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“Hawke, you haven’t seen my notebook have you? I might have left it at your place last week—”
“Hold on. Let me go down to the studio.” Muffled sounds of the phone being carried crackle in my ear. Hawke’s house has a soundproof room in the basement that we use when we’re messing around trying to get our songs right. We’ve only gotten together the one time since Adam’s been gone. It’s pretty useless without your lead singer and main songwriter.
“Is it that black and grey book you always have with you? The one with the guitar on front?” he asks, knowing damn well that’s the one. “Because it’s here.”
“Yeah. Thank god. I was going mental thinking I had lost it. A few of Adam’s lyrics are in there. We wouldn’t want anyone to get their hands on it.”
My frantic pulse begins to slow. I wipe my sweaty palms off on my jeans. Hawke doesn’t need to know that there’s a song in there that I wrote about Kate. About us actually. Our journey. Needless to say, it’s not a very uplifting song.
“Can’t have that. Wouldn’t want some other band winning a Grammy for our work,” he says in an amused tone.
“No.”
“So,” Hawke says, “We’re all going to the Olympics. Wild, isn’t it?”
I sit up straight at this piece of news.
“What? What are you talking about?” I practically shout.
“Holy… relax man. We all got the same email, or at least Zane did. I thought he would have told you about it.”
My hand grips the phone so tight that my knuckles begin to ache. “When did you get it?”
“Yesterday.”
&n
bsp; “Well fuck, Hawke. No I haven’t heard about it yet. Hell, it’s only been twelve hours. Zane doesn’t usually start work until noon and it’s only just eleven.”
“Oh, okay. See? He was going to tell you.” Hawke doesn’t elaborate which in turn, begins to make me aggravated.
“Why don’t you tell me what it said, Hawke?” I roll my eyes glad he can’t see me. I swear, sometimes I wonder what goes on in that tattooed brain of his.
“Sure. So, because the Olympics are in London this year, and I guess because you and Adam are such big stars…” I laugh at the exaggerated way he says stars. “The committee invited us to perform for some big event. I can’t remember exactly what or where we’re playing. Sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll check the email. Did Ross already approve it?” I think about going back so soon after I was just in London buying my parents their house. It doesn’t annoy me to go again. In fact, getting out of L.A. is probably a good thing. Away from Kate and the daily distraction of knowing she’s only a few miles away and I can’t do anything about it.
“I’m pretty sure. I mean, who wouldn’t want to perform at the Olympics?” I can hear Hawke’s doorbell ring through the phone. “Hey Dax. I gotta go. You want me to bring by the book? I’m headed out in a little while.”
“Nah. Just pop it in your letterbox and I’ll come round on the Ducati. I’m going to go out. I need a long ride to clear my head.”
“Whatever you want. I’ll stick it in there now.” I hear a giggling female voice and muffled talking. “Catch ya later.”
The call disconnects. I drop back on the bed, putting my arms behind my head. That’s a big deal, singing at the Olympics in my hometown. The urge to ring Adam strikes me again before I remember he’s tucked away.
Fuck that. He has visiting hours. I’ll go there and see him. Ross told us to leave him be and let him get better but I need my best mate.
I grab the keys to the Ducati, shrug on my leather jacket, and pull the door shut behind me.
Kate
Being back in London feels weird. It’s as if I never really lived here and my entire childhood was only a fuzzy dream. Thankfully, I don’t have to go back to Hackney. Too many memories, good and bad.
My mum and dad came to the flat I share with two other teammates so we can go out to dinner. Opening ceremonies are in a little over two weeks, so we won’t see much of each other unless I catch them at one of my games. They wanted tickets to every single one.
“Kate, we have to get going. Traffic is terrible. There’s been an accident on the A406 and it will take all night if we don’t leave now.” My dad is fiddling with his car keys while watching the traffic on the news.
“Dad, we just got back from dinner, are you sure you don’t want to stay a while?” My mum and I exchange worried glances. She mouths “your father is nervous about your thing tomorrow” while dad’s gaze is firmly fixed on the telly.
