Chapter 32 Hendrix • Now
Chapter thirty-two
Hendrix · Now
MakeDamnSure – Taking Back Sunday
ROCK STAR
What’s your most played song?
My stomach lurches when I roll out of bed.
My phone slips from my fingers and hits the floor as bile crawls up my throat. I clap a hand over my mouth. The unfamiliar room spins. I close my eyes, but it doesn’t help.
Knees trembling, I drag myself out of the bedroom. I pause in the doorway, taking in the large open plan living room and kitchen.
I scrub my eyelids, but the scene doesn’t change.
Racking my brain, I try to piece together what the hell happened last night and how I got here. I remember drinking champagne—lots of champagne—but everything after that is a blur.
I retrace my steps back into the bedroom and poke my head out of the window.
Looks like Theo got her way after all. This is definitely their building.
I glance over the room. My suitcase rests against one wall, three black guitar cases lined up next to it, with a brown cardboard box sitting in front of them.
I snatch up my phone.
Cole’s text taunts me on the screen. It’s the first time he’s reached out to me. The two times we’ve spoken on the phone, I made the calls. Even then, we only spoke about Reckless Abandon and the music.
Why the sudden change at three am?
Before I can convince myself not to, I tap out a reply.
Right now? Bad Romance Halestorm’s version
Yours?
I toss my phone onto the bed and amble into the bathroom, gaping as I take in the black tiles, marble sink tops, and rainfall shower. Maybe the telling off can wait a while.
My phone buzzes, once, then twice, in the other room while I pee.
I force myself to grab clothes and a towel from my suitcase, before I look at the glowing device on the bed.
It’s probably just Riley checking in, anyway. It’s barely past eight. If Cole was up texting at three, I can’t imagine he’s awake. The only reason I am is because my body hates me and I can never sleep in after a night of drinking.
With that in mind, I bypass my phone completely, avoiding the mirror as I strip off last night’s outfit and step into the shower.
It takes fifteen minutes to scrub away the lingering stale scent of club and booze. Another fifteen for me to feel human. Then, I indulge for a further fifteen, sinking to the floor as perfect pressured, hot steamy water, spills around me.
Definitely not telling Theo off.
Wrapping a fluffy towel around myself, I swipe the condensation from the mirror. My face is ashen, my sopping black hair stark against my pasty skin. I sigh.
When will I ever learn?
I dress quickly in leggings, and an old faded black sweatshirt, before shoving my fluffy sock clad feet into white, thick platform crocs. I gather my hair into two French braids that fall over my shoulders.
Moisturiser, lip balm, and eyebrow pencil are the only things I bother putting on my dry skin. Gone are the days where I can fall asleep with a full face of makeup and not feel the aftereffects for weeks to come.
I sit on the king-sized bed, legs crossed, back pressed to the wooden headboard, and grab my phone.
As suspected, Riley has checked in. But her text isn’t the only one waiting on my screen.
ROCK STAR
V.A.N
Do you reckon you’ll make it into the studio at any point today or are you feeling too sorry for yourself?
Butterflies soar through me at the teasing on my screen.
Do you have a grave down there where I can rest in peace? Not sure it’s worth dragging my sorry self out of bed if for anything less.
His reply is instant.
Can’t help you there but I do happen to know of a great coffee shop that delivers if that’s any good to you
They also do the best breakfast bagels in London
Bagels you say??
My favourite
I remember.
He sends a picture.
Two wrapped bagels sit on my screen, one with my name scrawled across the paper.
If you don’t drag your arse down here in the next 15 I’m scoffing the lot
My mind whizzes in a million different directions.
Cole remembers all the little things—how I take my tea, my dream guitar, my favourite foods. He’s slipped them so easily into conversation it hasn’t clicked before now just how much he remembers of the things that don’t even matter.
They’re not big, pivotal moments.
He remembers the quiet things, the things nobody else cares to know.
My throat dries as my phone pings again.
Clocks ticking
I chew my lip.
If I go down there now, without the pretence of just working, I’m on the back foot, entering uncharted territory in which I have no idea how to tread. But not going down there…
I don’t let myself think as muscle memory guides my thumbs to reply.
