Текст книги "The Play"

Автор книги: Karina Halle

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“I’m kind of a nerd,” I say.

He frowns. “What do you mean?”

“Well, I’m not so big on rock or pop or anything like that. I just love classical. Composers. Anything with strings and a piano, really.”

“That’s not nerdy,” he says, shaking his head.

“No? Well, I for sure can’t tell you what’s on the radio,” I admit. “But I know what kind of music makes me feel.”

He tilts his body closer to mine, his elbows resting on his knees, bottle of water in his hands. His thigh taps mine. “Do you know who Ryuichi Sakamoto is?”

“Oh, come on,” I tell him. “My mother is Japanese. Of course I know who he is. And even if she wasn’t, and she didn’t play the soundtrack to The Last Emperor over and over again while growing up, I would still know who he is.”

He nods appreciatively. “I saw him in Edinburgh a few years ago. Small theatre. Amazing show.”

“Quit bragging,” I tease.

He flashes me a smile and we go back to watching the set.

Time flies by and the festival grows to epic proportions. During Sam Smith I’m feeling buzzed from another glass of wine and I find myself swaying back and forth against Lachlan’s shoulders to the music. He’s so damn solid and he doesn’t shy away.

It’s dark out when Sir Elton John comes on, opening with “Benny and the Jets.” The crowd goes nuts. I go nuts. It’s impossible not to sing along to every single song, and it’s like every person around us is singing along too, hugging each other, drunk and happy and united by Elton.

It’s probably the wine bolstering my courage, but when “Your Song” comes on, I lean into Lachlan and put my head on his shoulder. He tenses for a moment and I hear him suck in his breath. I pray he doesn’t move, doesn’t shrug me off.

Then he exhales and relaxes. I can feel his beard brush against my hair as he turns his head to look down at me. I close my eyes, thinking I can fall asleep right here. With this song, with my head on his shoulder.

It feels beyond right. It feels like an answer to a question I never knew I asked.

He shifts ever so slightly and puts his arm around my waist, holding me to him.

My heart leaps, my whole body fizzing like champagne. Never has such a simple gesture turned me inside out like this. I can’t help but smile with pure unfiltered joy, still mouthing the words to the song. I don’t want anything to change. I want the song to go on forever, the concert to never end. I want to stay in this spot until the end of time, his large, strong arm around me, holding me to him like I’m being sheltered against the world.

And, for some reason, time does seem to still. In the dark, with the colorful lights from the stage flashing, with this tune, with this man, time stretches on. Whatever worries and cares I had before, they’re gone in this moment.

I’m the opposite of alone.

Somehow we stay like this through “Daniel” as well, even though the song makes me tear up a little bit, thinking of my brothers. I feel Lachlan’s thumb rub against my side, back and forth along my shirt, a slow, teasing motion that introduces some fire to the soft peace inside me.

Look up at him, I tell myself. Kiss him now. You may never get the chance again.

But I’m too afraid to do anything more than snuggle into him further. It’s funny how prepared I was to make my move, but now that I have this, I’ve realized how perfect it is. And to imagine kissing him, well that has turned into a scary prospect. I’m not sure I can handle it.

The song ends and “Someone Saved My Life Tonight” comes on.

Something in the air changes. Lachlan tenses, slowly, as if he is just waking up. I hear his breath deepen and he swallows hard.

Abruptly, he takes his arm away and gets to his feet, hulking over me.

“What’s wrong?” I ask him, moving back and out of his way as he steps around me and walks off down the bleachers. People raise their feet and move their bags to get out of his way, but he doesn’t even look at them, doesn’t even slow his heavy pace.

I turn and look at Bram who is sitting on the other side of me. He’s frowning, watching him go.

“What the hell was that?” I ask Bram.

He just shakes his head. “I don’t know. He has moods.”

“No shit,” I say, and I crane my neck to see if I can still see him. He’s barely visible, heading toward the gates that lead out of the VIP area. “I’ll go see.” I get to my feet.

“Oy.” Bram reaches out and grabs my arm. “Just let him be. When he gets this way with me, I just ignore it.”

Well maybe he needs someone to say something, I think to myself.

“It’ll be fine,” I say, picking up my purse and heading across the bleachers, apologizing to the people who just had to clear a path for Lachlan. I quickly walk through the crowds lining up at the bars for last call, cursing my short legs for holding me back.

I burst out of the VIP gates and into the rest of the crowd. A lot of people are already leaving the festival, trying to beat the mass exodus that will occur once Elton is done, and I’m panicking, not seeing him anywhere. It doesn’t help that it’s dark and few lights are on.

Then I spot him, near the fence, heading with the crowd out the main gates. I fumble through people until I’m out on the main road and can see him heading down it. He’s going toward the ocean side, away from where most of the crowd is heading, and I remember that he doesn’t know this area at all.

