Page 43 of Painted Truths

"Yup. Everything's just peachy."

Hmm, memo to self. No more peach references.

"Well, as long as you're happy with me. Martha told me about that promotion..." He eyes me intently, and I realise he knows exactly what was said. "I know I'm just a stepping stone, and working under Rico—I mean, Henry, would open doors that I don't have access to yet. If you want to work…"

"Alex." I place my hand on his arm to stop him with a massive smile on my face. Despite his reservations, he still wants me to do well in my career, even if it means placing me right in the path of temptation—or potential heartbreak—but now isn't the time or place for melodramatics. Mis-freaking-direction is about to perform. "We'll talk later, okay? Let's have the time of our lives now!"

Putting my arm around his waist, I give it a reassuring squeeze, then turn and face the ongoing concert, just as the band breaks into their breakout hit Layla, which North had supposedly written for his teenage sweetheart. It's an upbeat tune with lots of bass and Caden's deep and husky vocals that never fail to get the crowd pumped.

Several more songs, some tequila shots, and a whole lot of screaming later, my heart stalls in my chest as Caden North strums the opening bars to my absolute favourite song ever, Brothers.

It's one of their only heart-rending, sad songs, and the lyrics speak to me every time I hear it.

The whole arena sings along, loud and unrepentant, with the words Caden penned himself, detailing the loss of his twin brother and how, although he hasn't replaced him, he has found other brothers to keep his memory alive.

“You don't fade away; you still burn the same.

And we can't let you go. We revere your name.

Not left behind.”

By the time he's finished the last haunting note, I have tears streaming down my cheeks to mirror the ones Caden has glistening on his tanned face on stage, and I can't help reliving the loss of my sister. I miss her every single day.

And, in my slightly, or maybe very, inebriated state, while remembering her tragic passing, I'm shaken to my core to realise I haven't faced my parents' deaths. Not yet. I've been too busy just trying to survive.

I can see now, clear as day, though the world around me has become blurry from a mixture of tears and alcohol, that I've been moving through life on autopilot. Going through the motions, but not really taking part in the journey.

The worst part of losing a loved one suddenly is being unable to say goodbye. I hunger for that. To be able to say farewell to my sister. To my parents. To find closure. To face my losses. To ease my guilt.

It would mean everything to me.

Indicating to the others with hand signals that I need to use the loo, I quickly rush out of the suite and don't stop until I reach the bar.

Standing there with one hand on the bar, the other on my stomach to quell the nausea rising with my head down, my long hair shielding my face, I take several deep breaths.

In through the nose, out through the mouth, over and over for several long minutes until I can feel the nausea begin to ebb, and the overwhelming grief becomes more bearable.

I'm about to look up and make my way back to our suite, when I feel a hand on my shoulder.

"Olivia?"

My newly recovered stomach sinks as I realise I know the owner of that inimitable voice, and I keep my face down, hair sheltering my surely red eyes and tear-streaked face.

"Not now, Henry. Jesus, just… not now, okay?"

My voice is a croaky whisper that I'm not even sure he can hear.

I close my eyes, willing myself to disappear. To fade into the background. I'm too weak, too fragile for this man and his mind games right now.

My head won't win this war because my heart is ablaze tonight.

Fiery with long-veiled emotions and fuelled with way too much alcohol.

I can't allow him to be kind Henry with me in this state. The hidden version that allowed me to experience life for the very first time before it was all snatched away in some cruel cosmic joke.

Inhaling oxygen like a dying woman, my shoulders rise and fall more quickly than usual, and I know he can feel it.

"Please. Henry." My voice breaks on his name, the words part plea, part prayer, and wholly meant. I can't handle this crazy thing between us, whatever it is, on top of the emotions barrelling through me like a freight train.