The Problem With Heartache (21 page)

My mind ticked over, working at a million miles per hour. So Lee had to sign an agreement saying he’d keep out of trouble with the law. Maybe that was why I couldn’t find anything about him killing his brother on the Internet. Maybe whatever accident it was had happened before he was famous, and now he was straighty-one-eighty, and determined to hush it up. It was as if all the pieces of the puzzle were falling into place, bar two things: the actual killing and the brother.

“Xander, this is going to seem random, but …”
Here goes nothing
, “… does Lee have any siblings? A brother?”

Xander’s forehead creased, then sprang back to neutral, a clean slate. “Ha! Who told you that?”

“Oh … I just was wondering …” I trailed off, unsure how to support my story without saying ‘
Well, Lee told me when he was drunk, but then he denied it.’

“Nah, man. Not Lee. I’m the closest thing to a brother he has.” And with that, the topic was closed. “You should ring him, anyway. See where he is.”

He turned and walked back toward the bus, and I was left standing there by myself, no wiser as to whether Lee had a sibling or not.

I was dialling his number when he came jogging up to the bus, backpack slung over his shoulder, sweat beaded on his forehead.

“You … okay?” I asked. His eyes were red, and he looked tense, as if someone was holding up his shoulders and hanging him out to dry.

“Fine,” he snapped, widening his eyes. He barged toward the bus, his strong hands hoisting him up the stairs and inside, and I couldn’t help but to look at them. Staring. Those large, strong palms. Those long, lean fingers.

Could they be capable of murder?

I shook my head. No. They couldn’t. I’d entertained the idea for a morning, but Lee-
freaking-
Collins just didn’t seem the bad boy type. But I still knew he was hiding something.

And somehow, that hurt worse.

I banished the pain; I bottled it up. I couldn’t think about Lee as being someone who hurt me. That was as good as admitting that I was moving on.

And I owed Lachlan more than that.

Four years, six months ago …

“B
ROTHER
.” R
YAN
clapped me on the back, and I stood to give him one of those awkward bro-hugs.

“How you doing?” I asked. We’d caught up four or five times now, aided by Ryan’s travels in his quest to find a job, and each time was better than the last. Ryan was actually a good guy. I sensed he’d had a hard life; hell, I knew he had. But he was making a serious go of things regardless, and seemed determined to focus on the future.

At least, when he wasn’t dwelling on the past.

“Your shout, Lee?” Ryan grinned. “You know, being the one who got the parents and all.”

I forced a grin. It wasn’t the first time he’d made that joke, and it wasn’t the first time I’d flinched when he had.

“Of course, buddy.” I gave him a gentle slap on the back and ordered us some beers, which we then took over to a table in the corner by the window.

“How ya been?” Ryan asked as we sat across from each other.

“Good, man, good. Busy.” I frowned. And I was. I’d kinda thought things would be easy once we were signed, but somehow I was working harder than I’d ever worked before. “We finish touring in a month or so, and then we’ll start work on album number two.”

“You should write a song about me,” Ryan joked, and I laughed.

“Yeah, I’d call it ‘O Brother’—a song about a guy named Ryan who never buys the beers.” We both laughed, and any tension from his comment earlier on was soon forgotten.

“What about you? How’s things?” I asked, when we’d settled down.

“Real good. I just got put forward as one of three potential candidates for this massive construction job. If I get it …” He shook his head. “I think this could be it, bro. This could be my ticket out.”

“Awesome.” I smiled. Ryan had been living in a trailer park while he got his life sorted. Having financial security would mean a lot to him. “And how’s your girl?”

Ryan paused, pursed his lips. “She’s good, man. Distant. She’ll be better when I can offer her security, you know? Just … I’m giving her some space.”

“Cool.” I nodded. “Sounds like you got it all sorted.”

It looked as if his whole life was taking a turn for the better. I just hoped I wasn’t about to make it worse.

