Page 44 of The Sound Between Us (Vinyl Hearts #1)

the reunion

Seren

“I never told you,” Harrison starts, the words crashing out of him, “because I didn’t really remember.

And I figured that sounded worse—that maybe I did, or maybe I didn’t, but my life was so fucked I couldn’t tell what was real anymore.

That doesn’t excuse it. I know that. But I never set out to hurt you.

I need you to believe that. All I wanted was the way you made me feel—like I was finally more than the chaos I came from.

But I was so scared of losing it that I wasn’t honest. I messed it up before it even had a chance. ”

I just stare at him. The pink milkshake drips from his hoodie onto the Glastonbury mud, each drop marking time in the impossible silence between us.

He looks wrecked. Hair a mess, eyes red-rimmed, shoulders curved inward like he’s trying to protect something broken inside his chest.

Part of me wants to scream. Wants to ask him why he didn’t just tell me. It would’ve been so easy. Hey, Seren. I’ve met your sister.

But the bigger part of me... I’m just tired.

Tired of carrying this hurt around like stones in my pockets. Tired of pretending that love is safe, that it doesn’t destroy everything you thought you knew.

And somewhere deep down, I know the truth:

We don’t meet the love of our life when we’re ready. We meet them when we’re breaking.

Harrison Carter wouldn’t have stood a chance against Hailey Rogers. A few too many drinks, a few lines, a few blinks of denial, and she would’ve seen him coming from a mile off. All charm, no defences. And she’s never needed permission to hurt someone.

I open my mouth to say all of that, to let him off the hook, but then he steps forward and wraps his fingers around mine, gentle and trembling.

The contact ripples through me like memory.

The kind of touch you forget how to breathe through.

“I’ve spent months trying to go back to who I was before I met you.” His voice catches. “But I can’t. Because you—” He breathes like it costs him something. “You changed everything.”

I blink. The words hit like sudden light.

“I haven’t written a single song worth shit since Tokyo. Not one. But I’ve written about you. Every day. In the back of hotel receipts. On napkins. In notebooks I don’t show anyone. You’re in all of it. You’re the only thing that still feels real.”

His eyes are glassy, but he doesn’t look away. “I didn’t fall in love with you the way I was supposed to. It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t slow. It was immediate. Violent. Like you tore something open in me that’s never going to close.”

“You didn’t just ruin me, Seren. You rebuilt me.”

There it is. The kind of thing you don’t come back from. The kind of thing you feel in your bones.

“I’m singing on the BBC Introducing stage.” I say, because my heart is a mess and I don’t know how to respond to any of that, so I pivot to the one thing I still have control over—music .

His face shifts. His mouth opens slightly.

“You’re joking. That’s massive. That’s the start of everything.”

“It’s just one song.” I shrug like it doesn’t matter, even though it does. Even though it’s the most terrifying, exhilarating thing I’ve ever done.

“Don’t downplay it.” He steps closer. “You were always the one with something real to say. You’re going to break them open, Seren. Just like you did me. You don’t need a stage to be powerful. You’ve been changing lives from behind a record shop counter—starting with mine.”

My throat tightens. I can’t look at him, not directly. Because he’s saying everything I ever wanted to hear, and part of me is still afraid to believe it. “Some people touch your body, Harry. But you touched my silence. You made me feel again. You made me want to stay alive.”

We blink. We breathe. We transform.

“Mind if I come and watch?” His voice is gentle now.

I hesitate. Just a second. But it’s enough for both of us to feel the weight of what’s not being said. I’ve missed him. Not the fame. Not the chaos. Him. The boy with messy chords and midnight lyrics. The boy who saw me, not just my last name.

“You can come.”

He exhales, his whole body sagging. “Yeah?”

“But you’re buying me a new milkshake first.”

He actually laughs—head tilted back, milkshake-splattered hoodie and all, and the sound cuts through the noise of the festival like a song only I can hear. “Deal. Though you might want to aim better next time.”

“Who says there’ll be a next time?”

“Hope. Or madness. Or both. You’re the only risk I’ve ever wanted to take twice.”

I look at him properly as I speak, at the soft curve of his mouth, the mess of his hair, the apology written into every line of his body. And something inside me, something that’s been locked tight for months, creaks open.

Maybe some people are worth the fallout. Maybe the past doesn’t get to decide the ending.

“Come on.” I nod toward the fairy-lit food stalls. “Let’s get you cleaned up before someone posts about this and you trend for all the wrong reasons.”

“Too late.” He murmurs, still smiling. “Pretty sure someone already caught me at my lowest.”

“You’ve definitely had worse looks. Though milkshake couture is... bold.”

He bumps my shoulder, gentle and familiar, and the memory of Tokyo—skin, breath, the way he said my name like it meant something—flickers between us like static.

