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She cried against my shirt for a few minutes, only pulling back when a car parked across from us. Weston stepped out of the Subaru. Nora tried to wipe her tears, but her eyes were bloodshot. She looked a wreck. But when Weston looked at her, something switched on.
I liked Weston Wright. In fact, I’d already call him a friend. We clicked out of the studio, but in the studio, it was as if we’d always been making music together. He had incredible musicality and was a genius on the keys. But that didn’t mean that I wanted him to look at my little sister like that. Not when the last thing she needed was a complicated roommate situation.
“Wright,” I said with a raised eyebrow.
“Hey, is everything all right?” he asked, walking toward us with his hands in his pockets.
“Yeah,” Nora said with a sniffle. “It’s okay. What are you doing here?”
“I wanted to see you play. Julian gave me the soccer schedule. You talk about how much you like it, so I thought I’d show. I know shit about soccer.”
“That’s…that’s nice of you,” she admitted.
“Real nice.”
He caught my tone of voice and nodded once. “Are you not playing?”
She swallowed and glanced over at me. “Maybe I should still play.”
“If you’re up for it.”
“You came just for me?” Nora asked West in a soft voice.
He rocked back on his heels. “Yeah, I like to support my roommate.”
Her smile brightened slightly on the edges. And as much as I did not like where this was heading, I couldn’t deny that he’d gotten the result that I’d wanted.
“Okay,” she said. “Go on ahead. Give me a minute.”
“You sure?”
She nodded.
I kissed the top of her head and then headed back to the fields with Weston. “So…you’re into my sister?”
Weston held his hands up. “I’m just being a good roommate. What happened?”
“August and Tamara showed.”
“Fuck.”
“Yeah. So, you can see why I’m concerned about her getting hurt again.”
West nodded. “I hear you.”
I wasn’t sure that I believed him. But I didn’t need to stick my nose where it didn’t belong. Nora was too hurt to start a new relationship anyway. She’d figure it all out eventually.
It ended up being a good thing that we went ahead of Nora. Because on the way, we ran into a very disgruntled Tamara. She crossed her arms over her chest and stomped past us. Clearly, someone had told her she had to go home. From what I knew of her, I was shocked that she’d listened. Which meant it had to have been August.
We waited until she was well out of the way before continuing. The last thing I wanted was for Nora to run into her. It was enough that Tamara had stolen her boyfriend. She didn’t deserve to deal with the bitch beyond that horror.
“Hey, West!” Santi said, scooting over to make room for him on the bleachers.
West blinked at him. That was just Santi though. He was always the most enthusiastic and inviting member of our group. I didn’t know anyone else who would have actually handed me a guitar that night I’d called them out for having bad lyrics. Even if Santi had been making fun of me.
“Thanks, man,” West said and took the offered seat.
We’d gone into the studio to get used to the equipment. Michael had been irritable the entire time we were there. LBK Studios was far from what we were used to in LA. Maybe we’d all gotten a little used to the better equipment, but we weren’t recording here. We were figuring out the new songs and finding our sound. Michael had outright refused to come out with us today. Which he wasn’t obligated, but I could feel the weight of his refusal on everyone’s shoulders.
Viv pulled her phone up. “Everyone, smile.” She stuck her tongue out as we drew in closer. “Kris says hi.”
“Tell her I said hi,” I told her. Viv’s girlfriend, Kris, was a riot. She’d joined us for the West Coast portion of our tour. “Better yet, tell her to fly out.”
“She’s busy,” Viv said. “She gets it. It’s part of the job.”
“At least the music is good,” Yorke said with an arched eyebrow.
Viv laughed and kissed his cheek. “That’s true, big boy.”
There was that. Despite their frustration with coming out here to figure out the album, the songs were good. They’d all loved “Invisible Girl,” and I’d played the intro to “Rooftop Nights” and the song I’d started writing about my mom, tentatively titled “Alone.” I’d even been able to pull in lyrics from the notebook finally. Now that I had inspiration, I could take Bobby’s advice and create something out of the nothingness that had been there only a few weeks ago.
We all watched the game. We got some looks, and a few people asked for a picture, but generally, we were left alone. It was like I’d told Blaire—ninety-nine times out of a hundred.
