Hearts on Air
Page 36
Trev strode across the room and took my hand, pulling me up from the couch. “Take my bed, Reya. I haven’t even slept in it yet so you don’t have to worry about my man-germs,” he teased. “Plus, I’ll just kip in Callum’s until he decides to come back.”
I didn’t protest, mainly because he was right. He hadn’t slept in the bed. Technically, it wasn’t even his yet. Because yes, although I wasn’t concerned about ‘man-germs’, I was concerned about his scent on the sheets. That wasn’t something I felt equipped to handle.
When we entered the bedroom, Trev pulled back the duvet and gestured for me to get in. I rolled my eyes at his mothering and climbed under, not bothered to take my clothes off. They were lounge clothes that could basically double as PJs anyway.
Trev got into Callum’s bed and flicked off the lamp, plunging the room into darkness. I didn’t immediately relax, too aware of my breathing and the fact that Trev was literally only a few feet away. My memories from that night we spent together were still in my head, twisting me up inside. It was funny how clearly you could see things you were blind to in the past when you took the time to look back.
Back then I thought I was being loyal. I thought I was being there for him and he was taking me for granted. But maybe he had more going on than I could have possibly imagined. Maybe he was suffering in a way no one else could see.
“Trev,” I whispered in the darkened room.
“Yeah?” he answered, his voice sleepy.
“Can I ask a personal question?”
“Go for it,” he went on, a little more alert.
It took me a few moments to get the words out. “Are you taking medication now?”
He hesitated for a second, then said, “Yes.”
“Is it the same stuff as before?”
His response was subdued. “No, it’s not the same.”
“Oh. That’s . . . that’s good.”
Another silence fell.
“Why do you ask?” he questioned, curious.
“I was just thinking of that night you spent in my flat, and the morning after when I found your pills,” I answered and heard him exhale. I knew he was remembering. The tension was so thick in the room you could almost see the events of the entire night splashed across the dark ceiling.
“I wish I knew then what I know now,” he said sadly.
“What do you know now?”
“Lots of stuff.”
“Such as?”
Another deep exhale. “I know that change takes time. I know that though it can help, money doesn’t fix things. And I know that fame can be a chain around your ankles when you thought it would be a golden ticket to never-ending parties.”
I laughed softly at that. “Well, they do say that parties are depressing when they never come to an end.”
I could hear the smile in his voice when he asked, “Who are ‘they’?”
“Okay, they don’t say it. I say it, because it’s true.”
“That’s because you hate parties,” said Trev.
“I don’t hate parties,” I corrected him. “I hate parties with more than sixteen people, remember? It’s an exact science.”
“Ah yes,” Trev chuckled, the sound hitting me right in the pit of my stomach. “The sixteen-person rule, I remember now. You were always so specific about that number.”
“Any more and you can’t have an interesting conversation. It just becomes a bunch of people standing around and nodding about mundane things they can’t really hear anyway because the music’s too loud.”
“You know, I never understood why you hate loud music. You’re a musician. You’re supposed to love it.”
“Loud music doesn’t make it good music. Sometimes the best songs are the quiet ones.”
There was a short silence before Trev said, “Remember that song you used to sing where you whispered the last few lines? Always gave me chills.”
His words set a simmer low in my stomach. I knew exactly which song he was talking about. “Open Up,” I said, my voice soft.
“Yeah, that one. You still sing it?”
“Sometimes.”
“You should sing it on Wednesday at your gig,” he murmured quietly. “I’d love to hear it again.”
“I might.”
“I’ll live in hope,” he said, somewhat wistfully.
I didn’t speak, feeling tense, because there was something about our hushed conversation that felt too intimate.
“Okay, well, I suppose we should get some shut-eye, otherwise we’ll be up all night,” said Trev stiffly. So many of our conversations these days felt like a minefield. They veered from personal, to friendly, back to personal, to way too close and then to awkward.
“Goodnight,” I whispered and turned over, tugging the duvet tight around me.
“Night, Reya.”
When I blinked my eyes open the next morning it was to an almighty ruckus. Light filtered in through the curtains and I glanced across the room to see Trev was still asleep in Callum’s bed. He shifted in place, cracked one eye open and asked tiredly, “What the hell are they doing out there?”
“I think it’s the film crew. They must be setting up to record inside the apartment.”
“Great,” Trev grunted, grabbing a pillow and pulling it over his head to block out the noise. It sounded like someone was drilling, and I was fairly certain they didn’t have permission to do that since the apartment was only a rental. Worried, I sat up, ran my fingers through my knotted, sleep-mussed hair and went to investigate.
An argument erupted as I padded down the hallway and arrived in the kitchen where Neil was reprimanding one of the camera crew. “You can’t make any permanent alterations to the fixtures. Now we’re going to have to pay for those holes you just drilled in the wall.”
“I’m sorry,” said the cameraman, who was young and looking very pale right then. “I didn’t know.”
Glancing around the apartment, there was lots of activity going on, with other members of the crew milling about. I almost laughed when I saw Callum sleeping like a baby on the couch, earplugs in to block out the noise. I wondered how long his battle of wills with Leanne had gone on for last night.
