Page 93 of One Day Like This (Excess All Areas 1)

“He’s extra delish.”

“I’m guessing with his guitar skills, his fingers are nice and nimble.”

“He certainly knows how to play me. I try not to think about how it’s because of all the practice he’s had.”

Gemma leaned forward. “Did you have to persuade him to be with you, Iz?”

“Yes. I had to tell him exactly what happened between Jase and me. And he didn’t want to break his promise to Luke. I feel like I corrupted him. If this goes tits up, it’s all my fault.”

Gemma shrugged. “Well, there you have it,” she said, as if her answer explained everything.

“What do you mean?”

“You’ve got a good man, with principles, who’s wanted you for a long time, and who by all accounts is a sex machine. Does it really matter who came before you?”

“That’s a really shitty turn of phrase.”

“Oh. God. Yeah. Sorry. I didn’t mean literally, obviously. Just ... do you really care, as long as he’s yours now?”

Izabel slipped her fingers to her necklace and slid the bezel from left to right.

No. No, it didn’t matter at all.

“You’re right. Did I tell you Joe Lockwood from Lockwood Fades asked me out?”

Gemma’s mouth dropped open. “The hot Irish barber who runs the homeless outreach program? The one who did the TED talk?”

Izabel nodded.

“Jesus Christ. I’d ditch hubby in a heartbeat to climb that one.”

“You don’t mean that.”

Gemma giggled. “No, I don’t. But it’ll be a pleasant daydream on the walk home. You deserve a good man, Iz. One who makes your heart race. One who gives you some excitement and shakes you out of your skin a little. It’s okay to have more than enough. It’s okay to dream big, to have passion in your life. In your work. In your relationships. And by the look on your face, you know who you’ll have that kind of future with. Even if it isn’t the kind of future you thought you wanted.”

“Matt,” she said out loud.

Gemma clinked her glass to Izabel’s. “He’s the one.”

16

Four days later, the crowd in Birmingham was wild. Had been all night. Half were dressed in their Halloween costumes. He’d never seen so many skimpily dressed nurses and vampires and witches. Energy poured from them in waves, hitting Matt square in the chest.

The day had been just as frantic. Ben and Alex had been guests on a podcast. He and Jase had recorded a segment in London for a late-night TV show before travelling to Birmingham on the train, where they’d been asked for autographs by three lads from Bristol.

And Matt felt off. Perhaps it was because he was sober. Okay, not sober, but the two pints he’d had were nowhere close to what he’d usually drank and inhaled before stepping on stage. He’d promised Izabel he’d get it under control. But his T-shirt pulled tight across his chest and the label itched the back of his neck. His jeans felt too tight around the knees, limiting his movements. His palms were sweating, the discomfort deep beneath his skin.

Faces looked up at him. So many of them looking up at him, and he couldn’t focus.

Jase had gone past the chatty, animated stage of being drunk and high, and was well on his way to agitated, restless, and overconfident. He looked down at the setlist. “Fuck me,” he said dramatically to the crowd, bringing the back of his hand to his forehead like he was about to pass out in a swoon. “Sorry, lads. It’s ‘Until It’s Done’ for the final encore, and I know you’re all waiting for it, being the big song at the moment, but it’s a fucking shit song.”

The crowd roared as Jase looked over at Matt and smirked. Fury unfurled, wrapping its tendrils around his throat, around his gut. Matt turned to his microphone to say something back, but then realised everyone was so into the show, the beer buzz, the alcohol, the drugs, that it didn’t matter. He wouldn’t give Jase the instant gratification on stage, but once they got off the stage ...

“Right, Matt? I mean, it’s been good for us, but it wasn’t your best, was it?” Jase roared with laughter, keeping the crowd with him. Matt turned to Luke and nodded, hoping the crash of drums and the shimmer of guitars would get him on track through their last encore.

If they could just get the last song finished and get off stage, they could all head back to the hotel and chill the fuck out. Maybe it was pressure, maybe it was success, maybe it was just partying twenty-four-seven at their change in fortunes. But there was an undercurrent of something darker.

Instead of strumming the opening chords, something hit the side of his head with so much force he released his guitar and placed his hand to his head. When he pulled his hand away, it was covered in blood, and on the floor by his feet was Jase’s tambourine.

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