The Problem With Heartache (2 page)

Left?

Right
.

I could just make out the brown hair bobbing in the distance.

I bolted, as fast as my legs could carry me, darting around mothers with prams, old people supported by walking frames, and teenagers making their way to the food court in an achingly slow fashion.

Turning the corner, I could see the hair again, but it was still too far away. My knees rose higher, my feet hit the ground harder, and I gave it all I had. I couldn’t let this chance get away. I had to take it. I had to
make
it.

This time when I turned the corner, he was almost within arm’s reach. Ignoring the stares I was getting from the lunchtime food-court crowd, I dove, reaching out and grabbing onto the denim of his jeans as I fell.

I hit the ground, hard. Tiles smashed into my ribs, my knee, and the side of my jaw. Everything went black for a few moments, and I blinked, trying to clear my vision.

When I could focus again, I looked up. Faces hovered over me, voices yelling things, asking things I couldn’t quite make out.

I need you.

Then I saw him. The blue jeans, the white shirt. The brown floppy hair.

I blinked, and concentrated all my brainpower on focusing on his face.
His face, Kate. Look at his face
.

“Lachlan?”

I blinked again. An old man wearing a chocolate-coloured beret looked back at me.

Oh, God.

Lachlan’s grave was located in a small cemetery just outside of town. It was one of the more popular establishments for burying the dead in the local area; people were always gathered there, remembering those they’d lost and grasping to the past. Women sobbed, men knocked back beer after beer, and the native birds sung a song of mourning, a soundtrack for all of us to grieve to.

I came here a lot. But only when I was sure no one I knew would find me.

“Hey, Lach.” I sat down cross-legged in front of his gravestone. At first, that had creeped me out, until I’d remembered that Lachlan had been cremated. It wasn’t like I was sitting on his bones.

I opened my handbag and brought out the little cupcake I’d packed with me. I took the candle I had in the bottom of my bag and stuck it into the pale blue icing. Resting the object on my knee, I fished around in my bag again until I found a packet of matches.

“So, I thought I’d celebrate my birthday with you.” I smiled down at the tombstone.
Beloved brother of Johnny. Special friend to many.

I’d been more than his special friend, but what could you say?
Please, can you change the inscription to include my name?
It didn’t seem right. And it sure as hell wasn’t fair.

I lit the candle on the cake, but instead of blowing it out, I let it burn for a few moments, the acrid smell of freshly lit match filling my lungs.

“I don’t think this is going to get easier, you know,” I said. “I used to think that in six months time, I’d be well and truly over … this.”

The candle’s flame danced in the wind, twirling from side to side like a ballet dancer.

“But I’m not. I think about you and … God, it hurts, Lachlan. It hurts.” Tears stung my eyes, and salt coated the inside of my mouth, an ocean of pain I just couldn’t shake. It hung heavy on me at night; it blanketed me during the day.

Six months might have passed, but the ache hadn’t lessened. And I didn’t know that I wanted it to. Because if the pain went away, it would mean I was forgetting. And that would cut far deeper than loss.

“I had to spend my birthday with you. Without you, it just wouldn’t have been right.” I leaned over and gave the gravestone a light kiss before I blew the candle out.

Happy birthday to me.

“I
STILL
don’t see why you have to do this.” Benny sighed, folding his arms across his chest, an action that looked entirely ridiculous since his hands barely reached the other side of his body. Instead, they rested on his bulging stomach, a hangover from his days of drinking too much beer after he was kicked out of the police force. Or, that’s what he liked to tell me, anyway. He didn’t know I’d seen the stash of Tim Tams he’d asked Michael’s girlfriend, Stacey, to keep for him in the back of the tour bus.

“It’ll be nice.” I shrugged. Outside, the sun was setting, throwing orange streamers of light over the comfortable residential street. Houses flew past us in suburban uniformity, wearing matching outfits of lush green grass, terracotta brick, and brown-tiled roof.

“
Nice
is going back to the city and getting you laid.” Benny smirked, and I threw my hand out and hit him on the arm. “Hey!”

“It’s creepy that you find me ‘picking up’ nice, man.” I shook my head. “Seriously, dude. I know you get paid to watch me, but you don’t get paid to
watch
me, know what I mean?”

