I felt then. I felt an ”oh shit” moment.
“Have you ever listened to the words of that song?”
A pause. “Um…no.”
“Maybe it might be too much for her. I mean, how many times has she seen him walk away from her? The song bloody sings about how nothing a hundred men or more could do to take me away from you.”
Jesus, Henry. Thanks for making me sound like a pathetic dishrag.
Another pause. “Well…we can’t control what she listens to, can we? Why don’t we just pack her iPod for next time.”
Henry sounded frustrated. “Mac, she’s just been shot and you’re worried over blackmail material.”
“Henry, don’t you see? If we start acting all retarded around her and try to be something we think she needs when all she needs is for us to be ourselves, she’ll bloody well fall apart.”
Upon the realisation I would have to oust my obsession with Toto's Africa before it could be used against me, I tuned out, willing them both to leave and take their argument with them.
* * *
The next two weeks followed the news that Jared made good on his words and left. The news extinguished the last small piece of hope that maybe he’d stayed, and losing it was like another blow. Casey had moved in with Travis, and Peter moved back to our place. It probably wasn’t a moment too soon because although Peter was admirably passionate in all his endeavours, it could be wearing on some. Henry was busy helping Mac with the Jamieson obligations while she dealt with the press, and believe me, the press was huge. If we thought touring with Sins of Descent would help our rise to success, then the lead singer of Jamieson getting shot gained us international fame. Gary from Jettison was riding a wave of excitement so high he automatically added an extra zero to the dollar figure on our record contract. Journalists were apparently frothing rabidly to win the all-important first interview. Perhaps I should’ve thought of getting shot sooner. Who knew?
Eventually I left the hospital, unnaturally quiet and subdued. The only consolation was that it appeared I had the constitution of a Terminator. I’d survived through so much. War could rain down, leaving devastation and destruction in its wake, and I would walk out the other side. That boded well for me in facing the wrath of Coby. If I thought the fires of hell were going to swallow me up and spit me out after the drugging fiasco, busting out and going all Quentin Tarantino on Jimmy’s ass was enough to unleash the unholy hounds of hell.
* * *
The next three months passed by as though I was in a repetitive dream. Wake up, physical therapy, write songs, go to bed. Intersperse that with interviews, meetings with Jettison Records, and counselling sessions with Jude, and there was my life. I was continually exhausted from being unable to sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, I felt the jerk of bullets hitting my body, I saw Jimmy grinning at me, and I saw blood. Rivers of it. Sometimes I would see it without closing my eyes, and the anxiety had my heart fluttering in my chest and me sucking in short, tight breaths that never seemed to reach my lungs. The anger at Jared for not being there when I needed him most was a slow burning ember that I welcomed. I wanted to hate him, and I wanted to feel it. I wanted to shake with the rage, but then I would remember the sweet plea in his eyes and his voice when he begged me to be with him. I remembered the way his lips would curl up and his eyes crinkle when I sassed him. Most of all, I remembered lying on the floor of Jimmy’s house and seeing the agony in his eyes as he bent over me, and the fierce desperation in his words when he told me he loved me while tears spilled over and ran down his face. Then my anger would fade to despair, knowing that no one would ever matter to me the way he did. That no man would ever find their way through the broken pieces left behind from a love I’d never have again. Despite all of it, a breathless anticipation would cut through the void whenever my phone rang.
I shouldn’t have wanted to hear from him, but I did.
And it hurt.
Each day that passed by without hearing his voice pierced my heart until I had to fist my hands together and dig sharp nails into my skin to direct the pain elsewhere.
“Hey!”
A voice cut through the fog and someone splashed water in my face. I turned to confront the threat, putting my hand in the ocean and flicking water in retaliation with a smile that was forced.
Casey grinned in return. His hair glistened with water droplets from the early morning sun, and tanned muscular arms protruded from his short-sleeved black wetsuit. “Look out, she’s cracked a smile, call the paparazzi.”
I gave a mock snarl and he laughed.
