback button, his voice coming through the speakers. "Wait, hold up. You're telling me someone actually broke something in Nate's precious cabins and he's not losing his mind?"
Nora's eyes widen slightly, a flush creeping up her neck.
I shoot Julian a look. "Don't you have a track to finish?"
"Track can wait." He's already coming out of the booth, guitar still strapped across his chest, that easy grin on his face. "Hi, I'm Julian or Thatch, if you prefer. You must be the Nora I've heard absolutely nothing about because this guy is emotionally constipated."
"Julian—" I warn.
"What? I'm just being polite and introducing myself because you seem to have forgotten how to.” He extends a hand to Nora, completely ignoring my glare. "Lead singer of The Row, professional pain in Nate's ass, occasional voice of reason."
Nora takes his hand, and despite her obvious embarrassment, the corner of her mouth twitches. "Nora. Professional cabinet-breaker, apparently."
"Hey, everyone's got a talent." Julian leans against the console, completely at ease. "Though between you and me, I think Nate's just going soft. Last week I spilled coffee on the mixing board and he looked like he was about to murder me."
"That was a forty-thousand-dollar mixing board," I point out.
"See? Soft. A year ago you would've actually murdered me." He turns back to Nora. "He's been in a weirdly good mood lately. Very suspicious."
Nora laughs—actually laughs—and the sound hits me somewhere in the chest.
I haven't heard her laugh like that in so long, unguarded and genuine, and Julian's ridiculous charm is somehow pulling it out of her.
"So how long are you staying?" Julian asks. "Because if you're here through the weekend, we're playing Sonder Saturday night. You should come."
"Uh, yeah," Nora says, glancing at me briefly before looking back at Julian. "You guys are great. I'd love to hear you play live.”
"Oh thank you." Julian grins, then his expression shifts to something more sincere. "We have a pretty decent producer." He gestures at me with his thumb. “You know this guy, he saved my life. He—"
"Julian—" I start, heat creeping up my neck.
"I'm serious." He looks at Nora, and there's no joke in his voice now. "He's the reason I'm not still sleeping on someone's couch and playing for beer money."
"Okay, that's enough. I don't think we need to bore her to death."
"You're too humble for your own good, Nathaniel." Julian's eyes meet mine, and there's gratitude there that makes my chest tight.
Then he turns back to Nora with that grin returning. "Anyway, point is, you're in good hands here. Even if you break all the cabinets."
Nora's looking at me now, something soft in her expression that I don't know how to read.
"I know I am."
The moment stretches until Julian clears his throat deliberately.
"Right. Well. I should probably get back to pretending to work while Nate pretends to pay attention to the mix." He pushes off the console, heading back toward the booth. "Nice meeting you, Nora. Seriously, come to Sonder this weekend. I promise we sound even better live.”
"I'll be there," she says, still smiling.
Julian disappears to God knows where, and I turn to Nora, trying to ignore the embarrassment still heating my face.
"Sorry about him. He has no filter. He’s been hanging around Jay too much”
"He clearly cares about you."
"Yeah, well." I shove my hands in my pockets. "The feeling's mutual."
"But seriously," I say instead, "don't worry about the cabinet. I'll fix it."
“Sorry. Again.” She shifts her weight, and she's about to leave, but then she hesitates.
"You uh... You can stay if you want to listen?"
"I would but I promised Camilla and Mia I'd help with the gift bags for the baby shower and you know how Camilla gets when you mess with her schedule.”
"Oh. Yeah, of course." I try not to let the disappointment show.
"Thanks again."
"Stop thanking me, Len. There's no need for it."
The nickname slips out without me thinking, and I watch her breath catch slightly before she nods and turns to leave.
Julian's voice comes through the talkback as soon as she’s gone.
“Damn man. You're seriously fucked."
I don't answer, just watch her walk away through the glass.
“And definitely still in love with her."
"Why are you still talking? Get back to the track."
"Yes boss," he says, but I hear the grin in his voice. "I get it though. Why you'd still be mad about her. She seems great. And she definitely looked at you the same way you look at her when you think no one's watching."
"I'm turning off your talkback."
"You won't. Voice of reason, remember?”
I shake my head and try to focus on the mix.