Hearts on Air (Hearts #6)

  I smiled at him. “But not anymore because you’re a grown-up now?”

  He winked. “I’ll never be a real grown-up and we both know it, but let’s keep that our little secret, yeah?”

  Something came over me with his wink and I folded my arms to keep from doing anything ridiculous—like swooning.

  “Our little secret.” I nodded.

  “So how’d your day go with Leanne and Paul?” he asked, fluttering his eyelashes when he said Paul’s name. I pinched him lightly on the arm, knowing he was teasing me for my crush. It wasn’t really a crush. At least, it wasn’t anymore. Now that I’d spent time with him I knew all I felt for Paul was friendship. I still admired him, because after all, he was extremely talented, but now he felt more like a little brother than anything else.

  “It went fine. I had fun. Is this a camera?” I asked, poking at the contraption hooked up to the neckline of his hoodie. I guessed it was for all those first-person shots they used in the show.

  “Hmm, why so thin on the details?” Trev asked back, ignoring my question. “Did you and Paul have a romantic smooch by the riverside or something?” He wasn’t letting up.

  I narrowed my gaze, refusing to let him get to me. “Why? Are you jealous?”

  Trev walked around me, or should I say prowled. There was intensity to his movements, even though his eyes were smiling. I shifted, my back brushing the wall at the edge of the building as he penned me in. He tilted his head, his attention moving over my features when he finally answered, “Maybe.”

  My stomach flipped and our gazes held until Leanne interrupted us. “Hey, you two. Neil’s handing out bottles of water if you want some.”

  Trev finally dragged his eyes away from mine. “Nah, I’m good.”

  “I’ll go get one,” I said, needing an escape. I felt Trev watch me as I walked away and like always, his attention had me questioning myself. What was I doing here? I mean, what was I really doing here? No matter how much I convinced myself it was all for the music and the travel, I had to admit that a part of it was to do with Trev. I’d be ninety and still asking how high whenever he said jump. It was an unwelcome thought.

  A couple of minutes later the filming began in earnest. All eyes were on the stars as they huddled together, discussing the logistics of what they were about to do. Callum spoke directly to the camera, but I couldn’t hear what he said. I moved closer, trying to hear better, but then they all formed a line with Trev at the head of it. The cameras followed as he stepped up onto the edge of the roof, and my pulse sped up like it always did.

  I’d witnessed him do this countless times before, but my reaction never changed. My hands still grew clammy and my throat still clogged up. My entire body buzzed with adrenaline.

  I guessed that was why freerunning held such an allure for people. The excitement. The fear.

  There was a perverse sort of attraction in all of us to those who took chances, risked their lives to do what they loved. They faced fears far bigger than anything we might ever encounter.

  My stomach fluttered in anticipation when Trev spread his arms out wide, and then just dropped. Without thinking I ran to the edge of the building, peering down. A small part of me imagined he’d jumped to his death, even though another part knew this was all calculated. The others followed suit and by the time I reached the edge all five of them had jumped. I looked down and saw a connecting roof lower down, a drop of about ten or twelve feet.

  There was a cameraman with a handheld capturing the group until they leapt to the next roof. My eyes scanned the distance and I saw at least five other roofs with waiting crewmembers. There were narrow gaps between the buildings and a shiver ran through me as I watched the group jump through the air like it was nothing. My attention was mostly on Trev though, the sure, steady movement of his legs, the strong, muscular line of his shoulders as he made each giant leap.

  “Pretty amazing, isn’t it?” came a heavily accented voice from behind me and I startled.

  I glanced over my shoulder, and there on the wall sat a young dark-skinned guy. He looked about seventeen or eighteen, and he wore a green T-shirt that said Boo-yah.

  “It’s incredible,” I replied, looking back out into the distance. They’d reached the end of their run, all gathered on the last rooftop. Even though I’d been on tenterhooks, I knew this was an easy stunt. Roof hopping was something they did every day as teenagers. Over the course of the filming they’d build up to bigger and bigger risks, upping the theatrics each time.

