Chapter 2
Chapter two
Cole · Now
The Quiet Things That No One Knows – Brand New
The second we touch down at Farnborough, the heavens open.
I shove a hand through my tangled hair, gaze fixed on the blank pages in front of me. Eleven hours in the air and not a single lyric to show for it.
There was a time I couldn’t stop the words flowing, when still-to-be written music played on a constant loop in my mind.
Now, there’s only bitter silence.
I slam my notebook closed and drag in a deep breath.
Saint darts past me and tears through the exit. If anyone doesn’t do well caged in a metal box, it’s him. You’d think after all our years flying around the world, he’d be used to long-hauls, but he’s just as restless as he was that first flight we took.
Axel isn’t far behind, tossing me my holdall from the overhead before he hooks his arm around the flight-attendant, whispers in her ear, and steers her off the private plane.
Standing, I stretch the kinks from my back and re-case my acoustic Taylor guitar. Not even sure why I keep lugging it around. It never gets put to work.
Carter’s steady gaze lingers on me as I secure it over my shoulder. He pushes jumper cotton sleeves up to his elbows, showing sun-kissed white skin marked with tattoos. “You okay?”
“Yeah, just tired.” I tap my knuckles against the polished wooden tabletop.
It’s not a lie.
Eight months straight on the road in another country isn’t a cakewalk.
Don’t get me wrong, I fucking love what I do. Traveling the world, playing music every night with the guys I call family is everything I’ve ever wanted. But that doesn’t make it any less exhausting.
He pushes dark, shaggy hair out of green eyes and grunts. “Feel that. The only thing I’m doing for the next three days is sleeping.”
“You not picking the girls up tomorrow?”
“Nah. Noah has taken them to visit her ‘rents before she hits the road next week. I’m grabbing them Monday.”
“Can’t fucking wait to see them.” I grin.
A rare half smile tilts his lips.
At six-six, all muscle and tattoos, Carter’s exterior screams don’t fuck with me. It doesn’t help he has a poker face that never shifts and his idea of fun is hours in the gym with only his weights for company.
Pretty sure he could bench press Saint, Axel, and me at the same time without breaking a sweat.
A single mention of his twin daughters, though? The hard-arse melts quicker than a Mr Whippy on a hot summer’s day.
He stuffs his sticks inside his back pocket before stalking to the exit. “You planning on letting us take a break for once or should we expect a late-night call next week telling us to get our arses in the studio?”
I hesitate a second, fingers tightening around the strap of my guitar case. I probably should key them in on the fact I’ve got nothing but speaking it aloud feels like admitting defeat.
I swallow the lead in my throat, and force my feet to move after him. “Guess you’ll have to wait and see.”
A sleek, idling black SUV waits on the tarmac when I step off the plane, headlights spearing through the darkened night.
I slide inside. Axel sits upfront, chattering away to our driver, Paul. Saint and Carter are both busy with their phones.
I pop my headphones on and roll my head against the heated leather seat, watching as Farnborough’s runway shrinks into the distance.
Two hours later, we pull up to the old, converted warehouse we call home.
After we went platinum with our first album, Saint dropped the listing into our group chat with a compelling argument for why we should buy the place. Ten flats, a basement we could turn into a studio, and the ease of getting together at a moment’s notice when the music calls. It was a no brainer.
And living with your friends is pretty fucking cool most of the time.
I grab my bags from the open boot, and fish my keys from my battered backpack before making my way inside.
Saint’s already on the couch when I push my door open. Uncapped beers on the table, long fair tattooed legs propped against the wood, as he spins his wedding band around his finger.
I drop my bags and scrub a hand over my face. “Seriously? We just got back, dude. Couldn’t even last five minutes without me, huh?”
He grunts. “Teddy’s busy.”
“Let’s hope she’s unbusy soon then,” I say, settling into the cushion beside him.
“Funny.” His lips tip into a smirk and rolls his head against the back of the cushion, dirty blond hair falling into his eyes. “Fuck, I’m knackered.”
I huff an agreement. “Not sure that even begins to cover it.”
Silence settles around us, broken only by the soft clink of Saint’s bottle as he drains his beer and the steady tap of my fingers against my thigh.
I sink deeper into the couch. My eyes shutter closed, the hum of the electricity lulling me into the darkness. I’m halfway to slumber when Saint’s voice slips through the quiet.
“You ever planning on telling me what’s going on with you?”
I crack one eye open. His gaze is trained on the ceiling, following the swinging lightbulb. I scan his face, the lines on the edge of his lips, the glassy sheen to his eyes, the way he never stops touching his ring.
A weight settles on my chest.
After twenty-five years of friendship, it’s almost impossible to keep things from each other.
“I could ask you the same,” I say, keeping my tone light. “Given you’re here with me instead of in your own place.”
“Gwen is here.” His brow creases at his sister-in-law’s name. “You know, the one person who hates everything about me.”
“Oh.” Yep, that’ll do it.
Even after twelve years of marriage, his wife’s family doesn’t accept him as her husband. To them, he’s still just the troublemaker from next door.
I’ll never understand why she bothers with them. All they do is tear her down, but she’s loyal to a fault, even at the cost of her own happiness.
I crack my tense knuckles. “Want me to go round and tell Gwendolyn to fuck off?”
He gasps, slapping his hand on his chest dramatically. “A swear word. How dare you? She’d have a heart attack.” His lip twitches. “It’s fine. She’ll be gone by tomorrow.”
“Does that mean I’m stuck with you all night?”
“Yep.” He clicks his fingers. “Now it’s your turn.”
It’s only fair, right? “I’m worried I’m done,” I say, the admission hanging heavy in the air. I blow out a long, laboured breath as I watch my oldest friend.
His expression is blank when he faces me. “With?”
“All of it. I figured with all the creative freedom I now have, music would free flow from my fingertips.” I choke on a bitter laugh. “But there’s just nothing.”
His breath is sharp as it whistles through his teeth.
I drag my hands up my thighs. Saying the words out loud doesn’t lift any of the weight I’m carrying. If anything, it feels heavier now. As if there’s so much more to prove.
Saints jaw ticks. “I’m not ready to be done.”
“Me neither.” I exhale. “But I think I finally have to admit I can’t do it alone. Don’t think I was ever meant to.”
“I’d offer to help, but my writing skills are sorely lacking.”
“Appreciate it. But you’re not who I’m thinking of.”
He looks at me then, searching my face. “Shit. Tell me you aren’t about to go and knock on her door?”
“Fine.” I smirk. “I won’t tell you.”
“It’s been ten years, dude.”
Tell me something I don’t know. “And yet I haven’t written anything half as good since.”
“Fuck!” He slaps a hand on the table, a bright grin lighting up his face. “About fucking time too. You reckon she’ll go for it?”
That’s the million pound question, right? Once, I knew the answer in a heartbeat. Hendrix Moore would have written anything with me if I asked.
Now? Well, ten years is a long time to have any expectations.
I brush my thumb over my inked wrist. “Not a fucking clue, but it can’t hurt a guy to ask, right?”
“Never thought I’d still be alive to see the day.” He shakes his head and hums. “Cole and Hendrix, reunited. This is gonna be fun. You remember the first day we met her?”
As if I could ever fucking forget?