“That’s more like it,” he said and then nodded towards the horizon. “Set’s up.”
Following his gaze, I shivered at the line of waves rolling in. “I can’t do this anymore.”
“You can. Shut up and start paddling.”
Casey was teaching me how to surf as part of my physical therapy because it helped rebuild the core strength I’d lost. Unfortunately, I wasn’t quite ready to hit the pro circuit. I was far too busy meeting the ocean floor with my face and eating sand for breakfast. Casey, who appeared to be good at everything, found the whole farce the highlight of his mornings, but I’d rather sit down and endure back to back episodes of The Nanny while eating sprouts. At least I’d gained a new nickname―Kook―which was apparently some kind of reference to a newbie surfer. I didn't know if it was complimentary, but I did learn from Casey’s surfer mate, Ben, that Casey was a ripper hotdogger, whatever that meant, so I used it liberally and told everyone else to as well.
“Fine, hotdog.”
The wave bore down and I turned on my board and literally paddled for my life, feeling the cool water lurch beneath me, each stroke of my arm a gnawing ache in my middle.
“Woot. Go Kookie!”
Grinning, I paused in my paddle to introduce Casey to my middle finger and promptly tipped my board, going down in a crash of limbs, riding the white wash upside down and inside out to the shore. I crawled up the sand on my hands and knees, my board dragging behind me as I coughed out a piece of seaweed.
A warm hand landed on my back and with tired eyes I looked up at Casey’s concerned face.
“You okay?”
I flopped down on my back and sucked in life saving oxygen. “Does everyone have it in for me? Even the ocean is trying to write me off.”
Casey dug his board upright in the sand and leaned down to remove the leg rope from my ankle. “Don’t be like that. You’re getting better.”
“I know.” I let out a painful wheeze. “I didn’t eat sand that time.”
He gently let go of my ankle with a laugh. “See? More room for bacon and eggs.”
I eyed him hopefully and sat up. “You wouldn’t tease me, would you?”
He gripped my bicep as he helped me up. “Come on, Kookie. I’ll take you to Tilly’s. Us surfers need to keep up our strength.”
This was true. I ate twice as much for breakfast since I started the whole surfing debacle. I wouldn’t ever admit it to Casey, but I always felt better afterwards. Fresher, more alive and, a little less sad.
We picked up our boards and trudged through the sand, dodging the diehard beachgoers setting up their place with competent movements in the early light of day. A few surfers trotted by with a hand wave and shouted greetings like “Yo, brah” and “Hey, Kook.” I’d seen the movies and being known as Kook sounded preferable to seeing newbie surfers enduring bloodshed for ‘dropping in’ on waves. Apparently, I was well known though. Suffering a few bullet wounds in a badass gun fight made me a “hard core babe” and earned Casey lots of back slapping for his “score.” Not correcting their assumptions, Casey would just roll his eyes and accept their good natured ribbing.
We reached the outdoor showers, and I peeled the wetsuit down to reveal my bikini underneath. I turned the water on to its one and only setting of ice cold and shivered under the spray.
I turned around and Casey, now down to his boardshorts under the shower next to me, eyed
the scars on my torso, and his lips pressed flat.
“Fading,” he said, his voice barely audible under the spray of water.
Rubbing at the one on my chest because I couldn’t get used to the numb feeling, I turned back around self-consciously. “Yeah.”
We finished up, and half an hour later found me sitting at Tilly’s clad in a simple pair of short denim shorts and white tank top, wet hair tied messily in a bun on the top of my head. We sat at an outdoor table in the sun, so I was wearing my giant sunglasses as I annihilated a stack of pancakes and bacon.
Casey swallowed a mouthful of eggs. “How’s it going with Jude?”
At Coby’s request, Carol from their office visited me in hospital with a beautiful bouquet of flowers and the contact information for Jude. His hope was for the counselling to help alleviate the anxiety I was feeling from the trauma of a life-threatening injury and the distress from taking another person’s life.
