Counterpoint (Hystoria #3)

6. Chapter Six

Chapter Six

“So, can I listen to Taylor Swift now, or are we continuing the audiobook? If you didn’t like that one, I could offer others with degradation kink or a gangbang if those are more up your alley,” I ask Simon, teasingly lifting my eyebrow as I wait for his answer.

“For the love of God, please listen to Taylor Swift,” Simon jokes as we walk back to the car. Wait, what? I’m not kidding, he’s joking. What is happening? Have I unknowingly opened a portal to hell and summoned a demon that’s granted me a wish? If yes, is the demon at least hot? Am I still sleeping and only imagining the car ride? Hopefully not, as much as my nightmares suck, I would be really disappointed if this is what my brain comes up with as an alternative.

“That’s what I like to hear,” I answer him gleefully, grinning smugly while taking a sip of the milkshake I bought as dessert .

He chuckles. Seriously, what’s going on? He must have been exchanged with a nicer body double or something like that. “Don’t tell your brother I said that.”

“I’ll keep that as blackmail material for backstage passes the next time you play a festival with bands I like, don’t worry.” I pat his shoulder playfully, then rummage in my pocket for the car keys. I don’t know why, but in my head, there is just no way that Hystoria won’t reunite.

Unlocking the car, I start to walk over to the driver’s side when Simon stops me by grabbing my arm from behind. I flinch at his touch, not having seen it coming. In a split second, I’m back at the front door of my apartment, where Tom pulled me by my arm before hitting me. I take a deep breath, trying to shake the panic off.

“I can drive this afternoon,” Simon offers, and I look at him confused, my heart beating like a hummingbird’s wings. It takes me another moment to be fully present again. Masking my inner turmoil, I raise my eyebrow and look at him scrutinizingly. “What? I can drive.”

“When’s the last time you’ve driven a normal-people car?” My voice is shaky, and my fingers are trembling ever so slightly.

“It’s been a while, but I’m sure it’s not so different from driving a Lambo,” he jokes yet again. I’m conflicted. On one hand, driving is exhausting, and I slept like shit, so I would love to take a nap. On the other hand, sharing driving duty with him might enable us to get home quicker. And the quicker I’m home, the quicker I don’t have to see his annoyingly handsome face. Or smell his annoyingly sexy aftershave. Seems like I am not over my crush on him after all. Shit.

That decides it. We need to get home before this crush escalates again. I’ve learned my lesson .

“If you crash my car, I expect a new one,” I tell him and throw him my key.

He clicks his tongue. “I’m not going to crash your car.”

“An expensive one,” I continue. “I’ve heard Lamborghinis aren’t great for long distances, but since you’re the expert, how are Rolls Royces? They look comfy,” I wonder out loud as I slide into the passenger seat; returning the middle finger, he shoots me with a toothy smile.

It’s so weird to sit on this side of the car. In all the years I’ve had Lola, I think I’ve only let two other people drive her. Tom and Jake.

I still remember how annoyed Tom was when he had to drive her. We were at a party I didn’t really want to go to anyway. I think it was one of his friends’ birthdays, and I accidentally drank cocktails instead of mocktails. Tom was furious with me. The whole way home, he lectured me about how irresponsible I was, how much he always had to look out for me, and what a piece of shit my car was. Never mind the fact that I was the designated driver for most parties and had to get him home, no matter how drunk he was. Three times, he almost puked into my car. Three! Yet he insulted everything I loved about my little Lola. Her size, her color, even the way the motor sounds when she’s started. Personally, I like her loud hum and the occasional huffs and clanks. I think they give her personality.

I shake off the memory of that asshole. I really hope Tom remains a part of my past and that I’ll forget about him soon. Then again, how quickly can you really forget someone you’ve spent years of your life with? Especially considering how the relationship ended. I sigh and rub at the marks on my throat unconsciously. They are still the slightest hint of yellow, so I’m wearing a scarf today to cover them. My face is finally turning a more normal and uniform color, but I still need makeup to cover the remains of my injuries. Especially concealer because my eyebags are so dark I could get mistaken for a raccoon.

