Page 82 of Composed
I pass a lamb bhuna over to Cole, assuming that’s still his order, before peeling the lid on a chicken tikka masala.
I breathe it in, salivating at the glorious scent. “Thank you, Ax. You are anangel.”
“Anytime.” He looks between Cole and me. “Reckon we’ll be recording ready any time soon?”
I sink my fork into the Tupperware and hike a thumb over my shoulder toward Cole. “Depends on your singer over there. He’s the lyricist.”
Cole scoffs. “If I remember correctly, you wrote almost all the lyrics for our first two albums. I just gave you the ideas.”
“That’s a big fat lie, dude.” I snort. “I still have all your old notebooks if you want me to whip them out for proof.”
Cole turns to me. “You kept them?”
I swallow.
A muscle in his jaw jumps as he watches me.
“I… yeah.” I nod, chewing my lip. “It—um. It just…didn’t feel right to throw it all away.”
His tongue sweeps out, brushing his lip, as a slight crease forms on the corner of his eye. “Right.”
I tug my tongue stud as he watches me.
“Huh.”
Cole jerks at Axel’s voice.
I duck my head.
Axel makes a noise under his breath, a soft hum of sorts.
Eyes linger on me, but I don’t look up.
Heat crawls over my cheeks, my throat drying. My fingers tremble as I push my fork around the dish—my appetite for food diminished and replaced with something else. Something I won’t let myself acknowledge.
“Well, this is interesting,” Axel says. He shuffles through the papers, a half smirk on his lips as I peek at him through the shield of my hair. He waves a page in front of me. “Reallyinteresting how you’ve added dissonance here.”
A breath of relief coasts past my lips. “Yeah. It really works.”
Cole grunts, non-committal.
I don’t look his way.
“So, recording time, soon, yes?” Axel presses, eyes soft and pleading as he flicks them between us.
I huff a sleepy laugh. “I’ll get you in the booth soon. Promise.”
A beaming grin lights his face. “Holding you to that, Rix.”
Chapter twenty-six
Cole • Now
Days That Shape Our Lives – Me Vs Hero
Hendrixstumblesintothestudio, hair windswept, cheeks stained red from the bitter autumn chill outside.
Backpack slung over one shoulder, my keys dangle from her fingers as she slurps from a large thermos. She drops the bag to the floor and tugs open her coat.