Be there in 10
Cole’s sitting on the studio lounge floor when I push the door open.
Humming along to the music playing through his speaker, he taps his pen on his lap in time with the drumbeat, brow furrowed as he stares down at a messily scribbled on piece of paper on the floor.
“Are those lyrics?” I ask, toeing my shoes off before sliding down next to him.
The corner of his mouth quirks up. “Yeah.”
He slides a take-out mug and the wrapped bagel over to me.
I practically salivate as I breathe in the bitter scent of fresh coffee.
Unwrapping the bagel, I moan at the sight of melted, gooey cheese.
“Thank you.” I smile.
“Don’t mention it.” He resumes his tapping, eyes glued to the paper, not even blinking when he casually asks, “How do you feel about revisiting Heart Torn and finishing it?”
Bread sticks in my throat.
Of all the things I expected him to say, bringing up our last song together wasn’t one of them.
I gasp for air, curling my fingers around my neck and forcing the lump down.
“Why?” I wheeze.
“Just wondering.” He brushes his fingers along his jaw. “I think it fits what we’re currently working on.”
I bite into the bagel, avoiding his gaze when he peeks at me from the corner of his eye.
“Thoughts?” he asks.
“Hmm.” My tongue burns as I swallow my coffee.
“Do you still have the original lyrics?”
“Uh-uh.”
“Rixie.” Warm, gentle fingers curl around my wrists. He tugs me sideways until we're face to face, our knees touching. “You’re being weird. Why?”
“Am not.”
His expression blanks. “If you don’t want to, just say that. I’m not gonna be offended. We’re working together, which means we both have to be comfortable with what we’re writing.”
“It’s not that, it’s just…” I duck my gaze and inhale. “I already finished the song.”
“You finished the song?” he echoes. “When?”
The carpet blurs beneath me. “About a year after we broke up.”
Heart Torn was my swan song in a way—the last thing I wrote before locking my guitar away for good.
“When you played your first stadium gig.”
“Manchester?”
“Yup.” I squeeze my fingers as my pulse throbs. “I went to the show. Then I finished the song that night. I don’t know why, I just couldn’t not finish it.”
“Why did you never tell me?”
“I planned to. I was going to give it to you one day but I never found the courage to reach out—” Because doing so meant letting you go. “So it’s just sat in my guitar case all these years, gathering dust.”
Air hisses through his lips at my admittance.
His grip tightens on my wrists, his thumbs dragging circles around them.
I’m not even sure he knows he’s doing it.
“Rixie, let me ask you something.”
I peer up at him.
His eyes burn into me. “What’s the last song you wrote?”
“Do you really need me to say it?” I whisper.
“Why did you lie?” His forehead knots, the corners of his mouth creasing. “When I asked you on the phone, you said—”
“That it wasn’t anything you’d know.” I drop my shoulders. “It wasn’t a lie exactly. It just wasn’t…”
“The whole truth.” He sighs, releases my wrists, and shuffles backwards. “You haven’t written since then?”
“Nope. Not until now.”
“Why?” He scrubs a hand down his face. “What happened, Rixie?”
“Life happened. Things changed, I changed.”
“So why are you here now?” He shoots to his feet. “If this really isn’t what you do anymore, why did you agree to do this with me?”
I push my fingers through the carpet. “I didn’t want to disappoint you.”
“Yeah?” A choked laugh bursts from him. My heart tugs when he spins on his heels, storms to the door, and drags it open. “Too fucking late for that.”
It slams shut behind him.
I sit frozen, ears ringing.
I’m not sure why he’s so angry. Is it because I finished the song without him, or because our final song is the one that finished me?
I lay back against the carpet and stare up at the swaying lightbulb above me.
I always knew it was selfish to keep it from him. It was as much his as it was mine. He deserved the closure I never gave him. But giving him the song, meant giving away the only unfinished piece of us I had left.
I just couldn’t.
I sit up, grab my phone with trembling fingers, and tap out a text to Riley.
Can you do me a huge favour?