Page 12 of Composed
“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 andblinks. “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.”
