One Day Like This, page 28
Izabel rose onto her elbow so they were face to face. “I can’t promise that. Nobody’s life is perfect all the time. But I can promise you this. I’ll remain grateful I have you. I’ll always be hopeful in, and committed to, our future. I’ll remember I love you, even on days when I want to kill you. Those three things feel like the foundation of a life that is more perfect than not.”
Matt closed the distance between them. “Those sound like wedding vows, Iz.”
Izabel smiled against his lips. “Give me some time, like a couple of years, to perfect them and they might just be.”
“Deal.” He sealed their deal with a kiss, sliding his hand into her hair. When her fingernails gently scraped along his cock, he forced himself to pull back with a moan. “As much as I want that, I’ve got a train to catch.”
Izabel bit her lip and pulled back. “Pity.”
“If you came with me, we could—”
“Nope. Go, my rockstar. Don’t come back without a big contract.”
Matt stood up and offered her a hand, tugging her to her feet. “I’ll do my best.” He handed Izabel her flowers, zipped up his case, and lifted it from the bed.
“I’m teasing. I’m proud of you simply for going. If it lands a record deal, amazing. If it doesn’t, I still win because you’ll come here, and I’ll be waiting for you. I love you, Matt.”
“I love you, too.”
Epilogue
Epilogue: JASE
* * *
Jase Palmer sat in a Mexican restaurant on Essex Road in The Angel, London and swallowed the dregs of his second bottle of Dos Equis. Across the street, the band arrived at Upper Street Records.
He’d seen Ben first, looking down at his phone and then up at street names and door numbers. Alex by his side. The number of times he’d wished Alex was his actual brother, but while their bond was close, it didn’t match Alex and Ben’s. Next, he’d seen Luke in deep conversation with Matt which only added to the low-grade rage he felt. Luke, who’d treated him like the enemy for two fucking years for sleeping with Iz, was smiling at something Matt said.
Nan had told him the rest of the band had come to an uneasy peace, but seeing them together made Jase realise Matt was indeed the fucking golden child. Matt could do no wrong, while he was the dick who broke every single thing he touched.
He was the reason his mum had left, the reason his dad had beat him, why Matt never seemed to want him to be around, and why Luke had exploded when he’d slept with Iz but appeared to have already forgiven Matt.
He looked at the Upper Street Records building with its custom graffiti murals and wondered why the fuck they wanted him around either. Perhaps his presence there would jinx the outcome of the conversation. Nan had told him the label was going to sign the band, regardless of whether he showed or not. Perhaps not showing up would save the band from firing him. Or give them a better chance of being signed.
Matt paused outside, ushering the others inside, before looking up and down the street. He pulled out his phone and dialled, and Jase held his breath for a moment before realising his phone wasn’t ringing. There was only one person who could put that smile on Matt’s face. Iz. He saw Matt’s shoulders drop as he tugged his hand through his hair.
Was it so wrong to want someone to want you? To put you first. To pick you. He was certain it must be a fucking epic feeling. One he’d chased his entire life.
His mum hadn’t wanted him. Neither had his dad. Nan had been obliged to take them in, but Matt didn’t want him as a brother. Iz hadn’t wanted him. The record label wanted the band, but where indifferent whether it included him.
Jase felt a wave of envy so visceral it made his chest ache.
Jase shook his head as Matt hung up and took a deep breath, sliding his phone into his pocket before taking it out again and typing something.
Jase’s phone buzzed on the table.
I feel like you’re here in London. If you are, you owe it to yourself to get over to Upper Street. You made it this far, Jase. We all did. A decade’s work. All the graft. All the sacrifices. It’s like Auntie Pat used to say. There are only two ways boys can truly escape Manchester. Become a football player or become a musician. We can do it, Jase. I know you hate me right now. I know we aren’t even friends, let alone brothers. But I refuse to believe we can’t fix it. You just need to show up. Show up for me. Show up for us. Show up for yourself.
Fuck.
Jase wanted to believe Matt wanted him there. That the band wanted him there too. But nothing in his life had ever truly supported that, so it was fucking hard to believe it now.
He stood up and threw down two twenties. The bill was probably a lot less, but given it was Matt’s money he was throwing away, he didn’t give a shit.
Jase had no idea why his brother had seen fit to given two hundred quid.
It’s because he cares.
Nah. It was probably an accident.
But he was going to spend every fucking penny of it before Matt realised his mistake and asked for it back.
With his case still at the hotel he’d booked into in Islington, he left the restaurant unencumbered, but had a choice to make.
If he turned left, he could head back to the hotel, grab his things, and finally return to Manchester after days spent crashing on a friend’s sofa in Brighton.
If he turned right and crossed the road, he’d be outside Upper Street Records.
He checked his phone.
1:03pm.
The meeting had started at one.
With Parker Moseley.
Even the name had fate written all over it. His Mum had told him how his nan had brought Moseley Shoals to the hospital for her listen to after giving birth to him, how she’d held Jase as Ocean Colour Scene sang The Downstream about the world coming at you. How she’d felt the same, lying in a hospital bed with two kids at twenty.
Moseley.
It meant something.
But the band. His brother. Izabel. Luke.
Fuck. His head was going to explode.
He looked down at the ground, praying for something to help him choose. To go somewhere he didn’t want to go or to go somewhere he wasn’t truly wanted.
Left or right.
By his foot was a two pence coin. A dark one with the patina of use. He bent down, picked it up, and shook his head at the irony that it had been issued in the year he was born.
Heads he turned right, tails he turned left.
He flipped the coin and watched it spin in the air before catching it and slamming it against the back of his hand.
On a deep breath, he removed his hand, and looked at his fate.
Scarlett Cole, One Day Like This