“There’s something I gotta tell you.” I looked out the window. Across the street, there was a coffee shop. Tables and chairs spilled onto the sidewalk, and littered it with caffeine-loving patrons.

“Go on.” Ryan quirked an eyebrow suspiciously.

“The choice is entirely yours, but …”
Here goes nothing.
“See that café over there?”

Ryan craned his neck and looked through the window. “Yeah.”

“There’s a couple, middle-aged, sitting to the left. She’s in a pink sweater, and he’s in jeans and a shirt?”

Ryan studied the scene for a moment and then replied. “Yeah.”

“They’re … they’re our parents.”

Ryan jerked his head back, shook it slowly and then picked up his beer and drained it all in one go. “Shit,” he breathed when he’d finished. “You don’t think you coulda maybe sprung that on me a little softer?”

“Sorry,” I said, still studying him anxiously. “I didn’t know how to do it. I know you’re not particularly keen on them, but they want to meet you. It’s so important to them, and I thought this would be a good opportunity for you to at least put faces to the names, and all that.”

“Oh, I wanna meet ’em all right.” Ryan’s face darkened and he pushed to his feet.

“Ryan, I—” But he’d already started to storm out of the bar, and I raced after him. Shit, I knew this was a bad idea. What if he tried to hurt them? Dad was still a little fragile, and—

“So you’re Mr and Mrs Collins, huh?” Ryan folded his arms, towering over my parents. Mom’s lower lips trembled, and Dad carefully placed his coffee cup down.

“Ryan.” Mom’s eyes glossed over and she gave a small smile, the smile of the heartbroken.

Something in that must have broken Ryan, broken some rage within him, because instead of launching into a tirade, which I half-expected him to do, he ran his hands through his long hair and puffed out a long breath.

“Mind if I sit down?”

It was my turn to be relieved. I didn’t expect us to suddenly morph into one big happy family; these things took time, and I was more than willing to wait. But at least we were taking the steps.

They were the first baby steps Mom and Dad had ever seen Ryan make.

Present day …

Dear Lee,

Spill it.

Kate

I was once a hopeless romantic. I believed in love at first sight, in ‘the one’, in true love conquering all. Now, I knew better. Now, I knew that the one for me would always be the one available right now, and it had never been clearer to me than it was this morning when Kate stood there, asking me about my brother.

Because that was what they did, you see. They tricked you, they lured you in with their looks and then you told them something you shouldn’t—something nobody should know.

And instead of brushing it off, letting it go? They harboured that thought. They let it fester and grow, and waited to use it against you.

Oh, she hadn’t yet. But she would. I know she would.

Everybody else had.

We spent six long hours on the bus, making our way out to Vegas for a few gigs and some media commitments. The atmosphere during the trip was party, with Xander and his chick letting loose the odd giggle in the back and the sound guys convincing some of the strippers to let them do body shots. Everyone was having a blast. Except for me.

Well, not quite everyone. Kate was staring out the window, and while she hadn’t wrapped a curtain around her partition, she may as well have.

I didn’t know what to do, how to act. The screwed up thing was, I felt betrayed. I know; I was the dickhead who’d told her the truth. But still, she was acting weird, and I think that deep down, even though I knew it could not, would not ever work between us, perhaps I’d harboured a secret hope that I could get close to her. That I could kiss those sweet lips, make love to her bangin’ body—

Fuck! Quit it with the making love already.

I mentally berated myself, and shook my head. I still couldn’t believe I’d used the ‘c’ word on her. She deserved better than that. She was a good person. A good person who I was still weirdly attracted to. And who I needed to make up to for the harsh words I’d said this morning.

Why am I doing this?

I didn’t have an answer. All I could think of was her face, the sun shining against it, as we talked about filling silent spaces. And how I wanted to not feel the pressure to fill silent moments with her.

I sent off a quick text to Benny, asking him for a favour that started with the world’s most creepy question.

Me:
Mate, can you do me a solid? I need to somehow find out what size shoes Kate wears.