  “Do you work for the show?” asked the young guy, and I returned my attention to him.

  “Yes, do you?”

  He shook his head. “I’m just a fan. Don’t tell anyone but I snuck up here. When I heard the guys were filming in the city I had to come see for myself.”

  “Ah, well, your secret’s safe with me,” I said and smiled. I didn’t know why, but there was something about him that I warmed to.

  “So, what’s your job?”

  I climbed up onto the wall to sit next to him. “Me? I’m just an assistant, and a temp at that.”

  “Damn, hoped you might be someone important,” he joked. “Thought I might be able to sweet-talk my way into a part.”

  “You do parkour?” I asked, impressed. My eyes traced his fit, athletic form and I knew he was telling the truth. He carried himself just like Trev and the others.

  “I try. Got the cuts, bruises and broken bones to show for it.”

  I laughed. “Where are you from? You don’t sound Belgian.”

  “South Africa, Johannesburg. Been living here for two years now with my mum and sisters.”

  “Trevor always wanted to visit South Africa. It’s on his bucket list,” I said wistfully, and my companion’s brows jumped high.

  “Trevor Cross?” he asked, saying the name in the same way you might say ‘Brad Pitt’ or ‘Sylvester Stallone.’ Sometimes I forgot just how famous my friend had become.

  I nodded. “The one and only.”

  He chuckled and shook his head. “Man, he’d stand out like a sore thumb in Joburg. No offence or anything.” He paused to eye me. “You, not so much, but still a little a bit.”

  “Glad my tan has some uses,” I grinned. “What’s your name?”

  “Isaac Hegebe.”

  I smiled, thinking it cute how he offered both his first and last names like that. “Well, it’s nice to meet you Isaac Hegebe. I’m Reya Cabrera,” I said and held out my hand.

  “Nice to meet you, too. You think they’re gonna come back up here? I’d love to get some autographs.”

  “I don’t think so,” I answered, and saw his disappointment. I chewed on my lip, deciding if I should invite him to my gig. That way he’d be able to meet Trev. “Are you busy later? I’m playing a show down at L’Archiduc and Trev will be there. I could introduce you.”

  His eyes lit up. “Are you serious? Man, that would make my day, no, my year.”

  I grinned, his excitement infectious. “My gig starts at nine. Try get there around eight thirty, yeah?”

  “I wouldn’t miss it,” he declared. “And you said you were only an assistant. Hidden depths.”

  I laughed at that. “We’ve all got them. See you later, Isaac.”

  Twelve.

  When word spread that I was playing a show, people wanted to come. What was supposed to be just Trev turned into him, Leanne, Paul, James, Neil and two members of the film crew. Callum was either sulking that I was getting all the attention, or was trying to avoid Leanne after the drama of the other night. Probably the latter.

  I had to admit though, I felt pretty special that they were all so interested. Sometimes I worried I irritated people with my perpetual humming and singing and tinkering around on my keyboard. At least, I knew it bothered my neighbours back home.

  They were constantly banging on the wall to punctuate their unhappiness.

  I headed to the venue a little earlier than everyone else to set up and do a quick sound check. I used tass
els around my ankles that jingled like a tambourine when I stamped my feet for percussion during my songs, because when you were a one-woman show your hands were typically occupied with the keyboard. I’d invented them one day when I had some ribbon and a bunch of metal tassels and too much time at my disposal.

  My phone buzzed with a text just as I was done. I picked it up and opened the message.

  Trev: We’re all here. Nice place. Can’t wait to hear you sing. xxx

  My heart stuttered and I rubbed at my chest, scolding the organ for its foolish optimism. He’s your friend, Reya. Just your friend. I sipped on my tequila sour, my favourite drink to have before a show, and started trying to psyche myself up.

  I wore a long black dress with short lace sleeves. Using my requisite gold sharpie, I scribbled my stage name over my left forearm in swirling, elegant letters. Queenie.

