Page 50 of Finding Grey
TWENTY-FIVE
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DANTE
My heart skidded to a halt and a dull roar took up in my ears. I had no idea Roger planned to visit, hadn’t even spoken to him in weeks. I’d ignored his calls and barely responded to his emails, only saying progress had been made and I’d send him the tracks when they were ready.
They weren’t ready—not for him.
“Dante,” he said as he stepped forward to shake my hand. He was immaculately dressed as always. His greying hair neatly trimmed, and his suit tailored to perfection.
“Roger, I wasn’t expecting you.” I sneaked a glance at Sean. Had Roger recognised him? Surely not. He’d only seen him for a few seconds that night eight years ago, when he’d tossed Sean out of my dressing room.
“I thought it prudent to make my visit a surprise given the way you’ve been avoiding me.” The grumble in his tone told of his displeasure. “But it is your birthday tomorrow, I figured I should make an appearance.”
I wasn’t convinced. Roger had never been much for celebrations unless they came with favourable photo opportunities. He wanted to know what I’d been doing for the past five weeks. And I would have to tell him.
“I take it you’ve met Sean,” I said, gesturing in his direction with one hand. “You may remember him better by the name of Grey.” There was no point in hiding Sean’s identity, and getting the revelation out of the way up front seemed like the simplest option. I wasn’t sure what kind of reaction I expected. Shock, perhaps? Or at least surprise.
Instead, he simply crossed his arms over his chest and pressed his lips together in a grim line. “Is this why you came here, then? For him?”
“No, I came here to work,” I insisted. “Finding Grey was… a happy accident.” My gaze slid to Sean, who looked back at me with a quirky grin and a slow wink. I had a feeling the display of affection was intended to infuriate Roger. A low curse told me it worked, and I fought the urge to laugh out loud.
“I’m going out for a while,” Sean said in a low voice. “Give you time to catch up. I’ll be back in time to make dinner.”
I nodded, and Sean left through the door to the patio, heading in the direction of his flat where he parked his car. After he left, I led Roger out to the patio.
Taking a seat at the table, Roger gave me a questioning look. “You and he…?”
“No.” I cursed the disappointment evident in my voice. “We’ve become friends, that’s all.”
“Good,” he replied. “How did you find him?”
“Coincidence, like I said. Sean is the host here. His father, Phil Kelland, owns the place.”
“Bloody Phil Kelland,” he bit out. “I should have known. Coincidence, my arse.”
Those last words, muttered under his breath, made me frown. “How do you know Phil?”
“I don’t,” he said, not meeting my gaze. “But I know of him.” Relaxing back into his chair, he asked, “Do you have any work to show for your time here? Or have you been too busy fawning over your childhood sweetheart?”
My teeth clenched as I looked out across the patio. I remembered thinking, the first time I stepped out here, this place seemed apart from the harsh realities of the world. Somewhere safe. That was no longer the case. Roger had brought all the expectations of the world with him, reminding me of the freedoms I could never have.
“I’ve finished more than twenty songs. Scratch tracks have been made for most of them. I’m still deciding which ones to put on the album and which will be bonus tracks for the singles.”
“That’s good news.” Nodding, Roger sat forward in his chair. “Let’s hear them then.”
Everything inside me wanted to refuse. The thought of Roger hearing the newly recorded songs made my skin crawl. I should have changed the lyrics while I had the chance, so he’d never find out what I’d done to bring this album into existence. Now, it was too late.
I went into the house to retrieve my laptop and some headphones before returning to the table. “Some of the lyrics are still works in progress. I know changes will need to be made.” I tried to stop my hands from shaking as I opened the folder of music files and queued up more than a dozen tracks. “I’ve been experimenting with some new writing techniques, drawing from a different well, so to speak. That’s the only reason I’ve gotten this far.”
Roger took the headphones. “Are you done making excuses for whatever the hell I’m about to listen to?” My gut clenched, and I gave him a curt nod. “Good.” He slipped on the headphones and clicked the play button.
* * *
The wait was interminable.
I sat at the table with Roger while he listened, trying not to search his face for evidence of exasperation or disappointment. His expression remained stoic as ever. When he finished, he closed the lid of the laptop and took off the headphones. Sitting back in his chair, he regarded me with speculative eyes. “What the hell is this?”