How To Save A Life (22 page)

I
don't know if I should show up to my shift, but I do anyway. I figure the worst he can do is tell me to get out, and after what he's already said, how much more can that hurt?

My car hums to a stop outside the building and I just sit in the car and think for a minute. Think of all the things I could have done to make this easier.

But all the could haves, should haves, what ifs won't make a damn difference. This is the real thing. I should just be grateful it isn't worse than it is.

I clamber out of the car and walk inside, but when I step foot in the bar, it's silent. The door's unlocked, so I know Jase must have been here recently, but he's not around now.

I walk out the back and stash my bag, then step behind the bar. A big stack of limes sit inside a cardboard box, and while I haven't worked here long, I know enough to know that they need to be squeezed, so I grab a knife and halve about twenty, then use the Mexican elbow and start squeezing the juice into the bottom of a cocktail jug.

It's easy to get lost in the rhythm, so easy, and soon I find myself studying the bar from this perspective, an angle I've rarely seen before. From here, the room looks bigger, wider, and I can suddenly see how we managed to fit so many people in last night.

The stools and tables on the left-hand side of the room are illuminated, courtesy of the open windows above them. The other thing illuminated is that gorgeous old piano ... and it's open.

I frown, drop the lime I'm squeezing, and walk over to the beautiful instrument. The keys are on display in the sunlight, and I can't resist just casually pressing one as I walk past, enjoying the rich, thick melodic sound that resonate after.

Sheet music sits atop of the piano on the stand, and I frown as my eyes scan the notes and the keys. It all seems relatively simple. Has Jase hired someone else to play here? Has he gotten sick of my—

Then I see the title to the song.

"I'm sorry."

I spin around. Jase has walked into the bar, and his eyes are spidered with red, dark shadows under his eyes.

"I didn't mean to snap. It's just ... it's so important to me that you're honest," he says, and his words are laced with such torturous sweetness. It hurts me with its good intentions. Plays havoc on my emotions with its kindness. Guilts me with his sincerity.

"Did you see the music?" He gestures to the piano.

"
Sorry Seems To Be The Hardest Word
?" I ask, a smile twisting my lips. "I didn't pick you for an Elton John fan."

"I'm not." Jase steps closer to me, and suddenly we're chest to chest, his hands on my shoulders, his feet either side of mine. "I'm a Lia Stanton fan."

He wraps a hand to the back of my head and draws me forward until our mouths meet in the softest, gentlest kiss. He pulls away, then looks into my eyes, integrity shining in his gaze. "I'm sorry for judging you. You told me your mum had issues. I guess I didn't think ... after everything ... that you'd be ashamed. I understand, though. I do." He nods, one hand still supporting the base of my head. "Do you ... forgive me?"

"There's nothing to forgive you for," I whisper, and crush my lips against his once again.

We pull apart, and I can still taste him, that minty, manly taste that is his and his alone. This whole scene is too perfect, too sweet, and I know I can't take him along for this ride any longer. I have to come clean. I have to.

"Jase ..."
I can't keep this secret anymore.
"There are things I'm not telling you."

He stills, and a slight crease mars his clean forehead. "I ... are you going to tell me?"

I swallow. "When the time is right," I whisper. "And I don't mean that like it's a line in a song, or an excuse, or a way to avoid confrontation."

And I don't. I mean that I'll tell him when the time is right. When I'm eighteen. When I know if Smith is a real threat. When I have a plan to sort Mum out, so he won't look at me as if I'm a victim. Someone to be pitied. Someone to feel sorry for.

His lips purse as he considers this. "These secrets ... do they involve your mother and her weird boyfriend?"

I school my expression to neutral, but part of me feels good that Jase noticed how strange Smith is. Justified, even. As if maybe the policewoman was wrong, and I'm not just misinterpreting him for an overly keen to be accepted new "dad".

"Yes."

He wraps his big strong arms around me. "And you promise you'll tell me before these secrets become a problem?"

I lick my lips, grateful he can't see, because I can’t keep a poker face right now. The thing is, I don't know where the problem starts, or where it ends. Where's the tipping point? When does it stop being an inconvenience and become a real life, honest-to-goodness issue?

Or has it reached that point already?

"Yes," I say into his shoulder, and his shirt smells like musk, and man, and clean.

I wrap my arms tighter around him, snaking them over his back, and he pulls back to meet my eyes, his golden meeting my dark brown. He leans in and kisses my lips, and my body is eager, desperate for his touch, and my mouth opens to greet his, to dance in a passionate dual.

Seconds later, he pulls back and rests his forehead against mine, breathing hot and heavy on my lips. "I'm quickly falling for you, Lia Stanton."

"I'm falling for—"

"Am I gonna walk in on this all the time? Because, dude, come on."

Kyle's voice jerks us apart like two magnets of the same charge, and we all but flee to opposite sides of the room.

"Sorry, man, completely unprofessional." Jase strides over to Kyle and offers his hand up in a high five, which Kyle quickly accepts.

"Nah, it's cool. I just didn't want you guys to be so lost in the moment you didn't hear me enter." Kyle gives us both a wink, and my cheeks flame with heat for the second time that day.

With that, the three of us get the bar set up to start service, Hope arriving an hour later right as the doors open.

It's another busy night, and soon I'm thinking Jase won't even need to organise a professional launch, because the bar already has so many visitors. It couldn't really handle any more without opening an outdoor beer garden. It's a true testament to his picking the market—a venue just more than an hour north of Sydney, where this trend is already established, in a marketplace that's fifty per cent commuters, and at least thirty per cent ex-Sydney siders. It makes perfect sense, but the extreme popularity is still well and truly surprising.

