Chapter 7 Wren
Chapter seven
Wren
KARAOKE has been in full swing for a while now, but I haven't been able to bring myself to help the guys as much as I had planned.
Phoenix is deep into a cover of Shania Twain, dance moves and all which has most of the guests on the makeshift stage space.
I had originally thought immersing myself in playing guitar would have distracted me from the entire evening, but that was till I met Robin.
I'm acutely aware of her at all times, drinking, dancing with the girls, watching the band play and even talking a number of times with that guy, Cardinal.
I don't know why, but I really don't like that.
She doesn't know him like she also doesn't know me, so why does he get her smiles?
Is he her type?
I've been sulking most of the party so far from the same round table, unable to stop myself just fucking thinking. I'm completely hung up on a feeling of unease, my growing fascination with the tiny brunette a brand new thing to me.
Minute details flash through my mind. I envision lines on paper, dots for freckles, Caramel orbs, an outline of plush lips, graphite smudges of long, soft dark hair.
I imagine reading books into the late twilight, blankets on floors, hands entwined, piles of clothes, soothing music as lips collide over and over.
But I also see cups of hot chocolate, sprinkled with cinnamon and cream which creates that perfect shade to match those eyes.
My thoughts twist to hands embracing small versions of mine over the cup, a slight tremor as they hold strong for the perfect moment.
I think of my childhood home, the love that finally flourished from a hard start, and the end that has a painful ache permanently etched into my chest. I think of Mum, of being left, like everyone always does.
Futures and dreams ripped from me. Someone always leaves and I'm always left alone.
I'm so fucking lonely.
I might see so many of my hopes in her eyes, but I see her leaving too. So vividly that I don't think my already punctured heart could take another risk.
Nursing another can of soft drink, my eyes land across the lawn at Corbin, who all evening has been watching her with a predatory glare, when his fiancée isn't with him. Scumbag. Currently he’s in a deep discussion with Merle, speaking low, but suddenly both voices can be heard over the music.
He looks bored, but speaks firmly which causes Merle's hands to curl into tight fists by his side, whilst he grits a reply through his teeth.
I start to rise from the table, in case I'm needed for god knows whatever reason, when Corbin laughs and walks away towards the house.
After a shell shocked moment, Merle spins on his heel, making his way across the lawn to where I am in my grey cloud of despair.
Despair not jealousy.
I. Am. Not. Jealous.
Throwing himself into the seat next to me, he picks up one of his half empty beer bottles and drains it.
“Bloody hell. That bad?” I gawk, because honestly I've never seen anything get under his skin before. Not even when Phin was up to his usual antics. The tension is buzzing from his body and it has me worried—I don’t deal very well with angry people.
“I know he's Phin's brother, but I just–I actually hate him. So. Much.” He says through gritted teeth and slams the bottle onto the table.
He stares forward at the guests singing along and dancing, his eyes becoming glassy.
If only he knew the half of it. If only he knew what was really going on with Corbin and Phoenix.
Guilt swelling, I have to take a sip of my own drink just to push down the nausea.
I feel like such a terrible friend right now.
I want to say so much, come clean about what we’re withholding from him and just deal with the consequences, but then I look around us, at the party that should have been thrown in celebration for the both of them.
Instead we have to play some ridiculous game.
I’m unnerved by his announcement, because well, he could have anything on me, but I’m pretty sure I know.
Someone like him doesn’t just sit on information; they can use it to get whatever they want.
There’s something about this party I just can’t figure out.
If each guest is a jigsaw piece, I don’t see how we all fit together.
What is the picture? Are we all meant to go full Hunger Games against one another once we find each other's secrets?
Phoenix takes a low bow and passes the microphone to his sister, who eagerly bounces and moves center stage onto the rugs. Bran hits the drums in a little warm up before they start, nodding over to Jay as he starts the pop song.
“My boys! Why are you both sad?” He asks, bounding over in his golden clothes.
“I’m not sad, I’m brooding.” I say, voice monotone.
“No, you’re pining over a certain writer that you should go dance with.”
