Chapter 24
Chapter twenty-four
Cole · Now
The Ghost of You – My Chemical Romance
Disco lights flicker across the darkened club floor, drum and bass rattling the speakers.
I lean over the balcony and watch the dancing crowd.
When Axel barged into my flat earlier, two vodka bottles in hand, a joint stashed behind his ear, I didn’t have a good enough argument not to come out with him and the guys.
If anything, I needed to get out of my place, to escape the crushing weight that settled on me as soon as I came to my senses after sending Hendrix on her way.
“You in a better mood now?” Saint asks, wrists propped on the glass railing, whisky bottle dangling from his fingertips.
I grunt.
“Wanna talk about it?”
About as much as I want to throw myself in the Thames in the middle of December.
I drain my beer and shove off the railing. “Nothing to talk about.”
I snatch the whiskey from Saint’s hand, down a shot’s worth, and hand it back before sidling over the couch.
Carter shifts his bulky frame when I drop down beside him.
I squint through the flashing lights.
Sam, one of our security guards for the evening, stands in the corner, hard stare unwavering as he watches the women circling Axel.
There’s something different tonight though.
Axel isn’t flirting up a storm like he normally does.
He’s there, dancing, but his flirtatious smile has been replaced by something more static, more forced.
“What’s up with Ax?” I ask Carter as I snatch a water from the ice bucket.
“Not a clue.” He lifts a shoulder, watching his oldest friend with a shrewd stare. “Some chick came onto him earlier and he couldn’t get away quick enough. Never seen him like it.”
“Interesting.”
A woman slides up to Axel, sleek red nails tracing over his white shirt. He doesn’t give her a lick of attention, just turns away.
Carter makes a non-committal sound.
I turn to him. “Why aren’t you on daddy duty tonight?”
“The girls are staying with my mum and dad another night. Didn’t want to chance it with Hendrix hanging around.”
“Nothing to worry about there. Pretty sure she’s back home by now.”
His eyes narrow and he scans my face.
“I basically kicked her out of the studio.” I laugh dryly. “She got a call, called me an old friend, and I…” Air hisses through my clenched teeth. “Turns out, writing songs with the only woman you’ve ever loved after ten years apart isn't all that easy.”
“Who’d have thought it?” Carter deadpans.
I roll my eyes. “You can’t say shit. You have to co-parent with yours.”
“Don’t really think a one-night stand classes as an ex.”
He chuckles before giving me a look. “You and Rix aren’t just exes, Cole. You were partners. In everything. You created a whole world together, only for it to fucking crumble at your feet when she walked away. It was never gonna be easy to come back together creatively.”
“Do you think I’m stupid to do this? To have asked her to do this with me?”
“If there’s one thing you aren’t, it’s stupid. Just… don’t let her get too close. Stick to the music and it’ll be okay.”
“That why you were ice cold with her? Don’t want to get too close again?”
He cocks his head, a short breath leaving him. “It’s never been about me. I loved that girl like a little sister, but when she left, I was okay. I dealt. You didn’t. I can’t watch you go through that again.”
I bite my tongue hard enough a tangy taste floods my mouth.
“Not to mention I have two mini humans to worry about.” Carter’s knuckles whiten around the bottle in his hand. “Those little girls fall hard and fast for the people in their universe. She meets them, they love her, then she leaves? I’d never forgive her for that.”
He drops an uncapped beer into my lap.
I nod in thanks.
He watches me another moment, then stands and stalks over to Axel.
I roll the bottle between my fingers, the condensation chilling my flaming skin.
I get where Carter is coming from and he’s not fucking wrong.
Watching Hendrix walk away from me is the hardest thing I’ve ever done. God knows if I’ll survive it a second time.
I draw in a breath and uncap my beer as I feel eyes lingering on me from the back of the VIP area.
I don’t turn.
Even as I hear the click of heels against the luxury vinyl tile, I keep my gaze forward and sink the beer. A body drops beside me, the sharp scent of lavender and tequila floating around me. Pink nails tap on the glass table.