It's right on ten, and I can't stop thinking of Jase's words to me earlier. How he gave me so much of him.

How there's still so much of me I'm holding back.

Then I think of one part of me I can give to him now.

One part that's very easy.

I check on the dishwasher, and there's still seven minutes to go, so I take a deep breath, smooth down my hair and square my shoulders.

I can do this.

I'm good enough.

As I walk to the piano, it's as if I'm on a different planet. The voices are coming at me from miles away—I have tunnel vision for the keys, and the keys only.

When I sit down, my hands shake, and my gaze darts left, right, backward even to check that no one is looking at me.

But no one sees me sit down to play.

Thank goodness.

I lick my lips and scan my eyes over the sheet music Jase had placed there. I know the song, and even though I've never played it, it isn't particularly difficult. I don't have any doubt I can make it work.

My hands shake as I raise them over the keys, and I lick my lips. What if I screw it up? What if Jase doesn't see this as the apology I mean it to be after all? What if ...
what if someone recognises me and asks questions?

I press my legs up to stand. I can't do this. I can't be the centre of attention. Not here. Not now.

I'm about to walk away when I feel Jase's stare from the bar.

Don't look.

Do not look.

Do not look at
—

Jase's eyes are wide, and there's this stupidly hopeful smile on his face. As if me being here is something great. Something to be excited about.

Before I even realise what I'm doing, my fingers are strategically placing and slamming into the keyboard, hitting those opening notes of the song.

And to my enormous surprise, a hush doesn't fall over the crowd. People don't stop, fold their arms and get ready to judge. Instead, they go about their business, voices rising and falling in cadence, drinks clinking with other drinks, and shakers at the bar rattling with ice.

It's as if no one notices as I play out the entire story of this apologetic song, except for Jase, whose eyes are always on me, always watching me, as if I'm the most important thing in the world.

Or, I think no one's listening. But at the end, when the final note lingers in the air, a few people around the bar clap. It's hardly a standing ovation, and this venue is far from the Opera House. But they listened. And they liked it.

A guy strolls over from a group of six who were standing, leaning against the bar, just as I'm getting up to go back to work. "Do you know any newer stuff?"

I shake my head. "I ..." I glance up, and Jase is looking at me, a great big smile on his face. I don't know if he heard what the guy in front of me said or he just guesses, but he nods enthusiastically, urging me to continue. "Sure," I finish, and smile, sitting back down.

This time, when I start a modern number about love and heartache and loss, lots of people seem to stop and listen, and I even notice a few of them swaying to the music. All the while I'm losing myself deeper and deeper, falling further in love with performing than I ever thought possible.

I’ve done plenty of performances in class before, and I know I’ll have to audition in front of judges in a few weeks time, but out here, playing music for real people in the real world? There’s something so much scarier about it.

Something that makes me feel so much more alive.

I play five more songs before I notice the empty glasses piling up on tables, and I immediately step up and get to work clearing them away. I'm balancing a particularly tall stack against my chest and offloading them, one by one, onto the countertop when hands snake around my waist.

"You are amazing," he whispers in my ear, and the excitement that had been bouncing around inside me all reaches fever pitch. I shove the remaining glasses onto the counter and turn around to face him, Jase, the guy who made this all possible, and leap into his arms, wrapping my legs around his waist and kissing his cheek.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you," I breathe in his ear.

"Thank me?" He pulls back to look me in the eye. "What are you thanking me for? You're the one with the amazing talent who just made half of this bar stand up and take notice."

My cheeks burn, and I swear I must have caught some crazy girly disease, because I'm not usually this much of a blusher, and damn it, it was just a stupid line.

A stupid line from a guy I really like.

A stupid line that might be true.

"I ..." I shake my head and shrug, then fall forward again, resting my chin on his shoulder. I want everything in life to feel as good as this moment. Everything to be this blissful and complete.

"Seriously, guys, they say third time lucky, but I'm not feelin' it."

"Sorry, Kyle," Jase and I chant in unison, and I slide down from his waist, over his hard body, and to the floor.

"At least look like you mean it." He rolls his eyes, but he has a stupid cheesy grin on his face, and I can't help but think that maybe Kyle's a sucker for a bit of love, too.

Wait,
love?

"Just checking in to see if we have anymore Angostura bitters, boss. Can't see it on the shelves," Kyle says.

"I'll look in the stock room," Jase says, but his eyes don't leave mine. And to me, they say
want. Need.
And a zillion other things that are doing funny things to my girly bits.

He walks out of the room, and I continue my shift. Thanks to my impromptu break, there's plenty to do, and before I know it the clock strikes twelve, and people start filtering out the front door, a whole lot more peacefully than they did the night prior.

Kyle and Hope head home, and as I glance out the window on my way to the stock room to refill the beer fridge, I catch them lingering suspiciously close to one another in the car park. I smile. Maybe Kyle won't be the only one to be catching inappropriate moments in the neat future.

I'm halfway through filling the fridge when Jase's hand lingers on my shoulder.

"Wanna go for a walk?"

No, thanks, it's cold.

No. It's late and I need to go home.

Dude, I'm in the middle of something here, yeah?

"Sure," I reply.

I grab my bag and we walk outside, Jase locking the stockroom door behind us. It's cold out, and he wraps his arm around me and even though I'd like to say it's just like in the movies and all of a sudden I can't feel anything but him, I totally can and my nipples are so freezing that I'm worried brushing against a tree will send them flying off.