Chapter 4
Chapter four
Cole · Now
Ocean Avenue – Yellowcard
Home sweet home.
My skin buzzes, my pulse thumping when I take a sharp left and slip over the Chesterton town line for the first time in a decade. I always planned to come back one day. But as the years passed, my courage fled.
I stayed in London, tucked away safely with the friends I call family, and the fortress we built to keep the world out as our stars rose. It’s funny. I’ve never considered myself a scared person, but perhaps I was wrong about that.
The music thumping through the car speakers cuts out as my phone rings.
I flick my gaze to Axel’s name flashing over the screen.
I draw my window up, and hold my breath for a beat, before connecting the “’Sup, dude?”
“Bonjour,” Axel shouts down the line, a pitched lilt to his voice. “Comment allez vous?”
I shake my head at the terrible accent attempt. “Since when do you speak French?”
“It’s a new development.” I don’t need to see him to know there’s a smug grin sitting on his face. “Met this French woman yesterday, and she taught me all sorts of naughty words. Wanna hear them?”
“I’m good, thanks.”
He tuts. “Mrs Porter would be so disappointed.”
“I never had her, I was stuck with Mr Thorn.”
“Unlucky.” He hisses air. “She was a solid ten out ten. Those kitten heels she used to wear.” A husky moan crackles through the speaker. “Cart and I…”
I tune him out and watch the town passing through my window.
Every street corner, every road sign, every building holds a lifetime of reminders. There isn't a place in this town I can go and not be smacked square in the face with what was and what should have been.
I blow air into my cheeks and exhale, before forcing myself back to focus.
“…and that ruler she always had in her hand.” Axel whistles. “The woman could have spanked me with that thing and I’d have thanked her.”
“Fucking hell, dude.”
“Not into spanking?”
“Can’t say I’ve ever really given it a thought.” I follow a winding road that leads me deeper into the countryside. “What do you need anyway?”
“Just wanted to check in, see how you were doing.”
“I’m good.”
“You bullshitting me?”
“Would I do that?” A smile tugs my lips when he grunts a yes. “I’m doing good. Haven’t started sobbing yet, so there’s that.”
He huffs a laugh. “Glad to see you’ve still got jokes. That’s my boy.”
Sun beats off the black bonnet, spearing my vision. I pull my sunglasses down my forehead as I scan the tree line for the promised slip road. “Hey, Ax, I gotta go. I’m nearly there.”
“Alright, see you later.”
“Yeah, later.” I end the call and tap my fingers along the steering wheel.
I spy the road and check my mirror, before slowing the car, and rolling to a stop on the verge. Knuckles whitening, I choke the steering wheel with my tight grip.
If I turn and travel down that road there’s no going back. Even if she turns me away, I’m cracking a lid on the box labelled Hendrix Moore forever.
A voice in my head screams at me to run away.
I don’t.
Gravel crunches beneath my tyres, the road disappearing from the rearview when I take the turn and trundle down the long, tree-lined path.
A brown brick building sits at the end of the driveway . Pretty sure this place used to be a farmhouse. Truth be told, it’s the ideal spot for a recording studio. Quiet, isolated in the fields, tucked away where the world can’t get to the artists inside.
I kill the engine, toss my sunglasses onto the passenger seat, and jump from my Range Rover before I can second guess myself.
Stones kick up beneath the heels of my Dr Martens as I cross the driveaway and reach the old, weathered door.
I bring my fist down and rap against the wood before I can think better of it.
Stepping back, I shove my hands in my pockets. Time seems to slow as the wind whistles around me, drifting into harmony with the crisp flute of a blackbird singing somewhere in the trees.
The seconds drag on. I tap my foot, waiting. One minute ticks into two, then three, and my stomach drops as the door stays firmly closed.
I spin on my heel and start for my car. Hand curled around the handle, I freeze at the sound of the door dragging open.
I steel my back, bracing for impact, only to be disappointed when an unfamiliar voice calls out to me. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to keep you waiting.’
I spin as a woman jogs down out of the studio.
“If you want to follow me, I can show you the circuit—” A choked sound escapes her. Her eyes go wide, lips forming an O as she takes me in. She slams her mouth shut and blinks. “You’re…”
I chuckle, cocking a brow.
“Not the electrician.”
“Sorry to disappoint.”
“N…no,” she stutters. Her russet brown cheeks deepen and she rips her gaze away and shakes her head. “Holy fuck! You’re Cole Hayes.”
“So they tell me.”
She lets out a breathy laugh.
I swing my keys around my finger, the tautness in my muscles easing.
While it’s not the welcome I was hoping for, I’m glad for the chance to get back on solid ground. Cole Hayes, Reckless Abandon frontman is a role I can play in my sleep.
“I don’t mean to be rude,” she says, eyes dancing over me. “But what the hell are you doing here? We don’t get a lot of big wigs in these parts.”
I twist the ring around my thumb. “I’m actually looking for someone.”
“Here?” Her nose scrunches, lips twisting down. “Really? The only person I’m currently working with is an opera singer, not sure that’s up your alley.”
“You’d be surprised.” I rock back on my heels as my throat tightens. “I’m looking for Hendrix Moore. Heard she owns the place or something?”
Her brows rocket upward. “You’re looking for Hendrix?”
“I am, yeah.”
She blinks. “You know Hendrix?”
“Kind of.” I lift a shoulder. Not sure it’s my place to spill the beans on all things Hendrix Moore and Cole Hayes to this woman if the former hasn’t already filled her in on the gritty details. “Is she here?”
“Sure. Yeah. I’ll erm—” She clears her throat and hikes a thumb toward the door. “I’ll just go grab her for you. Won’t be a minute.”
“No rush.”
“Right.” She watches me for a beat, lashes flickering as she blinks, then she makes a soft noise and darts inside on fast feet.
I press my back against the car door, the cold metal biting through my hoodie. Unlocking my phone, I scroll through my texts while I wait.
It’s not long before I hear her shout Hendrix.
Another minute passes.
Then, the door swings open, my head snaps up, and there she is…
My chest flutters.
Once-mousy hair falls to her waist, stained a crisp midnight black.
Mirroring roses are inked either side of her neck, and a heart framed with daggers covers most of her visible chest. Her black and white chequered cardigan slips down one arm, teasing me with a peek of the American traditional patchwork wrapping her shoulder.
Fuck me. She is beautiful.
I jerk forward, as if pulled by an invisible string, and bridge the distance between.
“Cole?” She looks up at me, eyes wide, jaw slack, when I stop a meter away.
Pretty sure my heart falls through my arse and onto the floor in a puddle at her feet. I quirk my lips, fighting to stay composed even if my world is shattering to pieces just at the sight of her. “Hey, Rixie.”