I spot Dean, our other security, edging closer from the corner of my eye.
I shake my head and he backs off. The woman isn’t doing anything. She’s probably just gonna shoot her shot, realise I’m not down for a night of fun, and slink off. Isn’t the first time it’s happened. Doubt it’ll be the last.
I’m not na?ve.
I understand the appeal.
Tall, tatted, rich, and famous. It also doesn’t hurt that my face card’s decent too. I’m just not interested in that side of rock n’ roll.
I’m not a monk by any means.
I’ve hooked up a few times over the years, but never for more than one night and even then, it’s been few and far between. I can count on one hand how many women I’ve been with since Hendrix. Can't say I enjoyed any of it, either.
“Hey.” Her voice is low, almost a purr as she slinks closer. “You’re Cole Hayes, right?”
I tip my gaze toward her.
Blonde bob, red lips, hazel eyes, little black dress clinging to curves.
She’s pretty and very much not my type.
The mousy hair I used to dream about has since transformed into long midnight-black tresses. Pale skin, traded for bold, vivid tattoos. The green eyes still flicker gold when she smiles at me in my dreams though.
I stand. “Sorry. No idea who that is.”
“You’re not the singer of Reckless Abandon?”
“Never heard of them.”
I nod to Dean before heading to the door.
No amount of drinking is going to chase Hendrix from my mind today. It’s fucking futile.
I like to think at thirty-one I’ve got a pretty good hold of my emotions. But a single look at her, a single whisper of the word friend from her lips, and I’m just that same twenty-one-year-old boy she walked away from.
The studio is unlocked when I reach it.
My pulse jumps as the door swings open at my touch. The only ones who have access to this space are the same guys I left partying in that nightclub and Tommy.
I white-knuckle my phone and ease the door open.
Soft guitar music greets me.
I frown. Since Saint was racking up a line when I slipped out the club, pretty sure he couldn’t have beaten me back home.
I keep my footsteps light, following the sound to the live room.
I peek through the cracked door and freeze.
Hendrix sits crossed-legged on the floor. Her face is bare of makeup, her hair thrown up in a messy half-updo, two crossed pencils holding it in place. Pale skin glitters under the light, the flush in her freckled cheeks peeking through the strands of hair trickling down her face.
Gone are her jeans and crop top, replaced by an oversized black hoodie and leggings. Fluffy socks complete the ensemble.
She swipes her tongue over her lower lip and tugs her piercing between her teeth as she plucks a haunting melody.
I should announce my presence.
I don’t.
Rooted to the spot, my pulse flutters, and all I can do is watch her.
The song she's playing isn’t one I know. It’s different from anything I’ve ever known her write. I brush my thumb over my wrist as the melody curls around me and tugs at my heart.
There’s something evanescent about it. It feels like a fleeting moment, a blip in the universe. Something not meant for me, and yet I can’t look away.
I’ve always found Hendrix to be the most beautiful human in the world. But Hendrix with an acoustic guitar in her hand, eyes dipping closed as leans into the music spilling from her fingertips is nothing short of exquisite.
I have no idea what story she’s trying to tell with her song, but I feel the ache with every chord she strums, my chest cracking under the weight of it.
My breath halts when she stops, the final note nothing but a whisper in the room. She doesn’t move an inch as she blows out a long, laboured breath.
I nudge the door open with my hip, lean against the frame, and fold my arms across my chest.
She looks up, eyes sparkling as she takes me in.
I spy the studio keys sitting beside her.
My spare keys.
I don’t need to ask her who handed them over. Saint borrowed them earlier, claiming to have misplaced his.
I exhale, my gaze steadying on. “What are you doing here, Rixie?”
She places the guitar flat on her lap, her fingers dancing over the contours of the body as she looks at me, away, then back at me again.
A flicker of a smile on her lips, gold glittering in her eyes, she fingers her hair, and tucks a strand behind her ear, and says, “Keeping a promise.”