“What good is me showing up for rehearsals if you can’t make it on time?”
Jase stepped up into Matt’s space the following day before he’d even had a chance to take in the fact everyone else was there ahead of him. Usually it was the other way around. He was the one pacing around their rehearsal space, an empty factory that still smelled of coolant from the ghosts of machines it once contained.
He shoulder checked Jase as he walked by. Today was not the day to get caught up in Jase’s whirlwind.
“You’re pissed because he’s the one who has been inconvenienced for once.” Matt said, dropping his guitar case on the table and turning to face Jase. “And you missed the last, what, three rehearsals. So, I’m down six minutes and you’re down three hundred and sixty.”
“And you just stroll in late so everyone else is waiting for you. You. So you can be the centre of attention.”
Matt laughed. “Get over yourself, Jase. I was just wrapping up the new song I’d been writing. Wanting to start working on it with you guys today and I knew if I stopped and tried to get here on time, I’d lose my flow. Anyway, it’s done. Want to hear it or do you just want to bust my balls for a bit longer so you feel good about yourself?”
Jase rolled his eyes but said nothing, and Matt wondered when they’d just accepted Jase’s anger. Hell, he’d even stopped worrying about where it came from or what caused it. Instead, he focused on what the band needed to get done.
“I was chatting with Luke, we’ve got the funds for some serious studio time after the summer gigs. We were thinking it might be time to try and put out another full album. There are a few songs bubbling, we’ve got some new material. Maybe practice and test songs now and plan to record near the end of the year.”
Alex grinned. “I’d be game. I’m getting fed up of playing the same songs.”
Ben opened his guitar case. “What were you thinking? Like October?”
Matt nodded. “Yeah. Try to get it done by Christmas and start the new year with a new release.”
“I’d kind of been banking on us seeing some of that summer cash though,” Jase said. “Is there enough for both?”
“Not really. Maybe a bit. But if we want to leave some cash in the pot for advertising and trying to tour the new album, we should probably avoid pulling any more cash out. But I get it. We’re skint. My car died the other morning and while I got a ride to the job, I had to take the tram home. It’s still sitting around the back of the apartment. I just don’t know how many more kicks at the can we have at this. I feel like if we’re going to do this, we need to make it a big one or not bother.”
The thought fucked with his insides. First, thinking about the tram, with Izabel’s arse pressed up against his dick. And how he still had to speak to Luke after rehearsal with words he hadn’t been able to come up with yet. Layer on the fact he’d just verbalised his worst fear, that the band was running out of time and money to become, well, anything.
“I’m ready,” Luke said. “I’ll deal with another six months of your Uncle Allan’s bad breath to get it done. Extra shifts, whatever we need to make this one perfect.”
“Yeah,” Ben agreed. “Same. I can pick up some overtime. If you need some cash, Jase, short-term, I can loan you some.”
Jase shook his head. “Thanks, but I’ll manage. It was more, just… shit, I fed up with being brassic.”
“Could you go full-time at the pub? Or perhaps find something full-time somewhere else? I bet Uncle Allan would take you on in a heartbeat,” Matt said.
“Don’t need you to figure my life out. I’m a big boy now.”
Matt lifted his hands in surrender. He should know better than offer Jase an opinion directly. But the way he’d spoken, like he was tired down to his bones, mirrored Matt’s own feelings. He’d felt compelled to help. “Understood.”
Luke walked to his drum kit and let rip, a roaring blast of energy drowning everything else out. “Should we get started then?” he yelled.
Alex grinned, his blond hair flopping over his eyes, as he joined in on his percussion set up. To Matt, it looked like a thousand instruments in a giant pile, but there was a strict set-up Alex followed. And when they played live, he barely looked down to look at what he was doing, just reached out his hand to smash a symbol, hit a key, or pick up a tambourine. The house he shared with Jase was like a music shop, packed to the rafters with equipment that could change the roar of a car engine into a beautiful sound on a song.
Matt pulled out his guitar, attached his strap and pulled it over his head. He messed with his amp until he had the setting right and strummed a chord. Loud, gravelly, just the right amount of reverb he liked.
