Ihaven’t heard from April. I’ve just returned home from practice with the lads, and it’s late. I played like shit. My mind is all over the place, and the guys noticed. Tom was obviously pissed at me, and I can’t blame him. I was missing notes and out of rhythm, so it fucked up his timing with vocals. Oliver shot me a few knowing glances, which pierced straight through me. I haven’t told Will and Tom about April and I, because frankly, I don’t want to. We’re getting too close to the audition, and the last thing I want to do is encumber them with worries about my personal life. Not until I know where April and I stand.
Every part of me aches. My stomach growls, and all I crave is a hot shower to wash away the exhaustion. I stride to the bathroom. Dark circles hang under my eyes, and my hair is a mess. I look as wrecked as I feel.
I step under the spray, tipping my head back to let the hot water pound against my skin. I close my eyes, but no matter how hard I try to shut my thoughts out, she’s there—her face, her laugh, her voice, haunting me. Her absence makes me feel sick, the kind of sick that no amount of distraction can shake.
Is she thinking abouthim?
Does she regret what we did? Or worse—is she even thinking about me at all?
This is exactly the kind of distraction I didn’t want.
It’s why I buried my feelings and pushed my desires to the side.
If one night with her affects me this much, what happens if we’re on tour next year?
I shut off the tap and feel uncomfortable with the sudden silence. I can’t stay here trapped with my own thoughts for another second. I need to get this off my mind—I need to see her. Stepping out, I towel off quickly, my skin still semi-damp as I pull on a pair of joggers. The fabric clings to me, and I shove my feet into trainers, tugging on a band T-shirt. I grab my grey beanie, its worn, floppy edges covering my ears as I pull it down snug over my wet hair.
The not-knowing claws at me like an itch I can’t reach. Oliver’s words repeat in my mind.
Then do what Lucas didn’t—chase her.
I shake off the exhaustion and force my limbs into motion. Snatching my keys from the counter, I shove them into my pocket and head out. I can’t be fucked navigating London traffic or the stifling Underground, so I wave down a black cab, sliding into the back seat. My heart pounds in my chest, and all I can think is that I need to get to April.
Right fucking now.
Chapter 33
April
Basil hops up beside me on the bed, headbutting my face as I bury it into the pillows. His soft fur brushes against my cheek and I give him a scratch underneath his chin. He leans into me and I kiss his chubby little cheeks.
I release a long sigh. Thinking back to the woman I was months ago, I can’t help but mourn the version of myself I used to be. That woman was so broken. If only I could go back and tell her everything would be okay—that things would get better, that she would heal and move on. That there’s a light at the end of the tunnel.
Sometimes life steers you in a new direction, but it’s better to view it as an opportunity to step onto a different path.
And I like where this one has led me.
Seeing Lucas again today stirred something completely unexpected: pride. I’m proud that I made it through such a dark, uncertain time, when the future felt overwhelming and intimidating. Proud that I faced it head-on and kept going. And above all, I’m grateful—for the incredible friends who stood by me, who never gave up on me, and who nurtured my light when I couldn’t see it myself.
I roll over and stretch my arms out. I close my eyes for a moment, processing everything that’s happened over the last couple of days.
I feel like I’ve broken through the water’s surface and I can breathe again.
I peel myself off the bed and traipse to the kitchen drawer to grab a lighter. One by one, I light the scented candles dotting various surfaces, casting the room in a soft, ambient glow as the flickering flames dance across the walls. The warm, comforting scents of vanilla, chai, tobacco, and caramel weave through the air, wrapping around me in a warm hug.
Then, I turn to the photographs still sitting on the hall table, their frames holding snapshots of a life I’m finally ready to leave in the past. Memories of a person who once was but isn’t anymore. One by one, I slide the pictures free, leaving the frames empty. I stack the photos in a pile before plucking his worn work satchel and old red scarf off the coat stand, exactly where he left them. With my arms full, I head outside to the wheelie bin, toss them in, and shut the lid.
Finally, once inside, I grab the last of his books from the entertainment unit and stack them by the front door, ready to donate to a charity shop.
I feel nothing.
They’renothing.
For the longest time, I thought getting rid of these things would mean losing a part of myself, like tearing out the final chapter of a story I believed shaped me. But as I stand here now, throwing away the remnants of a life that no longer fits, I realise it’s not the end of my story. Not anymore.
It’s just the beginning of something new.
Something exciting.