Seeing there was nothing I could really do about the noise, I went to my room and found Leanne and Paul sitting on her bed talking.
I didn’t protest, mainly because he was right. He hadn’t slept in the bed. Technically, it wasn’t even his yet. Because yes, although I wasn’t concerned about ‘man-germs’, I was concerned about his scent on the sheets. That wasn’t something I felt equipped to handle.
When we entered the bedroom, Trev pulled back the duvet and gestured for me to get in. I rolled my eyes at his mothering and climbed under, not bothered to take my clothes off. They were lounge clothes that could basically double as PJs anyway.
Trev got into Callum’s bed and flicked off the lamp, plunging the room into darkness. I didn’t immediately relax, too aware of my breathing and the fact that Trev was literally only a few feet away. My memories from that night we spent together were still in my head, twisting me up inside. It was funny how clearly you could see things you were blind to in the past when you took the time to look back.
Back then I thought I was being loyal. I thought I was being there for him and he was taking me for granted. But maybe he had more going on than I could have possibly imagined. Maybe he was suffering in a way no one else could see.
“Trev,” I whispered in the darkened room.
“Yeah?” he answered, his voice sleepy.
“Can I ask a personal question?”
“Go for it,” he went on, a little more alert.
It took me a few moments to get the words out. “Are you taking medication now?”
He hesitated for a second, then said, “Yes.”
“Is it the same stuff as before?”
His response was subdued. “No, it’s not the same.”
“Oh. That’s . . . that’s good.”
Another silence fell.
“Why do you ask?” he questioned, curious.
“I was just thinking of that night you spent in my flat, and the morning after when I found your pills,” I answered and heard him exhale. I knew he was remembering. The tension was so thick in the room you could almost see the events of the entire night splashed across the dark ceiling.
“I wish I knew then what I know now,” he said sadly.
“What do you know now?”
“Lots of stuff.”
“Such as?”
Another deep exhale. “I know that change takes time. I know that though it can help, money doesn’t fix things. And I know that fame can be a chain around your ankles when you thought it would be a golden ticket to never-ending parties.”
I laughed softly at that. “Well, they do say that parties are depressing when they never come to an end.”
I could hear the smile in his voice when he asked, “Who are ‘they’?”
“Okay, they don’t say it. I say it, because it’s true.”
“That’s because you hate parties,” said Trev.
“I don’t hate parties,” I corrected him. “I hate parties with more than sixteen people, remember? It’s an exact science.”
“Ah yes,” Trev chuckled, the sound hitting me right in the pit of my stomach. “The sixteen-person rule, I remember now. You were always so specific about that number.”
“Any more and you can’t have an interesting conversation. It just becomes a bunch of people standing around and nodding about mundane things they can’t really hear anyway because the music’s too loud.”
“You know, I never understood why you hate loud music. You’re a musician. You’re supposed to love it.”
“Loud music doesn’t make it good music. Sometimes the best songs are the quiet ones.”
There was a short silence before Trev said, “Remember that song you used to sing where you whispered the last few lines? Always gave me chills.”
His words set a simmer low in my stomach. I knew exactly which song he was talking about. “Open Up,” I said, my voice soft.
“Yeah, that one. You still sing it?”
“Sometimes.”
“You should sing it on Wednesday at your gig,” he murmured quietly. “I’d love to hear it again.”
“I might.”
“I’ll live in hope,” he said, somewhat wistfully.
I didn’t speak, feeling tense, because there was something about our hushed conversation that felt too intimate.
“Okay, well, I suppose we should get some shut-eye, otherwise we’ll be up all night,” said Trev stiffly. So many of our conversations these days felt like a minefield. They veered from personal, to friendly, back to personal, to way too close and then to awkward.
“Goodnight,” I whispered and turned over, tugging the duvet tight around me.
“Night, Reya.”
When I blinked my eyes open the next morning it was to an almighty ruckus. Light filtered in through the curtains and I glanced across the room to see Trev was still asleep in Callum’s bed. He shifted in place, cracked one eye open and asked tiredly, “What the hell are they doing out there?”
“I think it’s the film crew. They must be setting up to record inside the apartment.”
“Great,” Trev grunted, grabbing a pillow and pulling it over his head to block out the noise. It sounded like someone was drilling, and I was fairly certain they didn’t have permission to do that since the apartment was only a rental. Worried, I sat up, ran my fingers through my knotted, sleep-mussed hair and went to investigate.
An argument erupted as I padded down the hallway and arrived in the kitchen where Neil was reprimanding one of the camera crew. “You can’t make any permanent alterations to the fixtures. Now we’re going to have to pay for those holes you just drilled in the wall.”
“I’m sorry,” said the cameraman, who was young and looking very pale right then. “I didn’t know.”
Glancing around the apartment, there was lots of activity going on, with other members of the crew milling about. I almost laughed when I saw Callum sleeping like a baby on the couch, earplugs in to block out the noise. I wondered how long his battle of wills with Leanne had gone on for last night.
Seeing there was nothing I could really do about the noise, I went to my room and found Leanne and Paul sitting on her bed talking.
