Muse [h.s.]

28. heart of gold

🎵Sign Of The Times — Harry Styles

Lydia's POV

"Harry Styles has put his world tour on hold! The singer's team made a statement a few hours ago, saying that there were personal matters the star needs to attend to," the reporter speaks through the television.

"Sources say that Harry is saddened by his tour's cancellation, but the source emphasized that there are more pressing issues at hand for the star."

I scoff, rolling my eyes as I shut off the TV. "You know, who the fuck are these sources anyways? I know damn well it isn't Harry that's speaking to the press," I mumble, shaking my head.

Where the hell did these people get their information from?

News sure seems to travel fast when you're famous — and here I thought I was the nosy bitch who knew things quicker than anyone; I do have a habit of sticking my nose into things, as Jax always says.

Jax shakes his head, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt as he perches on the edge of the bed beside me, throwing his arm around me. He rests the side of his head against mine as he lets out a sigh.

"They really have ways of finding out everything, don't they?" He says and I let out a sigh of agreement, wrapping my arm around his torso.

The air has been thick and heavy since we left the States, since Ella walked back into the back of the bar at the Crimson Lounge.

Her entire demeanor had changed the moment she slid back into the booth, her knuckles white as she tightly gripped her cellphone in her hands.

The minute Ella settled in her seat, despite Brad and Jax laughing at the joke they just made, I knew something was wrong.

I always say I can read her like a book; I've turned the pages of her novel so many times, just as she has with my own pages.

"What happened?" I asked, refusing to waver my gaze off of my best friend's face. Brad and Jax immediately stopped their laughter, their own attention turning towards Ella.

She looked sullen; her brown eyes wide and the color washed away from her cheeks. I've never seen her like this, not since her mother, Estelle passed.

A sick feeling had begun to form in the depths of my stomach — it wasn't Harry, was it?

Oh, God. I was going to be sick. It can't be Harry, there's no way, we just spoke to him this morning—

"I think...I think I have to go to F-France," Ella spoke shakily, refusing to look up at us. "

I could always read her, but for some reason, I couldn't read the exact expression or emotion on her face — almost like it was void of any.

"What?" Brad asked, turning to look at her. Ella ignored him, reaching for her glass of whiskey and downed the rest of the liquor down her throat.

"Ella, what are you talking about? Who called you?" I asked. I wasn't understanding...France?

My heart eased its incessant pounding and my stomach stopped churning; it wasn't Harry. He was in Georgia.

I was getting antsy, though, watching as Ella spun the empty glass between her hands. What the hell was going on?

She was fine before that phonecall, so I knew it had to be something that she heard from whoever called her in those few minutes that she stepped outside.