Ben grabbed his guitar and did the same.
Matt stepped up to the microphone and looked at Jase who still looked pissed. “Are you coming, our kid?”
Jase sauntered up to the middle microphone, and as he did, his features totally changed. The sour downturned mouth loosened as Jase wiggled his jaw from left to right, before opening it wide to stretch his jaw. Stiff, hunched up shoulders fell away from his ears. An aura of confidence replaced the uncertain gate, the loping step replaced with one of confidence and purpose.
It was as if the few square feet at the front of the stage was the only place he felt at home in his own skin. And it was the only reason Matt put up with his shit. Whatever pressure or anger or loathing Jase felt evaporated once he’d stepped up onto it, and Matt would give anything to know what caused it to come back the minute he jumped back down.
Because for a brief couple of hours, depending on Jase’s mood, he’d see his brother. Would meet him there in front of their fans.
“Evening, motherfuckers, we’re the Sad Fridays.”
Only Jase would pretend there was an imaginary audience. Luke led them into their first song.
Two hours later, when every song had been played, pulled apart, and perfected, Matt changed into a clean T-shirt.
“Need a ride home, Matt?” Luke asked as he disassembled his kit.
“Be great, thanks.”
He gave Luke a hand getting his kit into his van and climbed aboard.
Matt waited until Luke had navigated his way out of the Northern Quarter onto the ring road out of the city. “I need to chat with you, mate. About Iz.”
Luke glanced at him and looked back at the road. “What about her?”
“Saw her taking some shit from Harry.”
“Fucking asshole. I should have nailed him when I had the chance. What was he saying?”
“Stuff about some wedding coming up.”
“Ah, shit. Yeah. It’s a bit of a cluster.”
Matt paused and looked out of the window. He didn’t want to give Luke the impression he was overly invested. “Yeah, Iz mentioned it was something like that. Turns out Harry decided the right time to officially introduce Iz to Sophia, that bird he was fucking on the side, was on the tram where he also told her he was taking Sophia to the wedding, and they were going to use the room they’d booked.”
Luke ran his hand along his jaw. “I’m gonna fucking kill him.”
“Would have done it for you had there not been two police officers on the tram.”
“How did Izabel take it?”
“I think you’d have to ask her, but she looked pretty crushed. Defeated. To make things worse, Harry was looking at her like a starved man. Sophia, she’s pretty in that too-much-make-up high maintenance kind of way. Tits that defied gravity and heels she could barely stand up straight in, but she’d not Izabel.”
“Do you think he wants her back?”
Matt shrugged. An important part of getting Matt to agree was to show absolute indifference to the whole thing. “The way he was practically drooling says he does.”
Luke thumped the steering wheel. “Always knew he was a sleaze bag. Guess he thought he could have my sister and whoever the fuck else he wanted. What’s to say he’s not going to try and bait and switch at the wedding? Get Izabel drunk, play on her good nature, like that dick of a brother of yours.”
Fuck. How he wished Luke hadn’t brought up Jase. It wasn’t going to make the next part of the conversation any easier.
“Yeah. Well. You might be a bit pissed at what happened next, but I didn’t know what the fuck else to do, mate.”
Luke pulled up at a red light and turned to face him. “Tell me.”
“Well, you know Harry gets a bit intimidated around us, being the pussy he is?”
“Yes. And?”
“Well, I might have led him to believe me and Izabel were dating so he’d stop looking at her like a piece of meat…and I said I’d take her to the wedding.”
Luke threw a punch, but Matt backed up against the window and blocked it as the van swerved. “Calm the fuck down, you idiot. I’m not ready to die today.”
“Your fucking brother already did a number on Izabel. Now you’re getting all up in her face. Do I have to worry about you too?”
“Luke. It’s not like that, and you know it. There’s Iz, looking like she just got trampled on by a raging bull, and there’s Sophia, eyeing Iz like she can’t wait to stick a fucking butter knife between Iz’s shoulders. And then there’s Harry, too busy staring at her tits to realise how much he just crushed her. And there are two Metrolink cops on the tram five feet over stopping me from doing what I really wanted which was to punch him in his fucking mug.”
