Sliding Down the Sky (27 page)

We smiled at each other like a couple of teenagers. He was joking, I know, but there was a ring of truth to it. I wouldn’t forget tonight.

It was a memory I would keep safe in my heart, forever.

“There is something glamorous to me in taking

a bit of a beating and keeping on going.”

– Chris Martin

Callum

At first I thought the rain was a bad thing, but seeing the way her black shirt was sticking to her like a second skin, I changed my mind. Rain was a good thing. A very good thing.

But not if she ended up getting sick because of it. I reached over into the back seat and handed over her jacket.

“Here, before you catch cold.”

She was struggling out of her shirt, but it was no easy task.

“Let me help.”

She turned her back to me and I attacked the sopping sleeve, easing it down over her arm.

“Is this all part of your Mr Smooth act?” she teased. “Getting the girl soaking wet so you can disrobe her?”

“Hey, it’s working isn’t it?” I chuckled, pushing the shirt across her shoulders so she could get the other sleeve off.

I left her to it and turned on the car’s engine, cranking up the heat.

“Just give it a minute to warm up,” I said, as cool air blasted out of the vents.

I peeled off my own shirt, exposing my t-shirt underneath, and threw it into the back seat. Then I grabbed my jacket, shrugging into it. I glanced over at her and she was giving me a strange look.

“What?”

“You make that look so damn easy.”

It
was
easy – for me. Clearly it wasn’t for her, because she went back to struggling with the final sleeve, but it refused to come off. I switched the light on, to make it easier for her to see.

“For God’s sake,” she murmured, yanking at it anxiously.

It was caught on her prosthesis, I could see that clearly from where I sat.

“Have you got it?” I asked, leaning over. “Hang on, the cuff’s still buttoned, that’s why it’s getting stuck.”

I could feel her shivering already, as I fiddled with the button on the cuff. Just like her obviously building frustration, the heat was coming, but it was slow. Eventually, I managed to unbutton the soaking cuff, and I helped her to pull it off. She screwed the sopping shirt into a ball and dropped it on the floor at her feet with an exasperated sigh.

Rather than talk about the obvious, I chose to ignore it. The t-shirt she wore was wet, too, but before she put her jacket on, it was her bare arm I was drawn to.

“Wow,” I said, before I could help myself. “That’s one badass tattoo.”

I reached for her arm, tuning it over gently to get a closer look.

A black dandelion was inked into her skin, stretching from just below her wrist to just inside her elbow. It was beautifully done, with incredible detail. The seeds on the dandelion head had begun to blow away, and they turned into tiny black birds near her wrist. I couldn’t help running my fingertips along the dandelion’s stem, causing goosebumps to rise up in their wake.

“This is amazing work – I’ve never seen fine detail like that before. What does it mean?”

She didn’t answer, but I could hear her breathing. I held onto her arm, glancing up at her. She just shook her head, her eyes glistening as the rain pounded on the car.

“I don’t know.”

She must’ve seen the question brewing, because she pulled her arm out of my hands and shoved her hand between her thighs, hiding it.

“I was kind of a mess, after the accident,” she said, staring down at her thighs. “Out of control, you might say. I was drinking – a lot – and one night, apparently I was out of my mind, and I got this. I can’t even remember who I was with or where I was. I haven’t the faintest idea what it means. It could mean anything.”

I reached up and switched off the light. The car was warming up, but she was still sitting there, in a wet t-shirt and wet jeans, shivering. I gently took the jacket out of her lap and slid it around her shoulders.

“Crazy, huh?” she said, just loud enough so I could hear her above the rain.

“Not crazy.”

She looked over at me and I could see her pain. I’d done my share of drinking over the years, and I’d had my share of alcohol-induced blackouts. But I’d never been through anything as traumatic as losing a limb. I couldn’t imagine what a loss like that would do to your soul. I didn’t want to. I didn’t blame her for wanting to block it out either, especially considering the circumstances surrounding that loss.

“Make something up,” I said.

She stared at me, waiting for clarification. I just shrugged.