“Lachlan!” I call out, jogging after him.

He doesn’t stop, just keeps walking, shoulders raised like he’s about to go on a rampage, and my mind is racing, trying to figure out what could be wrong.

“Lachlan,” I say again, coming up behind him. “Hey.” I reach out and grab his arm. He comes to a dead stop and turns to face me, a weird raging darkness in his eyes that makes me let go.

He takes a deep breath through his nose but doesn’t say anything. The wildness in his eyes says enough. From here, the sounds of the concert are muted and deep, and only a few people are walking past in drunken, weaving lines.

“What happened?” I ask carefully.

He shakes his head and looks away, shoulders back, chest out. “Nothing.”

Feeling brave, I grab his hand and squeeze it. He stares down at it—his warm, large hand in my small, cold one—but doesn’t pull away.

He swallows thickly. “Sorry,” he eventually says, his voice like sandpaper. “I…have moments.”

“Don’t we all?” I say gently, staring up at him and wishing I could just crawl inside his brain and have a look around.

He cocks his head, lips pursed together. “Not like mine.”

I offer him a timid smile. I feel like a princess trying to calm a beast, every action made with care. “Try me.”

He seems to think that over. Finally he says, “It was the song.”

I blink at him. “Someone Saved My Life Tonight?”

He scratches at his beard and looks away. “Yeah.”

I squeeze his hand again and take a step toward him, feeling the heat of his personal space. “Did you save someone’s life?” I ask quietly.

His eyes flit to mine, shining like green glass. A soft shake of his head. “No,” he says. He gives me a sour smile. “I didn’t.”

I breathe in deeply and know better than to ask any more.

There’s movement in the bushes behind us, and Lachlan twists around to look. I look around, expecting to see some drunk person emerge. But the bushes just shake and suddenly two dogs pop out.

Both of them look skinny and mangy. One looks like a pit bull, which I admit makes me a bit scared, and the other is a scruffy mutt with long, matted hair. They look at us with frightened eyes and run off down the road and into the trees, the pit bull limping as he goes.

Lachlan looks back at me. “I have to go,” he says.

“Where?”

He nods to where the dogs had gone. “There. The one dog is hurt.” He pulls out of my grasp and starts jogging down the road.

I don’t know what to say. I watch him go and realize I have two choices—I can go back to the gang and finish the rest of the concert, even though it will probably be over by the time I get back.

Or I can go after Lachlan, who not only seems to be going through something at the moment, but just ran off after two stray dogs.

I take the more exciting option.

CHAPTER NINE

Kayla

I run after Lachlan, my boots slapping the concrete with each step. Thankfully he looks over his shoulder and spots me. He comes to a stop, frowning.

“I’m coming with you,” I tell him.

“Really?” he asks, studying me. “I’m going after them. Through there.” He points into the woods at the tall eucalyptus and pine that stick up like blackened spears into the city-lit sky.

“Then let’s go,” I tell him.

He rubs his lips together, still watching me close. Then he shrugs, his eyes lighting up. “All right.”

“All right.”

He turns and starts jogging into the woods of Golden Gate Park and I’m hot on his trail. I pull out my phone, and even though the battery is low, I turn on the flashlight so I don’t eat shit. I know it doesn’t really help Lachlan see, and from the way he’s thundering forward over leaves and brush, I don’t think he needs it. If he’s a true beast, he can see in the dark.

“I didn’t know you were such a dog lover,” I tell him, leaping over a fallen log. Then again, I don’t know a lot of things about him.

“It’s what I do,” he says over his shoulder.

“Like a hobby?” I ask, ducking under a branch.

“Like a job,” he answers.

I will my legs to lengthen their strides and try to keep up. “I thought you played rugby.”

“A man should always do more than one thing,” he says, and suddenly we’re bolting out of the bushes and onto one of the many paths that crisscross the park. He stops and looks around, eyes scanning the darkness. The only light comes from the faded night sky and my flashlight, and I try not to shine it in his face.

He exhales hard and looks at me. “I run an organization back in Edinburgh,” he explains. “I rescue dogs, pit bulls and other bully breeds, but I won’t turn down a stray, no matter the breed or the temperament.”

I’m completely taken aback by this information. “You run a charity?”

“Aye.” He nods, looking around him. “Been running it for a few years now, ever since I had the means and the money to do so.”

I can’t believe this. “Why didn’t you say anything in the interview? This totally ties into what Bram is doing.”

“Because that was about Bram. That was for his cause, not mine.” Suddenly he gestures for me to be quiet, to stay still. I hold my breath, frozen in place. There is a rustle in the distance, but I don’t dare lift my flashlight. Two pairs of eyes glint in the dark.