Luke took a deep breath and screeched away from the lights. “You aren’t going through with it though, are you?”
“Iz came by this morning to give me an out. But she’d no plan outside of telling me I didn’t have to go. No transportation, nowhere to stay, not enough cash.”
“I’ll pay for her to fucking go. I’ll even take her.”
“You can’t. It’s the weekend you asked for no gigs because you were going to London for your cousin’s stag do.”
“Fuck me.”
“Listen. It’s no skin off my nose. A weekend in the Lakes will be good for my creativity. I’ve felt a bit stifled recently. Iz can go do her wedding stuff, I’ll take a hike. I’ll be there on the wedding day to keep Harry and Sophia from causing problems.”
“You don’t have ideas about Iz, do you?”
“Don’t be stupid. Do you think I’d want to go where Jase went?” And fuck knows he’d grappled with it. If Luke only knew how many nights he’d spent in bed thinking about the messed-up series of events stemming from Luke’s stupid demand. If he’d not been resistant to settling down, if he’d not hooked up that night to resist the signals Iz had been giving him she was his. When she’d sat on his knee after the gig, when she’d run her fingers through his hair. When she’d let her fingers trail beneath the bottom of his T-shirt so those soft fucking fingertips could draw circles on his back.
Luke blanched. “Don’t even make me think about it. I don’t think you or him realise just how close I came to quitting the band. I know I’m a hypocrite. Every gig. Every other night. Some random girl. But the idea of my sister catching any of that makes me want to hurl.”
Yeah. The idea of Jase and Iz made him want to hurl too.
“I hear you, man. But Iz, before Jase, she was a really good friend. And I can help her out while you can’t. It’s not a big deal.”
Luke’s knuckles were white as he gripped the steering wheel. They drove in silence until he pulled up in his parking spot in their apartment building.
“You need a hand getting this to the apartment?” Matt asked, grabbing his guitar from the back of the van.
Luke shook his head. “Nah. I’ve got it.”
“Alright. Well…we’re good, right? Because I’ll not take her, just tell her it’s not cool if it bothers you so much. I’m sure Harry will be cool. It’s his brother’s wedding after all. How big a douche could he be in front of family?”
And, fuck, if he wasn’t bating his best friend.
Luke sighed. “Yeah. We’re good, mate. I meant everything I said on the drive. But thanks for looking out for her and taking her. Let me know if she needs some cash for it, because Lord knows she never fucking asks.”
Matt nodded and slapped his shoulder. “Any time.”
“You need more tea, Jon,” Izabel asked, doing a round with the huge industrial teapot that took at least twelve teabags to make a decent cuppa. It was almost too heavy for her to carry when it was full. A lady from a Methodist church had appeared one day with a bunch of equipment they’d used to make lunches on a Tuesday for parishioners, but thanks to a donation from a church member, they’d been able to buy new equipment. It had come with trays for cooking and mixing bowls and twenty cups and saucers.
The saucers never got used, but the smaller cups were good for rationing the brew.
“I’m totally parched, Izabel.” He offered his cup in her direction.
Jon had been homeless for twelve years after a bankruptcy. Unable to find his feet, he’d lost his home, his car, and over the years, his belongings had whittled down to what he could fit into a couple of boxes he’d somehow jimmied onto four skateboard wheels. At sixty-eight, he’d been written off by the job market and was too set in his ways to change.
He also was a sweetheart of a man who had once flown Sea Harrier’s in the Falklands conflict, saved half of a digestive biscuit every day to feed the squirrels, and always sang John Denver’s Isabel when he saw her, likening her to a princess from the mountains.
If she could do one thing to help anyone in the shelter it was Jon. He didn’t deserve a future that would never be any brighter than this moment right now.
“There you go,” she said, slipping an extra packet of two bourbon biscuits into his pocket with a wink.
“Ah, bless you, chick.”
“When’s the barber coming?” Jack, a forty-seven year who refused care and treatment for an undiagnosed mental health problem, asked.
“Just missed him. He was here on Monday. They come the last Monday in the month. It’ll be another four weeks. Sorry.”
