Page 4 of Unfinished Noise

Spencer’s stomach clenched. “Do you think he did?”

“I think Alfie’s honest to a fault,” Nathan muttered.

A moment later, Nathan’s phone chimed. He read the message, winced, then held it out.

Alfie: Yeah… I told him. I thought he already knew. He didn’t say anything, just got quiet. I figured he was fine. Maybe he’s painting?

Spencer closed his eyes. Of course Jamie knew. Of course he’d gone quiet. Of course he’d disappeared into his own head.

Nathan lowered the phone. “Spence… you need to talk to him. About the band. About Billy. About all of it.”

Spencer rubbed his trimmed beard, tension coiling there like a knot he couldn’t loosen. “I know.”

“He’s not fragile,” Nathan said. “But he’s scared. And he loves you. That combination makes people do weird things.”

Spencer didn’t answer. He stared at his phone, waiting for the screen to light up with Jamie’s name. Waiting for anything.

Nothing.

He typed again.

Spencer: Jamie, baby, answer me.

He didn’t hit send right away. His thumb hovered. He hated sounding worried. He hated sounding desperate. But he was both.

Chapter Two

Spencer

Spencer hit send. The message whooshed out, lost in the patio noise but loud in his chest. Across the table, Nathan watched him—quiet now, shoulders loose, eyes steady—giving Spencer space to think, or panic, or both.

A breeze drifted through the Green Bean Terrace, rustling the umbrellas overhead. The warmth had already faded from Spencer’s coffee, leaving it lukewarm and bitter when he took a distracted sip. Somewhere behind him, a barista called out an order, the clatter of mugs punctuating the low hum of conversation. All of it blended into a background buzz that made the silence from his phone feel even sharper.

He leaned back in his chair, letting his head tip up toward the green canvas above them. His thoughts spun too fast with images of Billy, Farlan, the band, Montana, the mess he’d tried to outrun. And Jamie… Jamie somewhere in their house, maybe sitting on the floor of his art room with paint on his hands, maybe staring at his phone with that tight, quiet look he got when he thought he was being replaced.

A long breath slipped out of Spencer, slow and uneven, as if he was trying to exhale the knot in his chest. It didn’t work.

“Okay,” he said finally, voice low. “As soon as he answers, I’m going home.”

Nathan nodded once. “Good.”

The patio buzzed around them as cutlery scraped plates, someone laughed too loudly, and a dog barking from the sidewalk, but none of it reached Spencer. His world had narrowed to the phone in his hand.

He kept his eyes on the screen, willing it to light up. Willing Jamie’s name to appear. Willing something to break the tension coiling tighter and tighter under his ribs.

Nothing.

The phone stayed dark.

And that silence—thick, heavy, stretching out longer than any stage pause he’d ever endured—hit harder than anything Billy or Farlan had done to him. Harder than betrayal. Harder than the memories.

Because this wasn’t about the past. This was Jamie.

And Jamie not answering… that was the one thing Spencer didn’t know how to handle.

As Spencer crossed the threshold, a chilling stillness filled the air, making it feel off. Not just quiet—hollow, like the place had been holding its breath without him. No soft humming from Jamie, no music drifting from the art room, no half‑finished can of Coke on the counter. Even the throw blanket on the couch was still folded, untouched, which was never how Jamie left it.

A slow, uneasy weight settled in Spencer’s chest.