Simon settles into the driver’s seat, adjusting the mirrors and seat until he finds his comfort zone behind the wheel, pushing the seat way back. He looks around and curses under his breath at the lack of technical support. Yes, Mr. Rockstar. My poor old Lola doesn’t have a rearview camera and self-parking. She’s all manual. A real vintage… well, maybe not beauty, but she certainly is a… car. A real vintage car. I like that; it makes her sound fancy. He starts the engine, and Lola’s familiar hum fills the air, putting me a bit at ease.

“Alright, Mr. Perfect-Driver, let’s see what you’ve got. Can you even drive a manual?” I tease him, subsequently trying to distract myself and keeping the mood light.

Simon smirks and glances at me for a moment before pulling out of the parking lot. It’s weird to be in the passenger seat, but Si is a confident driver and puts me at ease with giving him control over my beloved car. Maybe I should grab the ‘oh shit’ handle and make my best-panicked impression of him. Then again, I quite enjoy not having to drive. I purse my lips in a pout. Maybe next time, when I can gauge better whether he can take the joke or will throw a tantrum.

“Now that I’m driving, can I pick the music?” he asks as he steers Lola to exit the service station. I lean back in my seat and eye him.

“Sure. I’ll veto anything harder than rock music, though,” I tell him through a yawn.

“How come you get to veto?” he asks, his voice full of playful annoyance .

“Hey, I compromised on Taylor Swift this morning and listened to my audiobook,” I remind him. So, I definitely let him veto. “Also, it’s my car,” I say triumphantly and stick my tongue out at him, like the mature woman I am.

“Okay. Rock it is.” He sighs and hands me his unlocked phone with his music app open. “There’s a list in there called ‘Bangers’. Put that on, please.”

Wow, I’m getting a ‘please’. I’ll mark this day in my calendar.

“Your wish is my command,” I say mockingly and do as he asks. I still expect my ears to get blown off, so when a nice, calm acoustic guitar melody hits my ears, my eyes widen slightly in surprise. Then they narrow when the song hits its bridge, and the chorus almost blows my ears off. But I expected worse, to be honest. I’m sure he has a playlist that will make my ears bleed.

I put our destination into his maps app so Simon can see where we need to drive. Then, I clamp it into the phone holder on my windshield. The next song is a beautiful, upbeat acoustic guitar song that I find myself swaying to the beat of.

“That’s not half bad. I expected worse from your music taste,” I admit when the second song comes on.

“Why, thank you.” His voice drips with sarcasm.

I fix my gaze out of the window as he drives. The farther we drive, the greener the scenery around us becomes, with fewer buildings and more forests, as the sun hides behind one of the few clouds in the sky.

When the fifth song from Si’s playlist starts, my phone rings, and I scramble it out of my pocket. It’s Jake. I sigh and decline the call immediately, but he calls right back .

“Fucking hell,” I mutter and go to the settings in my phone, silencing any incoming calls. Nobody important is going to ring me anyway.

Except for recruiters following up on jobs. Or the lawyers. Or even Jeff with an update. Goddamnit, I need to keep it loud.

Harper : If you don’t stop calling me, I’m blocking you.

Jake : Have you thought about our conversation yesterday?

Harper : The answer is still no. If that’s the only reason you’re calling, stop it.

Three bubbles appear on the screen, and I know he wants to give me a sassy comeback, but no message comes through. Instead, my phone shows another incoming call, but again, I decline it immediately. Sighing, I tuck the phone between my thigh and the seat, massaging my temples with my thumbs.

“Is everything okay?”