“You know what I keep thinking?”

I glance over, and he’s not smiling anymore.

“I didn’t lose you because I stopped loving you. I lost you because I was too much of a coward to trust you with the truth.”

My chest aches. Because yeah—that’s what it always was. Not the absence of love. Just fear. Too much cowardice when courage mattered most. Wounds too big for bandages.

“I’m not asking to go back. I’m asking if we can begin again—as the people we are now.”

I nod, just once. And for the first time in months, it doesn’t feel like surrender. It feels like a beginning.

The lights are blinding.

But not tonight.

Tonight, I feel like they’re lighting me up from the inside.

I step up to the mic, fingers wrapped tight around it—not out of fear, but because for the first time in my life, I’m ready.

My boots plant solid on the stage floor as the first notes echo from the band behind me.

Not Elementary. Not my dad. Just a handful of studio session players and a borrowed spotlight.

But I feel seen.

I take one breath, then another, and look out past the golden wash of stage lights.

And there he is.

Harrison. Standing right where I knew he’d be. Just beyond the barrier, arms crossed over his chest, a faint grin pulling at his mouth. Eyes locked on mine like there’s no one else in the field.

And in this moment, there isn’t.

To my left, I catch a glimpse of Damon in his ridiculous velvet blazer, grinning and whooping like a maniac.

Uncle Vinny is there, too, doing some sort of proud dad shuffle that would be mortifying if I didn’t love him so much.

The crowd is bigger than I expected. Louder, too.

My name spreads through the field like a ripple.

I nod to the guitarist. The intro rolls in slow and sweet.

And then I sing.

My voice isn’t perfect. It never has been. It’s breathy, it cracks, it strains in places. But it’s mine. Every note, every lyric, is mine.

I don’t just sing at them. I sing through him.

Through Harrison.

Because every love song I ever swallowed was about him. And tonight, I’m finally brave enough to let it out.

He never looks away. Not once. Not when the second verse punches low and raw, not when my voice quivers on the bridge, not when I close my eyes and pour the last chorus out like a confession I’ve been holding in since Tokyo.

When it ends, there’s silence.

Not an awkward one. Not confused.

Stunned .

For half a second, the world holds its breath.

Then Glastonbury erupts.

The kind of sound that vibrates in your bones.

People who don’t know me are screaming. Damon’s fist is in the air.

Vinny is crying. Even Simon is losing his voice behind the barrier.

And the Elementary boys? All three of them are jumping like idiots, Dex shouting something obscene and Jamie waving Belle in her sling like she’s a tiny flag of victory.

And Harrison...

He’s just standing there, hand over his heart.

I want to run to him. To kiss him. To bury my hands in his hair and say, See? We made it.

But before I can even take a step, someone grabs my wrist.

“Seren Rogers?” A sharp voice says. “You’re live in thirty seconds.”

I’m pulled backstage and into a small white tent filled with camera rigs, cables, and two BBC producers talking into headsets. A sleek-looking woman in a teal jumpsuit with a handheld mic grins at me, instantly recognisable as the face of BBC Radio, Clara Fielding.

Christ, am I going to have to talk to her...

Too late to back out, she starts the interview.

“That was... electric. Welcome to BBC Introducing. How are you feeling?”

“Honestly?” I manage a shaky laugh. “Like my heart’s still somewhere out there on the main stage.”

She smiles. “That’s where it belongs. Seren, for those watching who don’t know—though I can’t imagine there are many—you’re the daughter of music legend Damon Rogers, and your godfather is Faith Jones’ original guitarist. What’s it like to grow up surrounded by icons?”

I blink. The air thickens.

“I guess I always thought it was normal. Until I realised I wasn’t supposed to be following in their footsteps. I wanted to carve my own path. And tonight... I just hoped people saw me. Not my name. Not my lineage. Just me.”

A loud voice from the crowd pierces the tent: “YES, MY TREASURE!” Damon, obviously.

I cringe and laugh. “And there’s Dad, right on cue.”

Clara chuckles, clearly delighted. “But it wasn’t just family watching tonight, was it? I hear there was a very famous pop front man cheering you on from the crowd. Certain boyband royalty, if I’m not mistaken?”

My gaze flicks to the side of the tent—there he is. Harrison. Shoving a hand through his curls, grinning like he’s just watched the stars fall from the sky and land in his lap.

I smirk, deadpan.

“Yeah. I’ve been teaching them how to make real music.”

Clara Fielding cackles. “Oh, they’ll love that one.”

But I don’t look away. Not from him. Not for a second.

Because I know—whatever comes next, whatever madness this performance sets off, it started the moment he looked at me and saw something more than a last name.