He nods. “We should stop talking about food. You’re making me hungry. But yeah, you wear a mask. We all do. I don’t think you’ve taken yours off in a long time. I get that. The only time I ever took my mask off was when I played music, or when I was hanging with Dylan. But now—” Gabriel shrugs.
I notice his past tense. “You’re not playing music anymore?”
“I can’t. I haven’t played since Dylan died. We’re already late with the new album. Everyone’s on my arse to finish writing the songs – the band, the manager, the label. But I can’t. All my life, all I’ve had to do is listen and the songs appear, fully formed. It’s as if they already exist, and all I have to do is pluck them out of the air. But now, when I listen all I hear is this deafening, apocalyptic silence.”
And I wonder if that silence has something to do with the waterfall outside. And if Gabriel’s silence is anything like the silence of being a ghost inside an empty house for four years. But I don’t say that, because I don’t want to talk about myself. I just want to fill my head with THC and listen to Gabriel talk forever. “Is it because of Dylan that you can’t play?”
Gabriel takes another long toke. “Dylan’s family works on our estate – we’ve been mates since we could crawl, raising hell everywhere we went. We spent so much time hanging out together, going hunting in our forest, that I didn’t notice the things that divided us. Like, Dylan couldn’t go to my posh school. As soon as he was old enough, he had to work on the estate. He and his family came on all our fancy holidays, but they were still expected to cook and serve and ferry us around. I never thought any of that mattered, because I’m a self-obsessed wanker. And then I read his suicide note. He spent his childhood watching my spoiled arse get everything I wanted, and then when my music – our music – took off, he was still in the background cleaning up after me, holding my hair while I threw up, dragging me away from bad situations. No wonder he hated me. I’m not surprised the music died with him.”
I study Gabriel as he talks. His flirty, happy mask slides away, revealing the dark edges of his soul. His fingers tremble as he brings the joint to his mouth, and I long to rest my hand on his leg, to pull him into my arms, to kiss away the horror of what he saw in that hotel room.
“Right.” He gives me this sad smile. “I’ve spilled my guts. Your turn. Why have you been a ghost all these years, Mackenzie Malloy?”
The words trip over my tongue, desperate to escape. For four years, Gabriel has been the moonlight shining through the bars of my prison window. He sings the stars and the blood and the rain. I’d give anything to give him back the stars to sing again, even reveal my darkest secrets.
Nope. Not happening.
I snap my mouth shut and glare at him. This is why I shouldn’t be here, why getting close to people is dangerous. Especially sexy British rockstar type-people.
Gabriel leans forward, his face inches from mine. The raw beauty of his pain slips away as quickly as it appeared, tucked back in its heart-shaped box inside him. His sugary, smoky scent mingles with the pot in the air, making the warnings in my head float away as soon as they appear. Gabriel’s flirty smile draws me deeper, and I sit on my hands to stop myself from reaching up and pulling him to me, taking that barbell between my teeth and tugging it until he begs for me—
“Come to a party with me on Saturday,” he says in that cocksure way. It’s not a question. Gabriel Fallen isn’t used to hearing no. “Normally, I’d say Stonehurst parties are bollocks, but I have a feeling with you on my arm, we’ll fuck shit up.”
“Whose party?” I can barely get the words out.
“Daphne Ballantyne. She’s Noah’s ex. He’ll be pissed I invited you, which is even more reason why you should be there.”
“I’m not sure I want to further incur the wrath of Noah, in addition to all the other enemies I made.” I tear my gaze from his