Nobody Knows (Razes Hell 1)

“Yeah. Sometimes he can be.”

“I told him, Ells. I told him not to ask.”

Drew leaned against the door frame, his expression somewhere between irritation and exhaustion.

Letting out a sigh, I went to him and let him envelope me in his arms. Wrapped in Drew’s arms was one of my favourite places to be, joint first with my king-sized bed, except my bed didn’t hug me back. Drew’s hands on my waist made me shiver and I rested my head against his chest.

“How angry is Derek that I’m not getting involved?”

“He’s okay. When Jason mentioned you threatened legal action, he quickly backtracked.”

“I don’t want my name dragged into this, Drew. I’ve got my own career to think of.”

“You don’t need to tell me. I know.”

“Why didn’t Jason consider that?”

“Because he’s Jason. He’s so busy trying to do what he thinks is best for the band, he doesn’t think about anyone else. He’s a selfish prick.”

“He’s not that bad. I just want him to consider what he’s asking before steaming ahead and trampling on everyone around him.”

“As I said, a selfish prick.”

Right there. That was what I’d worried about since the feud started. It was obvious from Drew’s mood that sooner or later the resentment would take over and he wouldn’t be able to hold his anger in any longer. I refused to be pulled into a battle of petty name-calling though, even if Drew’s words held a glimmer of truth.

“You need to stop.” I shrugged free from his hold and turned towards the mess of a painting left unfinished on my easel. “If you really don’t want me in the middle of all this, you need to stop talking right now.”

I picked up my paintbrush, my hand and swept black lightning bolts onto the paper, interspersed with the occasional cloud. It looked like a child’s attempt at drawing the weather, but the point of the exercise was not to create a masterpiece. It was to use art to clear my head, and right then, my head space was cloudy with a chance of storms.

At least ten minutes passed before I checked whether Drew still in the doorway. He hadn’t made a sound, so perhaps he’d gone home while I smeared my frustration across the canvas.

He hadn’t moved. He watched me from the exact position I’d left him in, his eyes a mixture of sad and tired, his lips set in a firm line.

“I miss your smile.”

The words sort of came out of nowhere, but they were true. He’d always had this older-than-his-years look, but since the beginning of the year, his forehead had been almost permanently wrinkled, his mouth down-turned. The first time I saw him laugh in ages was during the Glasgow sound check, when I’d been mucking around on stage. His smile made his eyes shine and took away the impression he carried the weight of the world on his broad shoulders.

“Talk to me, Drew.”

“I don’t think you want to hear me.”

I dropped my paintbrush carelessly on top of my paints and picked up an old rag to wipe my hands.

“I don’t want to hear you tell me how selfish you think Jason is.”

“Then there’s nothing else to say.”

He started to turn away, and I threw the paint-stained cloth on the floor, frustrated because I hated being part of this tug of war. Hated that the one time Drew wanted to open up, I pushed him away.

Hated that he didn’t get how awkward it was to be stuck between my best friend and the man who consumed my thoughts.

“Wait.”

“No, you’re right.” Drew headed for the door, forcing me to follow so I could hear him. “You can’t be in the middle, which means I can’t talk to you.”

I grabbed his wrist. “Stop. Please.”

His pulse pounded against my fingertips but I didn’t loosen my grip. Instead, I held firm until the rise and fall of his shoulders slowed.