Chapter 21
Chapter twenty-one
Cole · Now
A sharp D cuts through the air as Hendrix tests the string.
Her fingers pause on the tuner.
She huffs, blowing her fringe out of her face. The metal in her nose, lower lip, and ears glints under the LEDs.
Her cardigan slips down one shoulder, and her black lipstick has worn away, leaving her plump lips a dusky pink.
Shifting in my seat, I drop my gaze.
I trace the American traditional patchwork sleeving her biceps, before zeroing in on the ink peeking out beneath her top. Her once pale skin is covered in bold black lines, grey shading, and pops of vivid reds, oranges, and greens.
She looks up, gaze colliding with mine as she lazily strums her strings.
I force my head to the side, and zero in on a crack on the wall behind her head.
“Sorry.” A dry laugh slips her lips. “I’m a little rusty. Didn’t used to take me this long to tune up.”
“Still quicker than me.”
“I’m not sure if I should be offended.” She tilts her head when I look at her with a frown. “I did teach you how to tune a guitar, after all.”
I shake my head, my lips twitching. “Not offended. Without you, I’d still be watching Saint and having no clue what I’m doing.”
“He was useless.” She chuckles and nestles the guitar more comfortably in her lap, her hand brushing the ebony wood. “God can that man play, but he can't teach for shit.”
“He still tries. He's been teaching the gi—” I swallow. Not my place to tell her about the twins. If Carter wants her to know of their existence, he’ll tell her himself when he’s ready.
“Theo.” I force a half smile to my lips.
“He’s been teaching Theo over the years.
She can just about play Wonderwall now.”
“They’re still together?” she asks.
“Twelve years, still got that ring on her finger.”
Her face falls, and she looks down at her Hummingbird, her shoulders drooping. “I had no idea.”
“They keep it hush from the media.” I shrug. “She’s teaching kids’ ballet now, and some of the parents aren’t big fans of the whole rocker lifestyle thing so they stay out of the spotlight.”
“That makes sense. Guess you’re all pretty private, really. Aside from the music, there’s not a lot about your personal lives out there.”
“It’s just easier that way. Give the press an inch and they’ll run a mile.
We saw that a lot in our first couple years.
Axel in particular was painted in a pretty shitty light because he slept with a married woman on our second tour.
Nobody cared he had no idea. The story they wanted was that he’d broken up a happy home. ”
“I remember that. It was everywhere.”
I nod, eyes catching hers. “we only share what we need to, now. Nothing more, nothing less. The music, the tours. Everything else is safe inside these walls.”
Her tongue flicks out, swiping over her lip as silence settles stretches us. Silver sparkles when her tongue stud catches between her teeth.
She looks dejected.
A lump forms in my throat.
Her mouth opens, her eyes dragging along the floor.
I sit upright. “So how do you want to do this? Lyrics or melody first?”
“Right.” Her nose wrinkles. “Er… I don’t actually know.”
My stomach knots.
She lifts a shoulder. “Like I said, I’m rusty.”
“Maybe we should start with a melody then, At least then we’ll have a rhythm to work with. Since you’ll be up in Chesterton and I’ll be down here. Makes it easier to work separately.”
“Yeah, that might work.” She sifts through the notebooks and papers littering the floor around her. “Can you remember the erm…” She clicks her fingers, a line forming in the centre of her forehead as her eyes crinkle. “Oh my brain’s gone.”
Her hand moves faster, papers flying as she flicks through them until then she halts.
“Aha. This one.” She pushes a pile of sheet music toward me. “I think this might be a good starting point for us.”
I slide off the couch and shuffle across the carpet until they’re in reach. Scanning the papers, my eyes widen. The melody is made up of minor, augmented, and tri-tone chords.
I remember it well, the sound was chilling when I first laid it.
I can’t believe she still has this.
I shoot her a glance. “You always said this was too dark for what we were doing.”
“I mean, yeah. Twelve years ago.” She chuckles, her head tilting side to side. “You were teens, fresh out of college, trying to get signed by a pop-punk label. They didn’t want haunting, they wanted bouncy and upbeat. Now, though?”
Her lips curve. “You can do whatever the hell you want.”
I hum thoughtfully. “You really think it’ll work?”
“There’s only one way to find out.” She snatches the sheet music from my hand and spreads it into a line on the carpet before offering me her Hummingbird with a grin. “Play for me, Rock Star.”