I turn my head around slowly, looking at Simon. His eyes are focused on the road, and both of his hands firmly grip the wheel, his question hanging heavily in the air. Is everything okay? No. Absolutely nothing is okay. But it’s none of his concern. We’re not friends, after all. Only acquaintances who are sharing a car out of pure convenience.

“Jake wants me to play therapist with you,” I admit, stifling another yawn behind my hand. The lack of sleep, the boredom of just sitting, and the weariness of this road trip are catching up with me. “Apparently, he and Cole are worried about you.” There’s no use in lying to him.

“So what? You’re gonna dig into my childhood?” His shoulders tense, and I catch a subtle twitch of his jaw. Looks like I’ve struck a nerve. Looking at our current setup, I can’t blame him. He’s behind the wheel; he can’t just run off .

“Relax.” I yawn again and make a vague gesture with my hand. “First off, I was there. I know your childhood issues. Nope, don’t try to tell me you don’t have any,” I interrupt him before he can even object. “And second, it doesn’t concern me.” I lean my head back against the headrest and close my eyes. “And don’t feel bad about them. We all have issues thanks to our prizes of parents; I’m no exception. Don’t get me wrong, if you ever want to talk about it, I’ll be there for you, but I’m not going to try and force it out of you just because my brother thinks it’s necessary. That’s not cool.” I open my eyes the tiniest bit to watch him. “He and Grandma, both of them just don’t know when to stop pushing. So don’t worry.”

“Thank you,” he murmurs, his voice full of relief and his shoulders visibly relaxing.

“That’s nothing you need to thank me for,” I assure him and close my eyes again. The car falls into silence, apart from the music playing in the background, but for the first time since we’ve started this trip, it doesn’t feel awkward at all.

Another yawn escapes me. A nap sounds nice right now.

Reaching behind the driver’s seat, I grab my jacket and bundle it up before tucking it between my head and the window as a makeshift pillow. Maybe I shouldn’t have packed my pillow so far down all the bags in my trunk. Then again, who knew that Si would offer to drive and I’d have a chance to sleep? Certainly not me, but I like to be pleasantly surprised.

I let Si’s music lull me to sleep, and within two songs, I’m out like a light, trusting Si to navigate the road and not kill the two of us.

I wake up and have no idea where I am. I’m not in a bed. Not in a hotel room. Oh, right, I’m in the car. Si was driving.

And he’s still driving. The sun is now hidden behind a thick wall of clouds, making the outside almost look like nighttime, and the forests next to the freeway appear solemn and mysterious. And there’s…

“Snow?” I ask excitedly and press my nose against the window. I’m right. White covers the ground next to the street, and I can see the barest hint of tire marks on the street.

I love snow! I love the way it reflects the sunlight on sunny days, the way it makes the whole world sound silent when it falls, and the way it hides all imperfections under its sparkly goodness. Snow is the only thing that can make even cities look pretty.

Simon glances at me with a raised eyebrow, a hint of amusement in his eyes. “I didn’t know you like snow that much.”

I nod enthusiastically, my nose practically glued to the window. “Who doesn’t? It makes the world a more beautiful place. I could cuddle up under a nice, thick blanket with a cup of hot chocolate and watch it fall for hours.”

“You and your hot chocolate,” he snickers, and I roll my eyes. Yes, I love hot chocolate; sue me. “Well, let’s hope it doesn’t get too bad, or we’ll have to stop. I’m not driving in a snowstorm.” What a drama queen. He smirks as he notices me rolling my eyes.

“Snow is not even falling right now. We’ll be fine,” I assure him and turn my attention back to the window, peering out at the passing snow-covered landscape. Maybe this year, we’ll finally have a white Christmas again. That would be nice. It’s been so long since I’ve experienced one. Snow in the city doesn’t last long, turning into a slushy mess within hours if it doesn’t melt right away. Definitely not what I’d call a proper white Christmas.