“He’s helping,” I answered honestly because every day my breathing got a little easier. “But every time I finish an appointment I need wine, so I think he’s turning me into an alcoholic.”
He chuckled as I shovelled in another bite of pancakes. “Yeah he does that to all of us.”
I swallowed my mouthful and echoed, “All of us?”
Casey shrugged. “With our line of work, it’s common to help with the stress of what we do or sometimes see.”
I wanted to ask what they sometimes saw but my phone rang, and I answered.
Mac's chipper voice was on the other end. “Marty rang and you’re needed in the studio tomorrow.” There was a muffled crackle, and I heard her shout, “Just a goddamn minute, asshead” to someone in the background.
I sighed as she got back to me, ranting about something or other that was pissing her off. I gave her my sympathy, simply thankful the tirade wasn’t directed at me. Sucking in a breath, she finally asked where I was.
“Tilly’s.”
I heard her let out a loud whoosh. “Bring me back some mushroom cups, and I’ll take you off my shit list for the day.”
“I’m on there?” I asked with dismay.
“No, but you will be if you don’t bring me back some mushroom cups.”
I made the promise to bring some home and hung up. I’d planned on getting them anyway because you didn’t go to Tilly’s and not get them. They were little pastry cups of heaven filled with mushroom, feta, egg, and finely diced bacon.
Finishing our breakfast, we returned to the beach parking lot, surfboards attached to the racks of our respective cars.
I beeped the unlock button before Casey gently pulled me in for a hug. After a few moments, when he didn’t seem inclined to let go, I drew back slightly puzzled, and he softly brushed a hand down my face. “Tomorrow. Same time, same place?”
“Sure. I couldn’t do without my daily dose of surf dumping, and the sand is good exfoliation for my face.”
He chuckled and moved to get in his car.
“Oh wait. Mac’s having a get together at our place tonight. Come with Travis.”
His answer was a brief nod before he hopped in his car, backed out, and drove away.
Later that night I dressed in a pair of white shorts and a fitted black t-shirt that had Badass Bitch written in silver studs across the breasts. The shirt was a gift from Cooper just last week. I made sure to flaunt it in front of Tim’s face at every opportunity, and he played deliberately obtuse and kept telling me to stop parading my “lady bags” in his face.
I sat out on the back deck, nursing a glass of wine, as friends littered the inside of the duplex and the backyard. Coby was manning the barbecue, and Casey and Travis were standing in the all-important huddle that was man grilling meat. As I was still riding the coattails of invalidity, Mac and Tim were the ones in the kitchen dealing with everything else. Frog, Jake, and Cooper were busy chatting to two of our female neighbours. I could see them putting on their best moves. Cooper was leaning close, trailing a finger along the collarbone of one of the girls. Her eyes were wide and she bit her lip as he spoke to her. Not to be outdone, Frog reached out and pulled the other girl down on to his lap and she shrieked with laughter. Jake it seemed, had missed out, but the gazes he kept flicking towards Mac whenever she appeared from the kitchen left me thinking that it didn’t bother him at all.
Henry pulled up a chair next to me and sucked down his beer as though it was the elixir of life. When he finished he sat the empty bottle on the table with a lip smack and a sigh. “So…”
I raised my eyebrows in reply.
He looked over at the barbecue pointedly. “What’s going on between you and Casey?”
My eyebrows reached newer heights.
“Why?”
“His eyes have been tracking you all night.”
My eyes trailed to the barbecue in time to catch Casey glancing away, and I frowned.
“We’re just friends, Henry. We bonded over surfing.” I would have thought Henry would understand the difficulty in explaining a platonic friendship between a man and a woman. “How many times have we had to defend our relationship to other people?”
“Yeah but I don’t look at you the way he looks at you.”
“And what way is that?”
“Like he wants to eat you alive.”
“Jesus, Henrietta. I know people think I have some kind of death wish, and frankly that’s not surprising, but have you seen Casey? I need to go back to my dorks.” Wistful memories of Hairy Parry and Beetle Bob filled my head.
