Hearts on Air
Page 27

“Leanne looks like she’s been crying,” he said in a quiet voice. “Is she okay?”
I glanced at him then around the carriage. Leanne was sitting two rows up, her earphones in.
“She was little upset but I think she’ll be fine. You should talk to Callum about maybe employing a little more tact around her.”
He appeared interested by this. “What makes you think I have any say in what Callum does?”
I only arched a brow in response. He knew as well as I did he had power there.
“Fine. I’ll talk to him,” he said on an exhale, and I was surprised he was taking my advice. I was a mere employee in this situation. It wasn’t like he was under any obligation to appease me.
“I’m wrecked,” he continued. “Didn’t get much sleep last night. You mind if I take a nap?”
I shook my head. “No. Go for it.”
He sank back into his seat, folded his arms and closed his eyes. “If you need to use the john just climb over me. I promise I won’t mind,” he said, eyes still closed as his mouth formed a smirk.
“I’m sure you wouldn’t,” I said and shook my head. “But if I need to use the bathroom I’ll be waking you up.”
He cracked open one eye and chuckled. “Spoilsport.”
I would’ve questioned his flirty tone, but this was who he’d always been. Even when our relationship was platonic he’d been flirtatious. It was ingrained in his personality. I wasn’t sure there existed a woman between eighteen and eighty he couldn’t find some way to charm.
The train started to move and a fizzle of excitement ran through me. This was it. We were on our way. I hadn’t travelled much in my life, just back and forth to Spain a few times when I was a kid to visit family. My parents emigrated from Madrid when they were in their late teens to make a life for themselves in London. I was looking forward to visiting Barcelona because I’d never been there, but Madrid not so much. There were too many memories there, and memories made me hear my mother’s voice in my head.
¿Por qué nunca dices la verdad? Estás tratando de arruinarnos con tus mentiras.
Why do you never tell the truth? You are trying to ruin us with your lies.
My thoughts had me feeling unsteady. Trev’s breathing deepened and I suspected he’d nodded off. I pulled my notebook from my small handbag and began to write.
Close your eyes and pick a word.
Describe the person you see in your head.
Not the one in theirs.
Take your time.
Take your time.
Tómate tu tiempo
Don’t be scared. Don’t overthink.
Strong, good.
Proud, better.
Flawed, yes.
Truthful, always.
We are all a work in the making.
Even when we end we are unfinished we’re never really finished.
I was scribbling for a couple more minutes when Trev’s voice startled me. “Can I see?”
I froze, goosebumps claiming my skin, then turned to him. “You know I don’t like that.”
“But I’m gonna hear you sing them eventually. Why can’t I read the lyrics?”
I worried my lip, thinking on it as I shut my notebook. “Because words without music are far too revealing. The music massages their starkness. Most people are too busy listening to the melody to realise you’re baring your soul.”
Trev stared at me for a long, long moment. “So, if I read your lyrics it’s like discovering a secret, but if I watch you play I’m too dazzled by the music to hear the truth?”
I shrugged and looked away, feeling self-conscious now. “Something like that.”
“It’s not just the music that dazzles people, you know. It’s you.”
I glanced back at him and he reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. I inhaled and shifted away slightly. “What do you mean?”
“I was always fascinated when I watched you perform,” he confessed and my breath caught. “You’d start out all prim and proper, so dignified in those long, flowy dresses you wear on stage, your back straight, chest forward. Then you’d start to play and you’d slowly unravel. By the end of one song your hair would fall from its clip, by then end of the next, the straps of your dress would be loose at your shoulders. You were so real. You fucking slayed me. You mesmerised everyone and that’s because you were so unaware.”
I had no words, no idea how to respond. I never expected him to say something like that, not with the low rumble of the engine and the chatter of other passengers surrounding us.
“Are you trying to butter me up? Am I going to be sleeping in the broom closet instead of sharing with Leanne when we arrive in Brussels?” I asked, needing to break the intensity of the moment, the honesty of it. He was making me feel too many things.
He smiled, seeming to guess I was embarrassed, and shot back, “Nah, but I might need you to wash my underwear as part of your PA duties.”
I cocked a brow. “Only your underwear? How very specific.”
“I’ll get Neil to do my clothes, but I thought I’d save the honour of my dirty jocks for you,” he said and winked.
“Delightful,” I chuckled.
“How about this, if you do mine I’ll do yours.”
“Oh, romantic.”
“Only for you, Reyrey,” he said, using my old pet name. It was the first time he’d used it in over two years and I felt . . . conflicted. Although, it was going to happen eventually the more time we spent together.
I took a moment to look out the window as the world whizzed by. In two hours we’d be in another country. I’d be in a strange place and Trevor would be the only familiar thing. I needed to prepare, needed to steel myself. Trev Cross was like honey. I was naturally drawn to his sweetness, but was wary to get too close. We needed to stay friends. I wanted him in my life as a friend, because everything else aside, I had missed him. But I was wiser now. I’d been scarred before by his neglect.
I wouldn’t melt for his charms like I always used to . . .
Seven.
Past.

Saturday gigs paid the best money, but I hadn’t wanted to play tonight. I’d been two seconds away from cancelling when I forced myself to get a grip. Trev was just busy. That was the reason I hadn’t heard from him all week. That had to be the reason.