“Didn’t want a fucking hair cut anyway,” he said, shoving his chair out behind him as he stood. They’d long since learned he was all bark and no bite.
Actually, there wasn’t even a lot of bark…more like and occasional snarl. He’d argue over the colour of his shoes given half a chance.
“I’m pretty shit with a pair of scissors, Jack. But I would happily give it a go if you just want a trim on Monday afternoon,” she said. And perhaps watch a few YouTube videos beforehand.
Jack curled his lip. “You’re not sticking a pair of scissors near my head. You might stab me.”
Izabel raised her hands in playful surrender. “Your call, Jack. Just giving you options.”
“Well, you can keep your fucking options. They suck.”
“In fairness, they do. I have a great many skills, but I doubt barbershop work is one of them.”
“You’re a good girl, Izabel,” Jon added, taking a bite of his biscuit. “Take no notice of Jack.”
“Don’t think I didn’t see her give you an extra biscuit either,” Jack complained.
Izabel pulled another packet out of her pocket. “Here. Don’t say I never give you anything.”
“Have you seen the time, Izabel?” Ibrahim, the manager of the shelter asked, gesturing to the clock on the wall.
Shit.
Ten after three. “Oh, crap. Thanks. I’d better go.”
Ibrahim took the kettle from her. “Have fun. See you Monday.”
“Thanks. Bye everyone,” she called out as she hurried to the office where she kept her bags. She’d dropped her suitcase and bridesmaid dress at Matt’s before work, and it had been the first time she’d seen him in two weeks. Their paths had never crossed beyond the odd logistical text message. He’d looked…good. Who was she kidding? He’d looked swoony. Mussed hair, no shirt, ripped and paint-stained jeans, barefoot. It had taken every ounce of self-control to not jump on him and lick him all over.
The look he’d given her was far more reserved.
And if the pep talk Luke had given her that morning was anything to go by, she knew why. There was no doubt in her mind Matt had been given the same warning she had. Hands off. He’d even suggested she didn’t even step foot inside Matt’s room, and Izabel had chosen to not tell him she and Matt had decided sharing a twin room was a better way of upholding their ruse with Harry. He’d never believe it if he found out they had separate rooms.
When she stepped out into the sunshine, she took a breath of air. The shelter, being in such an old building, had a limited number of windows, none of which received any bright sunshine given the buildings around them. It made for a depressingly cool and uninspiring venue.
As she looked up, she could see Matt standing with his back to his car door, one foot crossed over the other. He wore a loose white shirt, the top couple of buttons open. The sleeves were rolled up to just above his elbows, revealing all the ink she loved so much. Once upon a time, she’d trace the lines of it.
He was so…reliable. And not in a boring way. She didn’t want a knight on a white charger or a billionaire or a bad boy. In her dreams she married a guy who loved their nan. And took care of their friends. Took care of her. But not in a suffocating way. In a, make sure your car has petrol in it and shows up early when they say they are going to meet you so you aren’t left standing alone way. After being left to fend for herself at seventeen, she wanted the stability and reliability of someone who wasn’t her brother. Who didn’t look out for her because they felt obligated, but because they wanted to.
His hair was still damp, the ends fluttering in the breeze. He’d obviously just showered, something she wished she could have done.
Lord, she probably smelled a little after working all day. Six hours at the studio, then four at the shelter. Hell, she’d even cleaned the kitchen, blasted the oven with foul smelling chemical cleaner. He looked fresh as a daisy while she probably looked like a tulip wilted by drought.
“Hey, Matt,” she said as she got closer to the car.
“Hey, Iz.” He reached for her bags, and she groaned as the weight left her shoulders. “Fuck me. These are heavy. What the hell do you have in them?” Matt put them in the boot of the car where she could see her suitcase and bridesmaid dress.
Izabel laughed as they climbed in the car and fastened their seatbelts. “Well, one is my work bag with my laptop and all the applications for grants and charitable donations etc. The second is my purse and has my kindle so I can read on the tram and stuff. The third is my donations bag. This morning it contained about sixty apples I’d convinced Marks & Spenser’s in Didsbury Village to donate because they were just on their best before date. I’m the queen of persuading people to donate shit apparently. The final bag is my other work bag from Gemma’s place.”