  It was what my next-door neighbour, Mrs. Finnegan, used to call me growing up. She said my name meant ‘Queen’, but because I was still little she’d called me Queenie. She had no idea I’d eventually grow to be a smidge over five-foot-nine. I smiled fondly, remembering her and how I used to sneak into her house for tea and scones, unbeknownst to both my parents.

  She was the only one who believed me in the end, and she died not too many months afterward. Then there was no one left. No one who didn’t think I’d lied.

  I stared at my reflection, the low bulb overhead catching the highlights in my brown hair. They matched the gold in my eyes that you could only see when the sun shone through them. Lifting my glass, I downed the rest of the tart liquid and stood. It was almost time for me to go on stage.

  I waited off to the side while a woman introduced me in French, although I only had a vague idea what she was saying.

  My keyboard and microphone were set up just to the left of the makeshift stage, but I’d given the sound guy a backing track for my first song. It was one I often opened with, a cover of “Blue Bayou” by Linda Ronstadt. I’d stand by the mic at the front of the stage as I sang directly to the audience. I used to perform it in English, but one day I fell down the rabbit hole of the Internet and discovered a Spanish version on YouTube. It was perfect. Almost better than the original. There was something about the lyrics in Spanish that just sounded so much more meaningful to me.

  Cheers sounded and I walked out, spotting Trev and the gang at a large table in the centre of the club. The place was surprisingly packed, but I couldn’t tell if people were here to see me or if they were just regulars who’d be here anyway. Either way, it felt good to play to a full house.

  I spoke into the microphone. “Thank you. My name is Queenie and this song is called ‘Lago Azul’.”

  The track started and I closed my eyes, just like I always did. The music was low, the bass slow and sultry. I moved my hips, bent close to the mic and began to sing. When I reached the chorus I sang louder and tapped my left foot on the second and fourth beat, causing the metal tassels on my ankles to jingle in time to the music.

  I was almost to the end of the song when I opened my eyes and found Trev staring at me. I wasn’t sure how he was the first person my attention landed on, but then again, his gaze always had a certain siren’s song of its own, luring me in.

  When the song ended, I bowed deeply and retreated to my keyboard. My comfort zone. It worked as a barrier against the ferocity of Trev’s stare.

  He wanted me.

  He always wanted me . . . when I sang. Maybe it was because I was absorbed in a persona. I wasn’t Reya: insecure, worrisome, weak. I was Queenie: confident, bold, strong.

  Was that why I wasn’t enough for him? Why he didn’t try to keep us?

  I played a bunch of songs, chatting with the audience intermittently. Before I knew it, I had just a few minutes left of my set and I couldn’t decide whether to play the song Trev asked of me on our first night here. Our hushed conversation in the dark room, each of us in our separate beds, thinking we were protected by the linens, even though our emotions were spilling out all over the sheets. I tinkered with the keys, hesitating and shooting a glance in his direction before I finally played the opening notes and sang.

  One day I’ll be that girl in the club who dances like no one’s watching

  Dances like no one’s watching

  Dances like no one’s watching

  Because she’s high, high, high

  On life’s supply

  Of paper weights and paper clips and paper paper

  That once was a tree

  Because we’re all just something yearning to be something else

  One day I’ll be that girl in the club who dances like no one’s watching

  Dances like no one’s watching

  Dances like no one’s watching

  Because she’s happy, happy, happy

  But really sad, sad, sad

  Because she’s drowning under life’s supply

  Of paper weights and paper clips and paper paper

  So go open up

  Go dance like her

  *whispers*

  Just don’t make eye contact

  Don’t make eye contact

  Don’t make eye contact

  I opened my eyes only when I whispered the very last line. I knew he’d be looking. He always was. It was the one thing in our relationship I could count on. His constant attention while I sang.

  I thanked the audience for their appreciation, stood and hustled off the stage, my heart in my throat. Not considering the moments we’d shared up until now, that had been way too close. My skin was clammy. It prickled with awareness and apprehension and want.

  I needed a drink.