Henry must have been doing the same thing because he winced in reply.
“Maybe I need to swear off men altogether.”
“Maybe you and Casey should just sleep with each other and get it out of your system.” I could always depend on Henry with sage advice.
“Is it Groundhog Day? Wasn’t it just yesterday you and Mac were pushing me into some kind of…whatever the hell that was with Jared? Look how well that turned out, and here you are at it again.”
Henry shrugged. “Just saying.”
“Well don’t. Thanks for the retarded relationship bastard advice, Henry, but that’s a really shitty idea.”
I ignored Henry for a while, and after we ate dinner, I replenished my wine from the bottle in the fridge. Feeling a slightly wonderful buzz that softened my tatty edges, I shifted out to the quiet of the front yard and sat on the step at the front door as I nursed my glass.
Mac came out carrying a bag of garbage and almost tripped over me. “What the hell are you doing out here?”
So much for the quiet. “I was enjoying the peace, Mactard.”
“Suit yourself.”
She headed down the driveway and threw the bag into the big green wheelie bin just as Casey came out, beer in hand, and sat on the step beside me.
Mac came up the drive, texting on her phone. She glanced up as she reached the stairs and chortled with glee. “Hey, look! It’s Hotdog and Sandwich.”
Casey groaned and I laughed out loud.
Mac pushed her way in between us. Before heading through the door she added over her shoulder, “Don’t be long. There’s chocolate cake.”
“Thanks for that,” Casey said with a mixture of amusement and resignation in his eyes.
“My pleasure, hotdog.”
“Kook.”
“Hotdog.”
He sipped at his beer before resting his elbows on his knees.
“Hey, I’ve been Sandwich for half my life, but I deal.”
“I can take it,” he replied, fingers working at peeling the label off the beer in his hands.
My gaze moved from his hands to his lips. Damn Henry for putting the thought in my head because that was the last place I wanted or needed to be. The man was seriously hot but...what? Maybe I should just kiss him. That wouldn’t hurt would it? I mean Jared practically threw me back in the ocean, so shouldn’t I try to move on?
I sat my wine down in horror. Casey was a friend. What was I thinking? Clearly, I’d had
too much to drink. I faced Casey to say I was heading back inside when he took me by complete surprise. Both his hands gripped the sides of my face, and he crushed his lips against mine. His mouth was hot, his lips soft, and when I began to respond, he groaned, moving his hands from my face to slide down my back, pushing me closer. I opened my mouth and let his tongue swirl inside, joining it with my own, feeling heat begin its stealth invasion of my body. I ran my hands up his chest and twined my arms around his neck. In turn, he hands slid slowly around my torso, trailing one up my ribs while the other shifted to grip my hip tightly.
For a moment, it felt amazing, but then I realised I was only receptive to the kiss because it was Jared I was thinking of, his hands I was feeling on my body, and his lips that were burning mine.
I wanted to weep, and when I faltered, Casey tore his mouth from mine, breathless. “Fuck.”
I didn’t speak, watching him as my lungs sucked in mouthfuls of air.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”
“No, I…” Tears pricked my eyes because I let it happen and it felt like I’d used him. “I can’t let go. I can’t let go of him, and I don’t want to, Casey. I’m sorry.”
“Shhhh,” he whispered. “You don’t have to explain yourself, Evie. I get it. Really. We’ve both just had a bit to drink and done something you weren’t ready for is all. If anything, I’m always your friend, and if you ever need me, just say the word.”
At that point, I decided Casey wasn’t real. He simply descended from the heavens to fool us poor women into believing that the perfect man really did exist and thus continue the eternal chase.
“I always need friends like you, Casey, but that goes both ways.”
His hand found my knee and squeezed, sliding in a gentle caress as he removed it. “Of course.” He stood up. “Coming in?”
“Yeah, in a sec.”
No sooner had Casey disappeared through the front door when Henry found his way to the front step.
I picked up my wine and took a huge swallow, deciding that the time to drink again was upon me. “What, Henry?”