Page 102 of Composed
I pull back, halting when light fingers curl around my wrist.
Our foreheads touch, her breath skating my cheek.
She ghosts a kiss on the corner of my mouth. “I miss you, Rock Star.”
I don’t breathe.
My fingers tremble when I peel her hand away.
She sinks into the mattress, arm stretching along the sheet as I step back.
It takes longer than it should to reach the door—toolong. Because there’s no stopping my carefully curated world tilting on its axis when she breathlessly asks, “Do you ever miss me?”
My eyes sting as I step out of the bedroom, wood creaking closed behind me.
I’ve never not missed you, Rixie Moore.
Chapter thirty-one
Cole • Then
Empty Space – The Story So Far
Nineteen Years Old
FrankMooreopensthedoor after I knock for a third time.
I step back when he fills the frame, his gaze narrowing.
I’ve only met the man a handful of times in the years I’ve known Hendrix, but there’s somethingoffabout him. I can’t pinpoint exactly what it is. He’s always been perfectly fine with me on the odd occasion I’ve seen him in passing, but I just don’t get good vibes.
It doesn’t help that I know Hendrix isn’t close to her parents. It's a rare occasion we're at her house, and when we are it's usually when her dad is working. She much prefers hanging at mine or any of the other guys' places.
“Are you looking for Hendrix?” Hendrix’s dad asks.
I tighten my grip on my phone. “Yes, sir.”
“She’s in her room. You know where that is, right?” He steps inside, leaving the door open for me as he stomps into the kitchen.
My brows dip.
She was supposed to be at Carter’s an hour ago. We’re playing a gig at Rock Shots tonight, and she’s never once been a no-show on gig days. Even going as far as taking days off uni to travel to wherever we’re setting up for the night.
I take the stairs two at a time and push her bedroom door open.
My blood chills when I see the bed empty. Her window is open, blinds fluttering in the wind. It wouldn’t be the first time she’s climbed out the window. She’s been doing it for years when she wants to slip out without her parents questioning her whereabouts. Not that they seem to care anyway.
I just don’t get why she’d have done it today. Or why she’s still not replied to any of my texts.
Unlocking my phone, I call her again as the sound of flushing breaches the door.
I spin.
My shoulders sag when Hendrix ambles out of the bathroom.
She doesn’t seem to notice me until she’s in her room, closing the door behind her. She twists the lock with shaky fingers. A frown tugs at my lips as I take her in.
Her hair is pulled back in a braid, her face flushed and bare of makeup. She sniffles, swiping a tissue across her nose before looking up. Red-rimmed eyes lock on mine, and my chest knots.