Just the thought of it fills me with excitement and makes my stomach flutter. Christmas is my favorite time of the year, hands down. Thanksgiving is nice; after all, you get to eat and see all of your family members - even those you don’t like. On Christmas, you get to do the same, but you get to choose who to spend it with, and you get presents too! And since I have a rich brother, I’m downright spoiled in that department.

Despite my protests, he always buys a lot of expensive stuff for me. Much to Tom’s dismay. When I started university, he went behind my back and paid for my tuition. Last year, he gifted me a two-week cruise, which I didn’t even get to take yet. No matter how often I tell him not to spend so much money on me, he just straight up ignores me and buys something additionally, like he’s punishing me for even suggesting not to spoil me too much. I’m not going to lie - there are worse problems in this world, but it still makes me feel bad when I can’t buy him amazing gifts like that. He doesn’t seem to mind, though. The way he always opens my presents, you would think I’m telling a five-year-old we’re going to Disneyland.

But presents aren’t all I love about Christmas. No, I also love watching classic Christmas movies. I have a collection of all the movies we watched every Christmas when we were children and every year in December, I pull them out of their safe storage place and watch them all over again. It’s my own little tradition.

More than any of that, though, I love snow. Even on the hottest summer days, I dream of cozying up in a cute cabin with a thick blanket around my shoulders, sitting next to a lit fireplace, and watching snowflakes dance through the air.

I don’t have a cute cabin, but I’ll settle for the rest. Maybe Phoebe’s going to have some Christmas treats at her bakery, and the whole small-town ambience will just add to my winter wonderland fantasy. It’s going to be so much fun being back in Windmeadow this winter.

After a while of creating the picture-perfect Christmas season in my head, Simon clears his throat, breaking the silence.

“Hey, Harp, think you can check for hotels? I’ll be good for another hundred miles, I think.” My eyes shoot up in surprise, my heart beating loudly in my chest, like thunder crackling nearby. He’s used my nickname. I can’t even remember when we last called each other by those. Whenever Jake brings him up, my brain reverts to his full name automatically.

“On it,” I say softly and reach for my phone under my thigh, ignoring all of Jake’s missed calls and opening up my hotel booking app. Maybe I should have booked all the hotels before the trip, but it just seemed more convenient to check how far I’d make it after the first day and book them on the fly.

As I type in the keywords and start scrolling through the search results, I can feel Simon stealing glances at me. I’m not sure why, but he seems more open, and our dynamics have shifted compared to yesterday. Maybe my lovely audiobook warmed him up. I grin. That must be it. Anal play audiobooks for the win, I guess.

Whatever the reason, I am not going to question it. I can be civil with him as long as he doesn’t behave like a jackass. And in only a week, this whole thing will be over, and our paths will separate once more. After all, he has his rockstar life to get back to, while I… Well, I don’t actually know. I’ll do something with my life, I guess.

After a few minutes of searching, I find a popular hotel chain just off the highway. I read him the description and show him a picture of a single room. They’re cute. The bed looks pretty big, and each room has a couch. He glances at my phone for a few seconds, then nods.

“That looks fine. Go ahead and book rooms for us. Thanks.” I grin. Finally, I’ve managed to get consistent manners out of him. Maybe I should reward him with a piece of chocolate and get him to continue, Pavlov style.

I book two rooms and then get back to watching the scenery. Somehow, I expected him to be more picky. He must be used to far more luxurious hotels, after all. I bet on tour, they don’t stay at any hotel that costs less than a thousand bucks per night. I think Jake mentioned that they always get the best room category in hotels, ‘like the fancy bitches they are.’

Then again, I know that at the beginning of their band journey, they didn’t get to sleep in hotels at all during tours and had to make do with their tour bus. I could gag just thinking about it. Just the thought of four teenage boys and young adults in such a confined space is enough to make bile rise up my throat.

Well, at least I get to reap the benefits of it, namely, a non-picky rockstar driver for my way home. I’m strangely optimistic. Who knows, maybe this road trip is not going to be so bad after all.