“Over there,” he whispers. “They aren’t going to be easy to catch. They’re scared.”

He slowly starts moving in their direction and I reluctantly follow.

“Aren’t they dangerous?”

“We’re the dangerous ones,” he says. “Until we prove to them otherwise.”

“And how do we do that?” I ask.

“With a fuckload of patience, love,” he says.

I grin. “Did I ever tell you that I love it when you call me that?” I tell him. I can’t help it. “Love. It’s so…endearing.”

He gives me a curious look. “Have I called you that before?”

I nod.

He frowns. “Interesting.”

He doesn’t elaborate and keeps moving forward through the dark. I follow, matching his movements, even though I wonder how the hell we’re going to catch these dogs. They’re just going to keep running, it’s late at night, and the park is absolutely huge. Unless we corner them somewhere, we could keep running until dawn.

Not that I’m complaining. Even though it’s a bit creepy in this park at night, and despite what Lachlan says the dogs could be rabid, I still feel nothing but safe with him.

“Wait here,” he says to me. “Turn the flashlight off.”

I lift up my phone to do so just in time to see it turn off by itself. As in the battery just died. “Uh, it’s not going to come back on. Do you have your phone?”

He doesn’t answer me. I blink rapidly, trying to get my eyes to adjust to the dark. Thanks to the light pollution, it doesn’t take that long, and I can see him moving forward. The dog’s eyes in the distance have faded, and I’m not sure if I’m looking at them or something else.

Lachlan stops walking and kind of shuffles around, leaves crunching on the ground. I can’t see him anymore. I hear something crinkle, like he’s taking something out of his pocket. He begins talking in low, hushed murmurs and I can’t make out what he’s saying.

I want to call out after him but I don’t dare. I feel like he’s part dog whisperer and I have to stay as quiet and still as possible. So I stand there for what feels like an hour, though maybe it’s just minutes, while he does his thing.

Finally I hear him walking toward me. He stops a few feet away.

“Now we wait,” he whispers. I’m about to ask him what for, but he grabs my hand and leads me to a eucalyptus tree close by.

He sits down on the ground at the base of the tree and pulls me down beside him. For a moment I think he’s going to put his arm around me, but he doesn’t.

“So we just sit here?” I ask him, my shoulder pressed up against his. It’s starting to get cold and my flannel isn’t holding up very well. Still, I don’t dare complain. I don’t want him to think I’m not tough.

“Aye,” he says quietly. “They’ll come around. Eventually.”

“What did you do?”

He turns to face me. “I talked to them in dog speak.”

I’m not sure whether to laugh or not. Is he serious? I can’t tell in the dark—not that I could tell anyway. He doesn’t add anything to that statement, so that doesn’t help either.

We lapse into silence for a few moments. I think I can hear the dogs in the distance, eating something maybe, but I can’t be sure. The concert is over and though you can see the faint light of the venues through the forest, the music is gone. I really need to text Steph or Nicola and let them know I’m okay. They’re probably freaking out.

“Can I use your phone?” I whisper.

“I forgot it,” he says.

“Shit,” I say. “Mine’s dead. They’re probably worried about me.”

“Did you just take off?”

“Yeah. Well, Bram knew I was going after you. He told me not to bother.”

A pause. “I see.”

“Obviously I didn’t listen.”

His face comes closer to mine and I can feel his eyes on me. “And why is that?” he murmurs.

“I don’t know, I’m stubborn,” I tell him, folding my hands in my lap. “And I don’t like listening to Bram.”

“Neither do I,” Lachlan says lightly. “So that makes two of us.”

I try and swallow the butterflies in my throat. “And I was worried about you.”

“About me?” he repeats. “Whatever for?”

I shrug, wondering how much to reveal. “I don’t know. I just…I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“Well,” he says after a beat. “I’m okay.”

“Are you?” I ask. I expect him to balk at that, the fact that I’m second-guessing him. He’s such a manly man, I don’t blame him for taking offense.

But he just sighs. “Yeah. Right now, I’m okay. I’ll feel better when we get those dogs. And tomorrow, who knows. I take it one day at a time. That’s all you can do.”

What happened to you, I want to ask. What made you this way?

Can I fix it?

“Are you okay?” he asks me.

“Me? Yeah.”

“About the article and everything?”

I sigh and lean back against the tree. I fight the urge to run my hands up and down my arms to keep warm. But even without me saying anything, Lachlan puts his arm around me.

“Are you cold?” he asks softly, his breath sweet on my cheek, his grip strong.

“Yes,” I admit. I match his voice, afraid to break the spell. “And no, I’m not okay about the article. Not at all.”