  I worked my way through the club, arriving at the bar and ordering another tequila sour. I slipped some Euros to the bartender when someone tapped me on the shoulder. It was Isaac, the boy from earlier in the day. I’d forgotten I invited him to come and wondered if he was old enough to be in here. He looked eighteen . . . almost.

  “Hey Isaac! Thanks for coming,” I exclaimed.

  “Reya, you were incredible up there,” he said just as Trev appeared over his shoulder. He didn’t look happy that I had company, which was ridiculous because Isaac was just a kid. Sure, he was tall, but it was pretty obvious how young he was.

  “Reya,” said Trev, his voice low and questioning.

  “Trev, come here. There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

  Isaac’s eyes bugged out of their sockets when he heard the name, his entire body stilling. It was sort of adorable. Trev came to my side, sliding his arm around my waist possessively, which was completely unnecessary. He eyed Isaac with suspicion.

  “This is Isaac,” I explained. “We met earlier today during filming. He’s a big fan of yours,” I went on, putting emphasis on the word ‘fan’ so he’d know to be polite. “I invited him along tonight so he could meet you.” When I finished speaking, Trev’s posture loosened as he realised this wasn’t some guy who’d just approached me at the bar.

  “Oh, hey, great to meet you, buddy,” said Trev, smiling as he held out a hand.

  Isaac didn’t speak, only stared at the offered hand, frozen in place.

  I laughed softly and nudged Trev to make a bit more of an effort. “I think he might be a little star-struck.”

  “No, no, I’m fine. Really,” said Isaac, finally finding some words. “I just . . . it’s an honour to meet you. I’ve followed your series since the very beginning.”

  “The honour’s all mine. It’s a real treat to meet a fan. Can I get you anything? You want me to sign something?”

  Isaac’s eyes widened again as he started to nod, “Yes, please,” but then he realised he had nothing for Trev to sign. I reached for some napkins and asked the bartender if he could spare a pen. He grabbed one from under the bar, and I handed both the napkins and the pen to Trev. As he was signing, I gave Isaac’s arm a light squeeze to reassure him. He shook his head, abashed, and I knew he thought he’d made a show of himself. He hadn’t. He was just shy. It h
appened to the best of us around famous people.

  It was still surreal to think of Trev as a celebrity.

  “Here ya go,” said Trev, handing the signed napkin to Isaac. I noticed he’d written a little note, too. Moments like these I saw the kind-hearted, struggling friend from years ago.

  “Thank you so, so much. You don’t know what this means. I’m so happy I got to meet you.”

  “Isaac’s a free runner, too,” I told Trev. “He’s pretty good,” I lied, hoping it might bolster his confidence.

  “Oh yeah?” Trev asked, suddenly interested. “You ever think about going professional?”

  Parkour was a growing sport, but it was difficult to find new people who were truly skilled. I knew this from all my time spent with Trev over the years. If Isaac had any talent, then I was sure Trev would be more than happy to connect him with the right people.

  “No, I’m not sure I’m as good as Reya makes out,” said Isaac modestly, shooting me a questioning look.

  “If Reya says you’re good then I believe her. How about you stop by tomorrow and we can go on a run? We’re filming at the Atomium all day.”

  “Seriously?” Isaac breathed, like he couldn’t believe his luck.

  “Sure,” said Trev with a kind smile.

  “Okay, uh, yes, I’ll be there. Thank you again. I better go now. Mum likes me to be home before midnight.” And with that, he went. I pulled Trev’s arm from around my waist and turned to face the bar. He took the stool next to mine.

  “Was I ever that innocent?” Trev asked, chuckling.

  “Nope. I can say with one hundred per cent certainty that you weren’t. He’s cuter than a puppy. I think I might want to adopt him.”

  “Don’t say that. You’ll make me jealous again,” he teased.

  I glanced at him sideways and smirked.

  “So,” he went on. “Exactly how good is he?”

  Now I laughed. “I have no idea.”

  “But you said—”

  “I was lying so you’d take an interest in him and it worked.”