“Make something up.
Make
it mean something to you.”

I reached for her arm again, turning it over and running my fingers over the ink.

“What does it look like, to you? Because to me, it looks like some kind of symbol for a new beginning.”

I glanced up to find her frowning at me dubiously.

“I’m serious.”

If I was to make her believe anything, I wanted it to be this. I looked down at the tattoo again, my head spinning in circles, desperately trying to find the right words to convince her.

“Look,” I said, gliding my fingertip over the birds. “It’s as if the picture’s evolving, looking for greener pastures, for somewhere new. They’re free. They’re moving on, exploring the new terrain. See?”

She wasn’t looking at the birds, she was looking at me. I had no idea if those were tears in her eyes or water dripping down from her hair.

“It’s whatever you want it to be,” I said gently.

“I have a theory that the only original

things we ever do are mistakes.”

– Billy Joel

Callum

I sat outside the motel for at least an hour, waiting. I wanted to be sure, even though the phone call had confirmed it. It had been the last in a series of phone calls to all the motels in town. This one was where Mike Dawson was staying, and it was time someone showed up on his doorstep unannounced for a change. See how he liked it.

My date last night with Sass was still swimming around in my head. She didn’t need his kind snooping around her. Maybe if I put the frighteners on him, he’d pass the message back through the grapevine to his cronies and I could buy her some more time. I’m not sure just how much more time, but one thing was for certain, she wasn’t ready to face the media firing squad yet and I wasn’t accustomed to standing idly by.

I sipped on my takeaway coffee and sat there in my car, in the dark, watching and waiting. He was in room seven, according to the front desk, and the room lights were still off. He was probably out trying to dig up some more info on her. I hoped like hell he hadn’t managed to find out where they lived yet. For a brief moment, I wondered if that’s exactly where he was. The panic was fleeting, though. Sooner or later, he’d turn up back here again, and I wasn’t planning on going anywhere until he did.

My phone trilled on the passenger seat, and I nearly choked on my coffee. I grabbed it and saw Jack’s name blinking at me from the screen.

“Hey,” I said, watching the motel.

“Hey. What are you doing?”

Did he know? No, impossible. I hadn’t told anyone.

“Nothin’. Why?”

“Want to meet up for a beer?”

“I can’t.” I mentally crossed my fingers. “I’m meeting Sass. Why, what’s up? Everything okay?”

“Yeah, it’s fine.”

We’d briefly caught up when I’d brought Sass home last night. They seemed unscathed after their little babysitting gig, and they left pretty soon after we arrived back.

“Did everything go okay after we left last night? How was Aria?” I asked.

“She was fine. Cute, actually. She’s really taken to Ally.”

“Yeah, I noticed. What did you guys get up to?”

“We had a, uh, tea party.”

I choked down a laugh. Way to go Aria.

“Let me guess – blue, for boys?” I grinned, imagining the scene.

He chuckled.

“Yeah. She got you too, huh?”

“No comment,” I said, still grinning. “So what about tomorrow night? I could meet you at The Church after work.”

“Yeah, okay. And not so fast – you haven’t given me any details yet. How did everything go with you guys? Is she falling for your wiley charms?”

I could hear the smile in his voice as I kept my eye on the motel across the road.

“Dude, they don’t call me Mr Smooth for nothing.”

“They don’t call you Mr Smooth at all,” he chuckled.

“Shows you how much you know. She called me Mr Smooth last night.”

“Did she just? Well then, I look forward to getting all the details tomorrow night.”

“In your dreams.”

“You’re not the only one with wiley charms, Ferguson.”

“Dude. Now you’re just creeping me out.”

“Catch you tomorrow.”

I threw the phone back onto the passenger seat. As I looked up, I saw a shadowy figure walking along the front of the motel. My stomach twisted in anticipation as he opened the door and flicked on the light in room seven, closing the door behind him. I threw down the last of my coffee and got out of the car, walking across the road before I changed my mind. I knocked on the door, and it took him a few moments to open up, but when he did, I forced him back inside the room and shut the door behind me. I didn’t want an audience for this. He stood in the middle of the room, sizing me up. I’m not sure if he looked scared or just taken by surprise. He was hard to read, that was for sure.