Matt started the car, the radio coming to life blasting an old Kings of Leon song. He adjusted the volume. “How do you fit it all in?”
“That’s why I have so many bags.”
Matt laughed. “No. All the stuff you do. Gemma’s. Your work here. It’s a lot. Luke says you work six days a week.”
How did she even begin to explain? “It’s a long story.”
“It’s about a hundred miles to the Lake District, sweetheart. We’ve got time.”
She wondered if he realised he’d called her sweetheart. Izabel twisted in her seat so she could look at him. He’d shaved, and she itched to run her fingers down his cheek to see if his skin felt as soft as it looked. While she preferred him with a bit of scruff, he’d likely done it because they were headed to a wedding.
See, reliable.
“Me and Gem volunteered at the shelter while we did our Duke of Edinburgh award during our first year of university. And it just…stuck with me. It put everything else I was doing into perspective. Even though I got my marketing degree, I just couldn’t ever leave. There’s this guy named Jon. Technically, he’s sixty-eight, unemployable, no pension, no home, formerly bankrupt. I’m no expert, but he’s suffered mental health challenges since the day I met him, and I’m convinced all of his problems started when he returned from the Falklands war. He doesn’t make decisions in his own best interest.”
“That’s fucked up. Can no-one help him?”
Izabel reached for the elastic holding her messy bun, tugged it out, and let her hair down. A headache ebbed at the edges of her temples. “That’s my frustration and why I couldn’t leave. There are all kinds of agencies and all kinds of good people trying to make things better…I mean, there are also some complete dickhead jobsworths who won’t lift a finger more than they need to…but for the most part it’s good, well-intentioned people. But somehow the system doesn’t work as a whole.”
“In what way?”
Izabel thought though all the examples. “Here’s one. Housing. There’s a huge waiting list for housing. And there isn’t enough of the right type of housing. And then there is a priority list. Do you have kids? Are you disabled or sick? Are you actually homeless or without a home?”
“There’s a difference?”
“Yeah. Homeless is literally sleeping in your car, a shelter, or outside. Being without a home, means you don’t have a home of your own, but you have somewhere to sleep. So, a mum and her three kids crammed into the second bedroom of her parent’s house is not considered as such of an emergency.”
“I sort of understand that though. A cramped roof is better than no roof. Me and Jase in Nan’s spare room was better than going into care.”
She reached out an placed her hand on his thigh and rubbed it gently. “Yeah, what Nan did was incredible.”
Matt placed his hand on top of hers for a moment. She was sandwiched between his thigh and his palm. Then he looked at her and snatched his hand away, placing it back on the steering wheel, and she placed her hand back on her lap.
“So, yeah, I need to earn some money, which I do working for Gem. But my heart’s at the shelter where I make very little. So, you just make it work, right? Isn’t that what you and the band do?”
Matt nodded and looked out of the side window to merge onto the motorway. “Yeah. Day jobs top up our earnings. The less money we need to take as salary, the more we can plough back into the band. Studio time, touring, and shit.”
“You ever get tired of the hustle of it?” she asked, suddenly feeling every minute she’d worked that day.
He glanced over at her. “Yeah. I do. There are days when I wonder whether the grind is worth it. Whether dealing with Jase every day will ever pay off. Will I ever write a good enough song? Will we ever get a lucky break? Some days I feel like the tide is turning, then on others…I guess I want us to be ready for it when it happens.”
“It’s weird, isn’t it. So often we have this idea of what success in life is going to look like, and it’s this place over there,” she said, gesturing out of the window. “Like when we get there, everything will be amazing. But the truth is, we never get there. I think you’ve already written great songs. And I think the fact people book you says you’re already lucky. But I get why to you, it feels like you aren’t there yet.”
Matt gazed over at her for a moment before returning his eyes to the road. “Words like that help. You know, on mornings when the idea of pulling on one of Uncle Allan’s decorating firm polo shirts makes me feel sick, or I feel like hiding out in bed watching shit TV, I’ll think about what you just said and get my arse in gear and get on with it.”