“My love is right. Go sing with her!” Phin retorts, plopping himself down onto his boyfriend's knee. Both arms slide around his neck as they embrace.
I twist slightly in my seat, side eyeing them both. “No fair Dads, stop ganging up on me.”
I’m very aware I am sulking, I just can’t figure out whether it’s worth diving straight in, ignoring that she might be flirting with another guy, and that she could crush my very fragile heart into tiny pieces.
Willow is now on stage, swaying her hips with Lily and waving her glass in the air.
Right there, is proof of how one woman can completely destroy my trust. It was meant to be sex just one time, but with girls like Willow it never ends there.
I was just a prime meal ticket for her to get opportunities.
A hot, uncomfortable flare creeps up my neck and I shift in my seat. A polished shoe jabs me right in the thigh and I croak, glaring at Phoenix who has his head resting against the top of Merle’s head.
“You’re spiraling.”
“If you didn’t know already, I’m stressed.
” I hiss, clutching my thigh which now has a dull ache.
I shoot him a knowing look and like the annoying little shit he is, he fucking winks at me.
As my face turns feral, one hand unattaching from my thigh and lifting to grab his shirt, a soothing, rich voice floats over to us.
It resonates within me, casting a spell like warm clarity.
I've heard it before, it's familiarity blanketing me. I think, no—I know I’ll always remember this moment.
The girls all stand on the rugged area, hips swaying along with the guys playing, and Lily is doing a fairly decent job not to butcher the pop song.
As if suddenly bored, she abruptly stops singing and lifts her hand with the microphone into the air.
The gold material of her dress swishes to exit the stage, depositing the microphone into the waiting hand of a tiny, dark haired goddess in a sheer flowing gown and my blazer jacket.
The moment she lifts it to her lips, my brain scrambles.
Her voice rings out across the garden louder than the girls singing along, brimming with confidence that took me years to capture.
Robin can fucking sing. If she ever fancied a career change, I’d hand her my spot in The Larks in a heartbeat, and not one fan would complain.
I'm shamelessly gawking with my jaw dangling on the floor, as she sings the melody effortlessly, not an ounce of insecurity as she continues to dance. Her voice is freeing and playful, maybe because she knows the song well. It is a noughties classic. I personally get a folk rock vibe from her, but any assumption I’ve made in the past about Robin, has been proven wrong.
We've both been floating entities on the cusp of each other's orbits, prolonging our fated crash by staying away from one another. It's the familiarity of her voice that snaps my drooling mouth shut.
“She’s the one who sings on all the demos you've sent me.” It's not a question and Phin's beaming smile is full of reverence, like he's so happy I've figured it out.
Since being at boarding school he and I have always sent each other demos of music we make, whether they're little jingles we try to make into something or fully produced riffs.
He never placed interest in joining the band when we got together, but instead he went to university and pursued learning the craft.
I don't think there's an instrument he doesn't know how to play, masking his insecurities over his own voice.
Snippets of music he created with the silky voice were always the ones I favoured, but it never dawned on me to establish who it belonged to.
Folding a long leg over his knee, he tucks his chin under his knuckle as he balances still sitting in Merle's lap. “Wonderful isn't she.” There's such love in his tone, mirrored in how she is with him too.
“Incredible.” I manage to whisper.
“You need to work on playing it cool, Wrenny boy.”
“Why’s that?”
“It's our turn next and your jaw is practically unhinged from looking at her.” I've never felt more like a teenage boy, unable to manoeuvre what is clearly a growing crush.
“Stop salivating and c’mon,” He says rising, dusting at his shirt, gearing himself up.
“Let's go praise the ladies and get ready to rock some worlds.” I honestly wish I could bottle up the charismatic essence he has to just be himself. He’s down right stupid at times and gets me into all sorts of situations, but his unwavering ability to have faith in himself is always admirable.
The girls stay around the band as we both approach, it only hits me now that Merle hasn’t followed and thinking about it, he’s strangely solemn.
He’s usually such a teddy bear, so whatever he spoke to Corbin about must have really upset him.
He’s the complete opposite of his brother Bran, who drives me up the wall daily.