Chapter 9

Audrey’s P.O.V

I glance at the clock—already past 2 PM. This day is dragging.

I’ve been intentionally avoiding Drew for days now. I needed to clear my head, to stop letting those impossibly blue eyes or that deep, husky voice fog my judgment. I needed air. Distance.

My phone starts buzzing nonstop. I look at the screen—an unknown number has just added me to a group chat. Several other numbers I don’t recognize start chiming in, welcoming me to something called “The Last Supper.”

I type a quick:

Me: ???

A familiar name pops up.

Drew: Guys, really? Welcome to the Last Supper? She’s practically a Disciple. What the fuck?

Oh.

The Last Supper. That’s what The Disciples’ fanbase called themselves. So, the boys decided to officially let me in. Cute.

Me: Why would you want a chick in your group?

Unknown: You’re not a chick. You’re our buddy. XD – Bon

Unknown 2: Way to boost her self-esteem, Bon. You don’t call a girl “buddy.” – Jace

They're making themselves known—bit by bit. I start saving numbers as they come.

Unknown: Cheers from lover boy. – D.D

A video message follows from Damien. Drew’s on the other side of the glass, wearing his earpiece, eyes closed, completely immersed in a new track. He’s sitting in front of the mic, singing his heart out.

I close my eyes and listen. His voice—raw, real, familiar—hits me harder than I expect. I replay it three times before I can even think straight.

Then, instinct kicks in.

Me: Knees! It should stay plural—unless you're proposing, which I highly doubt. But if you mean breaking down or coming undone, it’s definitely “knees.”

I listen again and type more.

Me: Melody... try “a lovesick melody”? Just a thought.

I watch the message sit there. Seen. No one replies.

Great job, Audrey. You’ve officially overstepped. You’ve got your own job to worry about—what are you doing giving lyric notes?

Then—

Jace: 7449 Melrose Ave, West Hollywood

Me: ??

Drew: It’s the address. Duh. Come by if you can… or want to.

Huh.

I check the time. It’s Friday, and my shift technically ended over an hour ago.

Without overthinking it, I grab my bag and head out.

________________________________________

Drew’s P.O.V

I keep throwing vocals down, but my eyes flick to the door between every take. She didn’t say she was coming—but something told me she would.

I’m just about to cue up the next line when the door finally opens.

There she is.

Audrey walks in, all business in a blazer and heels, steps hesitant, a shy smile tugging at her lips. She’s uneasy in unfamiliar places—it steals her sense of control. I smile quietly to myself.

"Hello, Audrey," I murmur into the mic, intentionally lowering my voice a notch—just to watch her squirm.

The guys turn, finally noticing her. She offers a small wave and gravitates toward Jace—makes sense. He’s the calmest of the bunch.

"Tell me what you think, sweetheart," I say, replaying the section with her lyric tweaks.

She listens intently, then walks up to the console, asking which button to push. Her laughter soon fills the room.

"That sounded amazing," she says, bright-eyed.

"Bet you forgot what I sounded like without these mopheads backing me up," I tease.

"I didn’t forget. I missed it. But your voice has changed—raspier, deeper… more baritone. You’ve got that Ville Valo vibe now."

God, that smile.

"Why thank you for the very specific compliment… and the lyrical input." I get up, crossing the studio so that only a thick pane of glass separates us. I wink. She blushes.

"Anytime. Always happy to help… a friend." Her tone is sweet—firm.

Bono lets out a whistle.

"Way to get friend-zoned!"

He throws her a high-five. She doesn’t hesitate.

I roll my eyes and push the door open, smack Bono’s head, and pull Audrey into a hug.

She rests her head on my chest, and I kiss the top of hers.

"You’ve been avoiding me." I whisper.

She looks up.

"I needed space?" she replies, uncertain.

I nod, ruffling her hair before letting go.

"So, love, how do you like it here?" Jeremy asks. "Wanna ditch your job and come work with us?"

She laughs and shakes her head.

"Tempting, Isaiah. But I love my job." She smiles—but there’s sadness there.

I know she’d drop it in a second if this was real. She used to dream of being part of our world.

"Dude! She called you Isaiah? I forgot that was your name!" D.D laughs.

"Isaiah Jeremy Pallaye," Audrey confirms.

I’m laughing too now.

"You zip it, Andrew Daniel Bennett," she grins. "You might go by any alias you want, but I bet Anny and Ian still hand you your ass when they say your full name."

I shut up, and the guys lose it.

"By the way, they send their regards," I tell her.

Her eyes go soft.

"They remember me?"

"Of course. You used to talk to Ian all the time. And you ratted me out for smoking."

She chuckles.

"You were about to blow up the band!" She waves her hand at the guys. "You were chain-smoking while they were wiping war paint with gasoline-soaked rags!"

Jace blinks.

"Wait—what?"

"Vans Warped Tour. Anaheim," she supplies.

Damn. She remembers everything.

"I video-called her after the show," I explain, smiling at the memory. "She’s in full lecture mode, meanwhile I grab a cig—didn’t even realize I had the cloth in my hand too. She lost her damn mind."

I inhale slowly, the memory vivid.

"All I could hear was, 'nuts, fire, idiot, explode, imbecile, bonehead, retarded…' Just a stream of insults."

"So basically," Bono deadpans, "she saved our lives."

"You’re welcome," Audrey smirks.

________________________________________

Audrey’s P.O.V

We stayed a little longer, goofing around. Drew caught flak for the gasoline story, and I got bombarded with more memories. Like when Ian suggested I come to the States to be a merch girl and get a visa—God, I was seventeen. No way my parents would’ve approved me touring with four rockstars.

We talked about Drew’s ex-bandmates, how the band evolved, their stage personas, the “Apostles of the Last Supper” thing.

Drew, of course, took Jesus. The martyr. The voice. The Prophet.

Damien—D.D.—was Dedication. It made sense now.

I felt at home. It was crazy. These boys—chaotic and loud and obnoxiously sweet—felt like family.

"Can you give me a ride home?" Drew’s voice brought me back. “I carpooled with D.D this morning”

"Sure."

In the car, we sang along with the music. In the elevator, the energy shifted.

A silence hung between us. He finally broke it.

"I’m getting divorced."

Barely louder than a whisper.

"Oh." That’s all I managed.

I knew things weren’t perfect. But hearing it out loud…

"It’s okay. Maybe it’s for the better… like Jeremy said."

"I guess."

He wasn’t okay. Not even close. He said it was fine, but it sounded like a lie.

"I’m getting this shit over with and then..." He paused. "I don’t know where to go from there. I’m lost, Audrey."

I reach out and take his hand in mine.

"I’m sorry you’re going through this. But Drew—this isn’t the end. You’ll figure it out. There’s still so much ahead of you."

He lets out a small laugh—bitter and hollow.

"You know, sometimes you sound just like my mom."

"Well… mother knows best." I squeeze his hand gently.

"I really do hope so..." he breathes.