How To Save A Life (16 page)

The
nightmares are always worse after an
incident.

Blood begets blood.

And then some.

I'm lying on the couch, clutching my stomach, and Mum smiles and makes some noises about going upstairs.

"I wonder why he's home so early," she muses as she places her hand on the railing to assist her passage.

"Don't know." I shrug, although my heart sinks to my stomach.
What if he's having an affair?

I rack my brain, thinking of my parents and their relationship. Lately, there've been some fights late at night. They think I don't hear, but I do. Their voices penetrate through my bedroom wall, bearing stress and frustration and sadness, so much sadness.

Is that truly it, though? Is that temporary glitch, a few months of hardship, enough for him to want to throw away a marriage? My mother?

Me?

Anger boils my blood and I sit up straight. He can't do this to us. No. Not my dad.

I stand to follow Mum when I hear it.

She screams.

And I go bolting up the stairs to be with her, to support her, to hurl abuse at my cheating arse of a father who's just done the unthinkable and slept with someone else. In our house!

Mum's crouched in a ball at the end of the landing, sobbing these great big silent cries, clutching her knees to her chest. Her face is a contortion of the worst kind of pain, horror and nightmares etched all across it.

I race to her side and bend down, throwing my arms around her.

"Baby! No! You have to g ... you have to go!" Her voice is urgent. It chills me to the bone.

"Why? I—"

That's when I look into the bedroom.

And I see.

Violets on the dresser. A floral tribute to himself.

Then red. Red, everywhere. All over the stark white sheets of the bed. All over the pillow. The quilt. Some spattered on the floor. It's a Jackson Pollock tribute painted by my dad.

And that artwork changed my mum forever.

***

It’s midday by the time I’ve walked to the bar on Saturday to collect my car. I was hoping the fresh air would make me feel better, but my eyelids are still heavy, my head clouded with this haze of grief and fog and confusion. This is what a hangover feels like. The emotional kind, that is.

The lot is full with Saturday morning dance class attendees, and Mrs Jones gives me a wave as she heads into the hall, plum lipstick stretching with her lips into a grin. I return it, pulling the sleeve of my long-sleeved shirt all the way to my hand. The cut on my wrist is only small, but my brain doesn’t see it like that. My mind sees it flashing in neon.

“Left the car overnight,” she says cheerily, and I nod.

“I felt like a bit of a walk after practice yesterday,” I lie, and hope that it’s enough to hold off the Small Town Rumour Mill for a few hours.

Someone has parked a little too close to the back of my car for my liking, and I’m not sure I can manoeuvre out of the tight space without hitting their shiny, way-too-expensive-for-me-to-repair BMW.

“Crap,” I mutter. A breeze blows my shirt toward the lake, and it’s as if it’s calling me. It always calls to me.

I walk toward the lake, almost in a trance. It’s peaceful, small undulations marring an otherwise smooth surface. The vast expanse of water stretches far left, then twists to meet the ocean to my right. Salt infiltrates my nostrils, and my arms wrap around my stomach as the breeze gusts once more.

“Get outta here.”

The voice is loud, yelling, and I spin around to see Jase pointing toward the street. Another man stands in front of him, and from the way he steps forward so they’re chest to chest, menace radiating, I can tell that he has no intention of going anywhere at all.

“Not until I get what’s mine.” He gives a firm shove at Jase’s chest, and a sick feeling flutters over my stomach.

Jase grips the man’s wrist and removes the offensive limb from his body. I can’t make out the words, but when he speaks his voice is low, controlled, and loaded with threat.

I shiver, and pull my arms tighter to my sides. This isn’t a side of Jase I want to see. It’s not a side I need in my life.

I switch my gaze back to the lot, and the offending vehicle is nudging its way out of the spot, leaving mine free for the taking. “Timing,” I mutter, and make my way to my car.

My keys are in the lock when a hand lands on my shoulder. I flinch.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

I turn to meet Jase. His hair is mussed, and his skin looks sallow, as if he hasn’t had quite enough sleep. Worry lines his forehead, and I’m torn between wanting to ask him what’s wrong and running the hell away from this guy who I just saw involved in some shady looking dealings.

“S’fine.” I shrug. “I was just … getting my car.” I state the obvious.

“What are you up to today?” He steps around me and leans against the door, his body hulking over my tinny piece-of-crap vehicle.

I lick my lips, stalling for time. Why is he talking to me? Okay, so yes, we kind of did have an amazing kiss last night, but everything that happened after with Mum has kind of stripped it from my mind. Not only that, but I’m still hurting after everything that happened with Duke and Kat. I don’t know that I’m ready for a date, and—

Relax, Lia
.
He just asked what you were doing. It wasn’t a marriage proposal.

I suck in a deep breath. “Just studying.”

“You okay?” He cocks his head to one side. “You seem … tense.”

“I’m fine.” I say the words, but even I don’t believe me. I try and force my shoulders to relax and creep down from around my ears where it feels like they’ve been standing to attention.

He pushes off the car and raises one hand in the air as if he’s holding a ticket. “I have an idea.” He take three long strides toward the bar then pauses, spinning back around to face me. “Come on.”

And I don’t know if it’s because I’m so confused and just kind of overwhelmed by life, or if it’s because he didn’t really give me a chance to say no, but my legs start moving, and soon I’ve caught up as we walk to the back of the bar together.

There sits a motorbike. It’s one of those kind of retro looking ones, with pronounced circular side mirrors and headlight. It gleams in the sun, and I hold up a hand to shield my eyes.

“Two seconds.” Jase jogs around to the side of the bar, then returns a few minutes later holding—

Oh, no.