Benny chuckled despite himself, and I pressed my lips into a smile. In all honesty, Benny had a point, a damn fine one. When Kate’s mother, Deborah, had sent the band a message on Facebook asking if we wanted to come over for tea a week after I’d seen her in the city, I’d been a little surprised. What the hell was I doing here, out the front of the house of this chick I’d met twice, maybe three times before, ready for dinner with her family?

Sure, when I’d met her at the gig six months ago, I’d been intrigued. She was beautiful, but not in the usual way I saw every damn day. There was nothing fake about her. She was just … real.

Still, that wasn’t the main reason I was here.
Family.
That was why. Because if there was one thing I was good at, it was being a family guy.

That was how I paid my debt.

We pulled up outside one of the identical houses, our black Chrysler rolling into the driveway with ease. “This it?” Sam, the driver, asked. He jerked his head toward the brick two-storey house with timber beams decorating the porch.

“If that’s what the GPS says …” It was Benny’s turn to be a smart ass.

“Shit! You actually know about that? My bad. I thought you still thought there was an actual woman on the other end of that box.” Sam laughed.

“I didn’t know Siri was a thing, okay? Lay off. That joke’s getting old.” Benny rolled his eyes, referring to the time when we had managed to effectively convince him Siri was a real chick.

“Okay, I’m gonna head in now. You gonna wait in the car, or want to check the place for ninja spies first?” I asked Benny. He gave me a sardonic look, all eyebrows and lips raised to one side.

“I’ll come to the door with you,” Benny grunted.

“Oh! A true gentleman.” Sam held his hand up for me to slap.

I rolled my eyes and gave him a gentle tap. “I’ll be an hour, maybe two. Go grab yourself a bite to eat if you’re bored, but maybe don’t go too far into town. This car isn’t exactly subtle.”

I pushed open the door and swung my jean-clad legs out onto the sidewalk. Immediately, a wave of heat hit me, and I tilted my head back into the cool air-conditioning of the Chrysler to suck in one more breath.

Seconds later, Benny was by my side, his head swivelling left and right up and down the street. Thankfully, no one had followed us. It was just one of the many reasons I had been so keen to get back to Australia for a second tour. The paparazzi were nowhere near as bad here as they were in the States. Or maybe they just weren’t that smart. Either way, I wasn’t complaining.

Benny and I walked up to the front door of the unassuming house, and I knocked, three sharp raps. Benny nudged me in the side, and thrust something into my hands—a silver-wrapped bouquet of flowers, yellow gerberas, I think. They were sunny as hell and screamed “friend” which was just what I need them to do. “Nice touch.” I nodded my appreciation at him, and he smiled.

“I make you look good,” Benny purred in an overtly sexual manner, just as the doorknob rattled and the brown wooden door in front of us swung open.

“Lee! So glad you could make it.” Kate’s mom launched—and I mean
launched
—herself at me, kissing me on the cheek. She smelt like perfume and wine, and I smiled. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all.

“Hey, Deborah.” I nodded. “This is my security head, Benny.”

“Oh! Are you here for dinner, too?” Deborah asked. “Do stay. We have enough. I always aim to try and feed an army—I can only imagine how malnourished you must be living on the road.” Deborah shook her head, and I stepped back. There was something about the look in her eyes that made me think she was about to pinch my arms to try and gauge my body fat ratio.

“Oh, he’s not—”

“I’d love to stay for dinner. Thank you for inviting me.” Benny smiled down at Deborah, his large frame towering over her.

“Well, come in, come in. Don’t just stand there in the doorway.” Deborah bustled inside, and Benny shot me a pointed look above her head.

“I ain’t turning down a free meal,” he whispered.

I tapped his stomach gently. “I don’t doubt it.”

Benny slapped me on the back of the head as I followed Deborah into the house. We walked into a living room, decked out with two long suede lounges and a glass coffee table in the middle, some magazines stacked neatly in a rack to the side. On the wall was a big flat-screen television, speakers flanking it. Floral curtains bookended the window that looked out onto the street.

None of that grabbed my attention, though. What captured me straight off were the series of frames sitting on the mantel. They painted the picture of a happy family with an easy ride, and I knew that no matter what story they outwardly told, these guys had had anything but.