“I hope you get the pay-off you hope for. You deserve it, not just because you’ve worked hard, but you’re really good.”
“Thanks, Iz,” he said gruffly. “I hope Luke relents and lets you come to one of our gigs again soon. We’re so much better than we were two years ago.”
Iz grinned. “I did already. He just doesn’t know it. Gem got us tickets for a gig you did in Stoke and drove us down there. Snuck in the back. Watched the gig, came home.”
Matt laughed. “You’re fucking serious?”
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
“Because one day, like you said, my brother will get over himself and I’ll be able to say I always supported him, even when he didn’t want me there.”
Matt glanced at her again. “It’s not that he doesn’t want you there. He just wants to keep you and his mates apart. Two different things.”
Izabel bit down on the side of her thumb.
Two different things.
What she’d told him was sort of the truth. Gemma had bought her lie. Matt had bought it. Hell, even Luke would buy she’d wanted to see her brother perform. But the truth?
Seeing Matt, backlit, the crowd singing the chorus of one of his songs, had been incredible. For a moment she’d been able to pretend. Pretend she was there as his girlfriend. Pretend he’d be excited to see her when he stepped off the stage.
Maybe one day, he’d take the stick out of his arse and be glad she was there.
“You were really good…when we watched. You seemed more in command of the stage.”
Matt shook his head. “Yeah. Probably four pints in. Still get chronic stage fright, even though I love performing. I don’t get how those two things can be in tension, but here I am.”
Izabel tapped her lips as she thought. “They are different things though, right? I would imagine stage fright is to do with things like looking stupid on stage or fear the crowd will hate you. While performing is about a passion for sharing story through song. Of creating those expansive moments where people can lose themselves for a little while. Both those things can be true at the same time, right?”
Matt glanced in her direction again. “Yeah, Iz. I guess that’s the truth of it.” He leaned forward and turned the volume up a little which she took as a clear indicator their conversation was over.
Slowly, the smog and concrete of the city was left behind, the landscape become more expansive and finally lush and greener as they entered the Lake District National Park. The silence wasn’t awkward. If anything, it was a comfortable, reflective silence, each happy with their own thoughts.
It was only as they approached the hotel did she think back to the moment when his hand had covered hers. “Can we talk about how we’re going to behave…act…I don’t know…be…around each other this weekend?”
He glanced over at her. “What do you mean?”
Izabel bit down the side of her thumb nail nervously. “Well, Harry thinks you’re here as my boyfriend. Shouldn’t we at least do coupley things. Like hold hands, dance together. I don’t think Harry will buy this if we don’t.”
“You’re right. I guess, I hadn’t thought this far ahead.”
Fuck. It was the truth. He hadn’t. Somehow, he thought he’d be able to walk the line between stoic wingman and friend. But that was not what Harry was expecting, and by the look on Izabel’s face, it was less than she needed.
And the idea of being less than Izabel needed stung like a thousand scorpions crawling over his body.
“I’m sorry I put you in this position,” Izabel said.
“Seem to recall I put myself in this situation. On the tram, and not taking the out when you offered it. This isn’t on you.”
He glanced over at her before looking out for signs to the hotel entrance. Her elbow rested against the window, and she ran her fingers across her lips mindlessly. She stared out of the window, away from him. And suddenly he’d given anything for her eyes to be on him.
He placed a hand on her ripped jeans, feeling the smooth skin of her thigh beneath his calloused fingers.
Soft.
“We’ll muddle our way through this, Iz. I won’t let you down. From the moment we pull into the parking spot, I’ll be the most attentive and perfect boyfriend.” She had no idea just how easy it would be to pretend. The tough part would be maintaining any sense of boundaries so they could go their separate ways again on Sunday with his heart in one piece.
She smiled and looked over at him. “I don’t need you to be perfect, Matt. Nobody’s perfect. You just need to make us seem happier than Harry and bitch-face.”
Wouldn’t be hard.