Oh no, no, no,
no
.

“Here.” He holds one of the helmets out to me. It’s black and shiny, but looks to be about the right size for a girl.

That is, a girl who wanted to ride a motorbike.

I.e.
not me
.

“I don’t do …” I shake my head and gesture at the death machine in front of us. “That.”

“Why not?” Jase asks, buckling his own helmet under his chin.

“Because it’s a death machine.”

“Ha!” Jase laughs, and steps closer to me. “You looked tense. Whenever I’ve got something on my mind, this always helps me peace out.”

“And do you?” I can’t help but think of the confrontation I witnessed earlier. “Have something on your mind?”

Jase runs his tongue over his lip, and that hint of his mouth is enough to send me flashing back to our kiss, and how it felt against my own. My body seems to sing, every cell standing to attention as I realise how
close
we’re standing, and how good he looks in the afternoon sun.

“Yeah.” His voice is a growl. “I do.”

He takes the helmet in my hands and places it on my head, buckling it up under my chin with all the tenderness and care in the world. It’s so completely at odds with everything else about him, and I go with it, not wanting to stop this closeness, this connection.

“You’re not going to die,” he says. “I’m a damn good rider.”

I bet you are
.

“I’ll be really safe. It’s a great way to unwind, to just get all that stress out of your system.” He walks back toward the bike. “We’ll go on a scenic ride, just around the coast line, then back.” He straddles one leg over the seat, then pats the space behind him. “Come on.”

I purse my lips, because his words are so convincing. But I am petrified. This is a motorbike. And I don’t know the statistics, but I’m sure the odds of death on one of those things is so much greater than say, death by shark attack.

“Thanks anyway.” I unbuckle the helmet and start to slide it off my head. “I’m just going to take my car and …” I glance back at my car, and I freeze. Kat’s standing by the window, her head moving left to right as if she’s searching for me.

I can’t talk to her right now.

I’m not ready. Not after what happened last night.

Step three: Escape while you still can.

“Let’s go.” I click the helmet back up and all but run over to Jase’s side.

He gives a throaty chuckle. “Okay then.”

I throw my leg over the bike and sit on the seat. The engine roars to life, the machine throbbing underneath me, and I cling to the back of the seat as tight as I possibly can, so hard that the metal digs into my palms. My heart races, and I feel so fragile and exposed on this skeleton of a vehicle.
What the hell am I doing?

Jase turns back to look at me, and my fear must be written all over my face, because he leans back and with one arm, touches my shoulder. “Put your arms around me,” he yells. “It’s safer.”

Safe.

I don’t need to be told twice.

I fling my arms around his middle, shuffling forward in the seat so my body is flush with his. He’s firm under my hold, a rock, and a ping runs through my body.

“Hold on,” he yells, and then the bike grunts again and we start off through the car park. I squeeze my eyes shut.
It’s going to be okay. It’s going to be okay
. We’re going slow, so slow that when I open my eyes, I see Kat staring at me, her jaw dropped, eyes wide. I shut my eyes again.

It’s just in time, because the engine really opens up and we hit the road. Wind is icy as it lashes my cheeks, and I grip Jase with everything I have. My pulse races, and my heart thumps so hard in my chest it might break out.

I’m going to die. I’m going to die. I’m going to die. I’m going—

“You’re not going to die,” Jase yells, and I force a weak smile. The smile only lasts for a millisecond though as we turn a corner, and the bike leans, it
leans
so that I’m closer to the road’s black surface.

“Shit!” I scream, trying to keep upright.

The moment passes, and once we’re straight, Jase’s hand warms mine around his waist. “Lean into the corners with me.”

I violently shake my head, then tremble out a “No.”

“Do you trust me?” he asks.

And I shouldn’t.

I have absolutely no reason at all to put my faith in this guy who I barely know, who I just saw having a confrontation with another scary-as-hell looking dude, but I find myself saying yes.

And deep down, I know it’s true.

“Then lean with me.”

The words have barely left his mouth before we’re leaning into another corner. My breath catches in my throat and as much as I want to fight and stay upright, I do the unthinkable and lean with him, my body heart-stoppingly close to the cruel, hard ground.

Then we straighten.

And I’m alive.

And I laugh.

I laugh because I’m not dead, because I’m doing something so stupid and reckless, and because I just made an idiot out of myself in front of this guy.

I laugh so loud that I can barely hear the engine any more, and when we turn into another corner, I’m 100 per cent there with him, leaning in, flirting with safe danger.

Twenty minutes later, we pull up to a stop at a lookout, and Jase shuts off the engine. His hands rest on mine and he slowly releases them from around his waist as if they were a seatbelt.

“How was that?” he asks, a devilish glint in his eyes. He unclips his helmet, then reaches over and unclips mine.

“It was …” I pause and try to gracefully get off of the bike, but my legs don’t seem to be working and I kind of melt into the rocky ground beneath us.

But Jase is there, lifting me up. Jase’s arms carry me.

I steady onto my feet, and my heart is still thudding away at a million miles an hour, but it’s a completely different kind of exhilaration driving it now.

“It was good.”

He gives a cheeky smirk. “Just good?”

“Well, you know. Acceptable.” I push away from his chest and walk toward the wooden platform lookout. Below, bushland stretches, ghost-white trunks with silver-green leaves dancing in the breeze. Then, ocean, brilliant blue, stretching out until it meets the sky in a purple haze.

I moved to Emerald Cove eighteen months ago, when Mum lost her job and we needed to downsize. Before that, I’d come to this lookout often, since Sandy Bay was a short twenty minutes away. I am no stranger to it, but still, I never get tired of this view.