Page 213 of Composed
I lock the front door, step back, and exhale a slow breath.
Leaving this place behind is easier than I imagined it would be. Sure, there are things I’ll miss. Dinner nights with Talia and Riley, hiding out in my home studio while my favourite songs shuffled through the speaker until the early hours.
Mywalls.
Fuck I’m gonna miss those walls.
They kept me going even on the hardest days. But I don’t need them anymore. Not when I have the real thing waiting for me a hundred miles away.
“Rix!” I jolt out of my stupor at the boom of Saint’s voice. “You there?”
I huff a laugh and start for the car. “Yeah, sorry. Here.”
“Did you hear anything I just said?”
“Absolutely, I did.” I load up the back seat, before sliding behind the steering wheel and starting the engine. “You said something about blah blah blah and blah blah blee.”
My phone connects to the speaker, and his voice booms through the car. “Ha. Funny girl.”
“I know.” I shift into reverse.
“I said I’ve sorted the thing, about thething…” He trails when as a door slams on his end.
“Fucks sake.Saint!” My heart races at the sound of Cole’s voice. Pretty sure I’ll never get used to hearing it. Sixteen years hasn't been long enough. Doubt another sixteen will do the trick. “Get your sorry arse back in the booth.”
Saint grunts. “See what I mean? Fucking. Tyrant.”
“I do.” I laugh as I swing my car off the drive. “Well, don’t disappoint my man. Get your arse back in that studio.”
“You’re as bad as each other.”
“Aren’t you lucky for that?” I steer into traffic, watching the house disappear in my rearview. “Right, I’m off. Be home in a couple hours.”
A door opens and a rush of noise floods the line. “See you then, Rix.”
“See you.”
I go to push the end call button, but pause.
“Saint?”
“Yeah?”
“I love you.” I grin, feeling lighter than I have in years as I turn onto the main road.
A soft breath, then a light chuckle. “I love you too, bestie.”
Chapter sixty-eight
Cole • Now
Check Yes Juliet – We The Kings
CartersnarlswhenImake him run the track again, grumbling about pretty boys and their pretty boy faces.
I sink into the chair and flip my middle finger up.
He kicks the bass once and flicks his sticks in the air, before leading into a marching snare. He props one stick flat on the batter head, and bounces it with the other.