“Callum, isn’t it? Kia’s friend?” he asked.

So he knew my name. So what? If that was supposed to scare me off, it wasn’t working.

“That’s right.”

“What can I do for you?”

Cocky bastard.

“You can pack up your shit and get out of town.”

He drew himself up to his full height, which was about an inch shorter than me. He was stocky, but I wasn’t worried. I could hold my own if it came to that, and I was secretly hoping it would. Right at that moment, there was nothing I wanted more.

“Really?” he asked, as if I’d just told him he was going to have to move out of this room due to a water leak.

“Yeah, really.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Because I’m asking you to. Nicely, first off.”

He nodded, but the tell-tale quirk of his upper lip told me he was mildly amused at this whole situation. I fought the urge to wipe it off his face.

“Hey,” he said, throwing his hands up in a mock gesture of surrender. “I’m just doing my job.”

“And what job is that, exactly?”

“My boss told me to track down Kia Martin and see how she’s doing – for the fans. She just disappeared, no one knew where she was, everyone was worried.”

“Worried?” I snapped, barely keeping a lid on my temper.

“Yeah. Worried.” His gaze changed in a heartbeat, from amused to steely. “She has people who care about her out there. They want to know she’s okay.”

“She has people who care about her right here,” I shot back.

That was some bullshit he was toting. He must’ve known that.

“She’s doing fine. She just needs the likes of you to get off her case and let her get on with her life.”

“I’m doing it for the fans. They’re the ones who want to know.”

“Bullshit. She’s entitled to a private life, which means
living privately
– without fanfare.”

“Look,” he said, his expression suddenly softening. “She’s had a tough time – no one’s denying that. What she went through, I’m sure was hell – it would’ve been hard enough for your average person on the street to deal with losing a hand like that, but for a musician I’m sure it was a thousand times worse. I’m just here to do a follow-up article on her, to show her fans how she’s doing now. That’s all – I swear.”

His word meant nothing to me. I could see right through his little charade.

“Misery sells, right?” I shot back, not backing down an inch.

“She didn’t look miserable to me. In fact, the two of you looked pretty cosy when I saw you. How long have you guys been –“

I grabbed his shirt and pushed him backwards until he was pinned up against the wall.

“I’m gonna say this one last time,” I seethed. “Get your shit and get out, and don’t come back.”

“I’m not –“

“Read my lips: I. Don’t. Care. I don’t care what your angle is, I don’t care who you’re doing this for, and I don’t care for the bullshit you keep spouting, either. The truth is, she’s not in the spotlight anymore. She’s not a musician, she’s not a celebrity, she’s just a regular person, going about her business and trying to make the best of her life. She’s not newsworthy anymore, and she doesn’t need you and your creeptastic army of stalkers following her every move. Get out of town before she files a restraining order. Am I making myself clear?”

He stared me down, as though he had the upper hand, not me. I had him by the shirt, pinned up against the wall, and yet he looked calm. It made me shiver. What the hell did I have to do to get through to him? How far did I have to go?

“Does she know you’re here?” he asked.

“What difference does that make?”

“So she doesn’t. Interesting.”

I shoved him harder against the wall, taking some satisfaction from that fact that he sucked in a sharp breath. Good. I wanted the knock the breath right out of him.

“Your loyalty… is admirable,” he wheezed, his face reddening. “Maybe we could… have a beer and… talk this through? On me… of course.”

Jesus.

I punched him. Hard, but just the once. It hurt, but it was worth it. Words obviously meant nothing to him – ironic, since he was a reporter and words were his weapon of choice – but maybe my fist in his face would send the right message. He doubled over, wheezing and coughing, as I stepped back and let him fall to his knees.

I flexed my fist, my knuckles aching.

“Tell the
fans
she’s fine,” I spat, backing towards the door. “And consider that a warning.”

I left him to it, a puddle of wheezing slime on the floor, as I closed the door behind me and headed back to my car.