Matt had seen the glimpse of remorse in Harry’s eyes on the tram. Hell, if he’d been a betting man, he’d guess Sophia had told Harry he needed to set Izabel straight. Furthermore, he’d bet a hundred quid it was Sophia’s idea to come to the wedding with him, too. Nothing said insecurity like not letting your new boyfriend attend a family event you weren’t invited to without you. So, no. It wouldn’t be hard to create a better illusion than the reality Harry had landed himself in.
He pulled into the hotel and found a spot to park. Izabel reached for the door, but Matt reached for her hand and stopped her. “I meant it, Izabel. Whatever you need me to be this weekend to help you get through it. I’m there for you. Okay? You need me to hold your hand, I’ve got you. You want me to hold you close while we dance to some ridiculous Lionel Ritchie song, I’ll do it. You need my full attention, you’ve got it.”
Izabel slid her fingers between is. “I hate that Harry’s decision to bring Sophia means this weekend isn’t just about Gemma and Ollie. I want to be there for my friend. Fully. Without worry. It’s not fair to her for me to be anything less. But I’m also nervous. I don’t think I could have done this on my own.”
He tucked her hair behind her ear and looked at all the dainty little piercings than ran from her lobe to the top of her ear. Tiny little studs, slender chains, and a Manchester bee. There was a fragility to them, just like Izabel. “You won’t have to. I’ll run interference. You just worry about Gemma and making sure her wedding goes smoothly. I’ll look out for Harry. You’ve got this. Okay? Pull up the big girl undies.”
“I haven’t worn big girl undies since I was fifteen.”
Matt huffed. “The last thing I need to think about is the size of your knickers.”
“If you were really my boyfriend, you’d want to know all the things about my undies.”
Izabel grinned in his direction and Matt groaned. “Enough, Iz.” But he couldn’t help but smile at her.
“Thank you,” she said. The tip of her tongue ran over her lower lip before she bit down on it. “For all of this.”
“My pleasure. You just need to remember you have more right than Sophia to take up space at this wedding. Don’t let her make you fall back into the shadows. You don’t belong there, Iz.”
Reluctantly, he let go of her fingers and stepped out of the car. The evening air was still sultry and humid, unusual for England, even in Summer. But it was fresh unlike the fetid smell of petrol and bodies in the Northern Quarter.
He popped the boot of the car open and reached for all of their things. “You leave anything at home in your wardrobe?” he asked, hauling out Izabel’s large suitcase and suit carrier.
“Cheeky,” Izabel warned.
Matt grabbed his own things, a large tote bag and his suit and shirt on hangers and managed to precariously balance everything so he could tug, carry, and nudge everything to the check-in desk.
“I’m capable of helping, you know.”
“I know. But years of hauling all our gear up and down the country has taught me a thing or two about hotel check-in Jenga.”
Izabel grinned, her cute dimples flashing for him.
Fuck, she was pretty.
He was still focused on her when the employee on the desk called out his name. “Mr. Palmer?”
He tore his eyes from Izabel and looked at the woman.
“From the Sad Fridays?”
He glanced at her name badge and nodded. “The same, Naomi. Check-in for two nights, please.”
“Welcome to the Belsfield Hotel, I love your music, Mr. Palmer.”
“Please, call me Matt.”
“Hotel policy, Mr. Palmer. One second, I’d just like to check on something… Yes…I’m able to secure a complimentary upgrade for you and your guest to a much larger room than the Classic Twin room. This is a suite with a stunning view over Lake Windermere. It’s a bit dark to see it tonight, but you’ll be amazed in the morning.”
The suite was double the price of the room he’d booked, because, Lord knew, he’d looked. The idea of treating Izabel to a weekend of luxury had been front and centre in his mind. But when he’d seen the prices of the suites at nearly six hundred quid a night, his wallet had taken charge over his heart.
“Perfect. Thank you.”
“If you leave your bags, I can make sure they get brought up to you.”
He felt Izabel’s hand slip into the back pocket of his jeans and followed her gaze. Harry had just walked into the hotel with Sophia. He slid his hand around her shoulder and tugged her close as he accepted the keys. “That would be great. Which way is it to our suite?” he asked, loud enough for Harry to overhear.
Naomi gave them instructions and he pressed a kiss to the top of Izabel’s head. “Come on, babe. A drink can wait. I’ve got plans for you.”