My heart skips at beat at the nickname.
How the fuck can I say no to that?
A bead of sweat rolls down my neck.
Hendrix sits hunched on the other side of the room, the pencil in her hand flying across paper as she notes down every chord I strum. Hair spills down her face, the humidity in the air curling the silky strands.
“Go back,” she tells me, not looking up. “The minor six-nine. Play that again, but slow it down so it holds into the fourth beat.”
I do as she says, dragging my pick down the strings.
She rolls her pencil in her fingers, before beaming at me. “Yes! That’s it.”
“You think?”
“Are you doubting me?”
Never. “And you said you were rusty.”
“I am.” She slaps her palms on her thighs. “Right, I need tea. My brain is frazzling. Then we can run it back once more. But honestly, I think this is a great place to be in right now. We have something to work with.”
I place the guitar on the carpet and jump up. “I’ll make the tea.”
“I don’t mind doing it.”
I grimace. “Rixie, the last time you made me a cuppa, it tasted like sewer water.”
“Hey!” She scowls. “I’ll have you know my tea-making has come a long way in recent years.”
I snort. “Still, I’ll handle the drinks. You just sit there and scribble away.”
She rolls her eyes and shakes her head before going back to the sheet music spread out before her.
I grab two clean mugs and flick the kettle on.
Music curls around me as Hendrix fiddles with the guitar.
I press my hands to the counter and close my eyes.
For a woman who claims to have not done this in a while, she’s slipped so easily into the routine. It’s hard to imagine this isn’t what she does for a living. It’s what she should be doing—what she should have always been doing.
She plucks the strings, Stand By Me pouring through the room.
I chew my lip, holding back my chuckle.
This shouldn’t be so easy.
It also shouldn’t be so hard.
The kettle clicks.
I make the tea quickly, and hand it off to her.
She hugs the mug in her hands, eyes dipping as she breathes in. “Yeah, you can make the tea.”
“I know.” I grin as I grab the Hummingbird and settle it into my lap. “Hand the sheet music over and let’s get this going.”
She does and I fill the silence with my haunting strums.
I sink into playing, my fingers moving slowly as I flick the pick over the strings. I’ve come along with the guitar over the years—still can’t play Eruption with my eyes closed, though.
I’m about to tell Hendrix just that when a shrill ringtone slices through the music.
She glances down at her smart watch, hissing. “Shit. I’m sorry. I’ve got to take this.”
“Yeah, no worries.”
“I’ll just be two minutes,” she says, rooting through her bag. Phone in hand, she slides her thumb over the screen, presses it to her ear, and talks into the microphone. “Hey, Marcus. What’s up?”
I can’t hear whoever’s speaking, but her lips turn down.
“No, I’m not home at the minute. I’m in London.” She glances at me for a second before pacing to the other side of the room. “Just working with an old friend.”
Air lodges in my throat.
Friend. Right, because that’s what we are… old friends.
I shift the guitar off my lap and place it in the case before locking the clasps.
“I’ll be home tomorrow morning,” she tells them, chewing her thumb.
I tidy the papers away, pile them next to her backpack, and grab the mugs. Tea swirls down the sink, ceramic clattering when I drop the empty mugs into the base.
“Yep,” she says. “I’ll call you tomorrow and we can get a date in the diary.”
I tap my foot.
“Alright. Bye Marcus.” She turns to me then. Her eyes dart over the now-clean space, lips tugging down. “Sorry about that, it was just—”
I shake my head. “No worries. We should probably wrap up anyway. I’ve got stuff to be getting on with this evening.”
Her mouth pops open. “Oh, I, er…”
“But we’re in a good space, right?” I shove my hands into my pockets. “We can pick this up over emails or texts now.”
She nods, brushing her thumb over her lip. “If that’s what you want.”
“I’ll just let you out,” I tell her.
I tug the door open.
“Okay.” She watches me for a long second before hurrying to grab her stuff. She tosses the guitar case over one shoulder and her bag over the other, before pausing beside me. “I’ll call tomorrow, to follow up?”
“Yep, sounds good.”
“Okay, speak later then.”
She slips past me.
I feel her eyes burning into my profile as I wave a hand over my shoulder before closing the door.
Back pressed to the wood, I slide down the frame and bang my head against it.
Hendrix’s personal life is none of my business and I’d do well to remember that.
I slipped today. Falling into old habits just because she was by my side. I don’t know if I can afford to slip again.