I launch into a long, rambling confession about my dashed hopes and dreams, laying out the nitty gritty with absolutely no fear of being judged or second-guessed. It’s refreshing.

When I’m done speaking, Lachlan doesn’t say anything. He’s still holding me close. I turn into him slightly, inhaling his peppery, woodsy smell, and gingerly place my hand on his stomach, sliding it along his waist until I’m holding onto him. His abs are hard, rigid, and well-earned. I bite my lip in want.

“So why don’t you get another job?” he asks gently. “Go for what you really want? There’s no use wasting your days doing something that doesn’t excite you. You only get one life. Well, two lives. The second one starts the moment you realize you only have one.”

I look up at him. He’s staring off into the distance. “Where did you hear that one?”

He smiles briefly, his eyes twinkling. “I think I saw it scribbled on a bathroom door. People are philosophical when they’re taking a shit.”

I laugh. “True.”

“So, why don’t you?” he asks again.

“You’re persistent,” I tell him, my fingers gripping the soft fabric of his shirt.

“It’s only fair,” he says. “You got to ask me all the questions earlier. Now I can turn the tables. I want to know more about you.” He says the lasts word like they mean everything.

My heart skips, warm, bubbly. “Okay,” I say slowly. “Well, the truth is, I’m afraid. I’m afraid that I’ll give up something steady and loyal and normal, and trade it in for something I’ll fail at. You know?”

He nods. “I know. But if you don’t try…can you imagine spending the rest of your life never having that passion? That pull? Never feeling if who you are and what you offer will ever be used the way it should be? You have talent, there’s no doubt. And if you believe it and never share it with the world…well what a bloody shame that would be.”

He’s got this uncanny knack of just reaching inside and knowing what I’m feeling and thinking. As if I don’t think about that all the time. The regret that lies ahead of me if I keep going on as I am. One foot in front of the other, never looking up, never looking for a better way.

“But it’s not that simple,” I tell him, holding his shirt tighter.

“Is it ever simple?”

“No,” I say. “It’s just that…I don’t want my mother to worry about me.”

“Your mother?”

I nod. I take a deep breath, summoning strength. “Yeah. She’s in her seventies and not doing too well. She hasn’t been doing well ever since my father died. That was seven years ago. I’m really the only one in the family that seems to worry about her. That seems to care. My brothers, they’re all older and have their own lives—most of them have their own families. She just isn’t on their radar. They all assume that I’ll take care of her forever, like it’s my job. And it’s not my job. I do it because I love my mom more than anything—I do it because she took care of us. I do it because she deserves so much more than to be a widower, all alone in that same house.” I pause my rambling, remembering to breathe. “She’s happy with me, with the job I have. It’s steady. It’s reliable. I want to be as steady and reliable for her as I can. I’m not sure how much time she has left and the thought of losing her…it only adds to it. It ruins me.”

Lachlan doesn’t say anything for a moment. Far in the background, there’s drunken laughter, but then it disappears. The night grows still again.

“That’s commendable,” he finally says. “You’re a good daughter, Kayla, and she knows that. But I’m sure your mother would want what’s best for you. What makes you happy.”

I feel the question burning on my lips and I do everything I can to hold it back.

But he can sense the change in my body. He cranes his head to look down at me. “What?”

“Nothing,” I say.

“You can ask me,” he coaxes.

I swallow. “Did you know your mother?” I ask softly, holding my breath, thinking he might blow up at me.

He stares at me, deep into my eyes, and I gaze further into his, barely visible in the dim. He slowly licks his lips, gives a single nod. “My mother gave me up when I was five. She was all I had. I like to believe that she wanted what was best for me. I don’t think she realized what it would do to me. What I would become.”

What I would become.

The words echo in my head, sharp and potent in the dark, in this isolation.

Who had he become?

Who is this man, this beast, I am holding onto?

More than anything in this world, I want to find out.

I stare up at him, craving so much more than he’s given me. He looks away, frowning, almost if he’s in pain, head hanging down.

“You know, I’ve never told anyone that much about what happened,” he says gruffly, the depth of his voice making the skin on my arms prickle.

I press my fingers into his skin, relishing the feel of him against me. “Thank you for telling me. I won’t tell a soul.”

He slowly turns his head to look at me. His eyes are deep, intense pools that pull me in. They welcome me to drown in them, tell me I might even enjoy it.

I’m such a fucking goner.

I was from day one.

“I know you won’t,” he murmurs. “You’re not like the rest of them. I don’t think you’re like anyone I’ve ever met.”

I raise my brows. “You mean you don’t have a slutty, immature, loud friend back at home?”

It’s a joke but he doesn’t smile.

He puts his hand on my chin, tilting my head up further. “That’s not you. That’s not what I see.”

I want to tell him that it is, that it’s all anyone ever sees of me.