He turned around and deliberately body checked Harry who stumbled back two paces. The guy wasn’t much shorter than his own six foot three, but he lacked mass. “God, Sorry, mate. Didn’t see you there.” He made a show of brushing down Harry’s rumpled suit jacket.
“Fuck off, Matt.”
Matt grinned. “Great to see you too, Harry. Sophia.”
He reached for Izabel’s hand. “Come on. Bed, then bar.”
Izabel waited until they were beyond the first flight of stairs before she started to laugh. “Matt,” she chastised, even though he could tell from her tone she didn’t mean it.
“What?”
“You don’t need to be so…”
“So, what?”
Izabel gestured in the air. “You know. Macho.”
“Macho?”
“Yes, Macho.”
“The eighties just called. They want their word back.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I do. And what kind of fake boyfriend would I be if I didn’t feel the need to get one over on your ex. He was a dick, Iz. To you, back then and now. The right thing to do would have been to leave Sophia at home. Not rub her under your nose at a wedding where everyone knows each other and is so tightly woven together. Plus, messing me with him will give me something to do this weekend whenever you’re busy.”
Izabel sighed. “Fine. You’re right.”
Matt placed his finger under her chin so she could look up at him. “I am right. Let me have a little fun with Harry. It’ll make up for not castrating the fucker when Luke punched him.”
Izabel glanced over her shoulder to check there was no-one around them. “Okay.”
Matt nodded. “Good.”
Izabel wrapped her arms around his elbow. “We got a suite, huh? I guess it pays to know a rockstar.”
“Not so much a rock star, Iz. I think you have to have a certain level of success we haven’t achieved yet to claim that title. But yes, we scored an upgrade.”
“What do you think of yourself as if not a rockstar?”
Matt thought about the question as he scanned the list of room directions on the wall. “Left,” he said, spotting their room. “I don’t know. Singer songwriter, maybe? A musician. A guitar player.”
“Luke played the song you sent him the other day while we were in the kitchen making dinner. It was amazing, Matt. You have so much talent. It can only be a matter of time before you catch a big break.”
Matt unlocked the door of their room and pushed it open before clicking on the light. “Yeah, maybe. Or maybe it’s only a matter of time until we run out of chances.”
“Holy shit.” Izabel looked around the room, slack jawed. He nudged her in so he could see what had her so astounded.
The room was grand. Like stately home grand. Long, sweeping drapes. Two tall-backed chairs around a small table by a large window with a spectacular view over the lake. A large bed sat up against one wall with enough pillows for six people.
Fuck.
He’d booked a twin.
Izabel ran to the bed and flopped down onto it. She held her hands out to her sides as she fell, a large grin on her face. “Matt. Look at this.”
He was looking. Really fucking looking. Her T-shirt had risen over her ribs, and from his position, he could see a flash of the white lace bra she wore beneath it. Her jeans rode low on her hips, allowing him to see an expanse of her flat stomach. And her hair… soft blonde waves framed her face.
Fuck.
“I booked twin beds,” he said.
Izabel stopped running her fingers over the cover on the bed and sat up. “Oh. Oh. Do you want to let them know and change room?”
Disappointment etched her features. No. Not disappointment. Hurt. He should call down. Fix things so there were two beds and half the temptation.
But he found he couldn’t. He wanted her to look at him just the way she had two minutes earlier.
“It’s fine. You can have the bed. I’ll pull something together on the floor.”
Izabel stood and walked over to him. The hurt still etched her features and he wanted to tell her just how easy it would be fall into those sheets and do everything he wanted to if she hadn’t slept with his brother. If she wasn’t the sister of his band mate. If he’d not made promises to himself and to Luke.
“You don’t need to sleep on the floor. You paid for the room. You should at least get the bed.”
“Call it a belated birthday present, Iz.”
“I didn’t get you a present.”
He shrugged. “Whatever.”
Izabel placed her hand on his cheek. “You said we’ve got this, right?” Her tone said she understood his struggle without explanation. The concern in her eyes said she’d let him leave if that was what he wanted.
But it wasn’t.
“Yeah, we’ve got this, Iz.”