Page 37 of Love You Like That (Excess All Areas 4)

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The following afternoon, Zoe watched the crew set up for the gig from the protection of the sound booth. The microphones, pickups, and DI boxes were set. All the input transducers they’d need were connected via multicore cable to the individual channels of the mixing console.

As the stage began to empty, she looked over to Cerys who was double-checking the output signals. With her hair whipped up into a messy bun with two pencils sticking out of it, she appeared to be completely in her element. And Zoe had forgotten how it felt to feel that utterly competent.

She ran her thumb over the base of her fingers; the callouses she’d once built up were gone. She’d woken early, unable to sleep. Dreams had been tumultuous. And heated. Visions of her and Alex, which were X-rated. Surely when she saw him tonight, she’d be flooded with embarrassment at the way she’d used her fingers to sleepily bring herself to orgasm, to finish what Alex had so obviously started in her dream.

Cerys waved her hand to catch Zoe’s attention. “You okay over there?” Cerys signed.

“All good,” Zoe signed a little too briskly. “When is the band coming?”

Cerys glanced down at her phone. “Any minute now. They want to work on one of the songs because it’s not hitting the crowd as hard as they want.”

Zoe nodded. One of the things she loved about just hanging with Cerys was that she could simply sign. Leaving her by the desk, Zoe wandered over to the stage and placed her hand on Alex’s marimba.

Urgh. The marimba was like an ex-boyfriend you loved dearly but just needed different things from each other. The one where when you saw him with his new girlfriend you felt jealous. Or worse, every time you saw each other, you slept with each other or got back together because the attraction was undeniable. Except within a week, you remembered that none of the reasons you had separated had disappeared and had to go through the pain of the split all over again.

The need to play tugged at the very base of her being. But what if she sucked?

You might not.

The inner voice was loud and clear. She didn’t need her hearing to catch the message.

She might not.

But fear.

It was insidious. It told people they were too high, that a tiny thing with eight legs could hurt them, that a needle delivering a life-saving vaccine could kill them. Fear told people they weren’t enough.

And maybe she wasn’t.

No. As a person, she was enough. But maybe her playing wouldn’t be.

And then she’d need to stop playing all over again. Could she face the heartbreak of stopping playing twice?

Cerys climbed up on stage and sat down at the piano Alex played during some of their songs. Zoe wandered over, and without thinking, placed her hands on the lid. She couldn’t identify what the song was, but it had a pretty feel. It was light, the playing breezy. She watched Cerys, who’d longed to be a professional orchestra pianist but had pivoted into being a music producer. Gone was the dream they’d shared their first year in uni, but her friend looked happy.

Fulfilled.

Envy tinged the moment like the burnt edges of a beautiful poem that had caught fire.

Sometimes the silver lining was actually a scorch mark.

“Beautiful,” Zoe signed as the vibrations of the last note faded beneath her fingers. The power of it brought tears to her eyes.

Cerys stood and placed her hand over Zoe’s shoulder without saying a word. They stood and looked out over the empty seats. Seats just like the ones they had once performed to. Something felt unfair about it all.

She bit back the feeling.

It served no purpose.

All that mattered was what happened next.

Cerys moved her arm. “You could play, you know,” she signed. “The band wouldn’t mind if you touched any of this.”

“I know.”

“So, why don’t you?” Cerys signed.

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