The Problem With Heartache (27 page)

T
HERE WAS
a time when I’d thought Lee Collins was one of the nicest men I’d ever met. Now, in the space of a week I’d heard him confess to murder, seen him assault a wall, and picked him up from jail after he’d punched some other guy’s lights out.

Still, none of these facts looked like they belonged to the polite, broken man sitting before me. He stared at his feet shod in those bulky Dr Martens, and ran his hands through his hair, defeat etched all over his face.

“So … you wanna talk about it?” I offered. I figured it was the least I could do. I knew about his scandal clause. I wasn’t sure how much time as a band employee I had left.

“Nope.”

I huffed out a breath, hair flicking off my face. “Well that’s real mature.”

I stood up and walked to the kitchen of Lee’s suite, only to be met by a snort from behind. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that you’re not exactly the picture of maturity yourself.” Lee’s words punctured my chest like tiny swords as I sought out a wine glass. Surely he didn’t mean that. Surely he was lashing out, seeking revenge—“After all, if I’d been where I was supposed to be, none of this would have happened.”

I dropped the glass from my hand, letting it clatter into the sink. I stormed around the bench till I was right in front of him, my legs in between his parted ones. “What the hell is wrong with you?” I punctuated my words with a well-timed shove to his chest. “I did
nothing
wrong here. I wasn’t the one punching guys out and dealing drugs!”

“No. But you were too busy fraternising with the other staff to make sure I stayed where I was supposed to.” His tone was sullen, spoilt, and entirely unlike the Lee I knew. The Lee I thought I knew.

I tucked my hair behind my ear and studied the white ceiling. I wasn’t that surprised he’d noticed me with Lottie. As he was waiting for the police, hotel security separating him and the other man, Jay had run up to him, given him a big hug, all while Lottie looked on with a disappointed look on her face before I ushered her and Jay away.

I didn’t know what to say. “I’m …”

“You’re sorry?” He raised he eyebrows.

I paused for a beat, taking in the facts. He had a point. I shouldn’t have been with Lottie. I should have been waiting outside the conference room. But in all honestly, any grown man who needs that much of a babysitter has problems far bigger than myself.

“I’m leaving,” I said, grabbing my handbag and storming toward the door.

“Good,” Lee hissed. “So mature of you, Aussie.”

I slammed the door to his suite behind me. It may not have been mature, but it sure felt good.

It wasn’t long before I felt tears well in my eyes and I swiped my hand underneath them, trying to stem the flow. How did this happen to me? And why did I care so much?

It was just a job, and even if I was to be fired tomorrow, my contract only had another few weeks left on it. Even if I did have to fly home in shame, I’d still have made enough money to last Dad several weeks of treatment.

So why was I so upset?

It must have been because it was hard having someone yell at you. And being away from your family.

Liar
, my brain sang. I willed it to shut up.

“Kate.” Michael’s voice reached me and it took all my strength not to throw my head back against the wall behind me.
Really? Now?

“Hey, are—are you crying?” He put his hand on my shoulder, and his familiar face, body, gesture, they all set me off into a waterfall of tears. I crashed against his warm chest and his arms encircled me, slow pats of reassurance on my back as I broke into pieces around him.

“Here, come ’ere.” He grabbed my hand and dragged me away from the elevator and to another room on the same floor. He opened the door and led me into a room that was nice, but not quite as opulent as Lee’s. Where Lee had marble, Michael had fake granite. Where Lee had a floor-to-ceiling TV, Michael had a floor-to-ceiling projector.

“Sit,” Michael instructed and I shakily made my way to the couch while he clattered and clunked in the kitchen. Seconds later he joined me on the white cushiony material and handed me a glass full of ice and a honey-coloured liquid.

“Am I going to regret—”

“Drink,” Michael ordered, and I gulped it back, gasping and spluttering at the strong taste.

“What the hell—”

“If Stace were here, you know she’d make you do it again for complaining.” His eyes held a warning, but also a smile, and I couldn’t help but let the corner of my lips twitch. He’d won.
A little.

“So, big day, huh?” I gave a wry smile.

“You could say that.” Michael widened his eyes. “I turned on my phone before. Even my parents had sent a text to say they were worried I was going to turn to a life of crime.”

I shook my head. It was strange how quickly you got used to the media. “Tabloids, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“Stacey worried?” I asked, tilting my head to the side.

“Hardly!” Michael snorted. “She just asked if I’d gotten a prison tatt yet.”

I laughed, because it was such a typical Stacey line. Such a veiled way of checking he was okay.

“I do wonder if the record company will can the contract, though.” Michael stared out the window. It was after dark now, and the lights of the city had just come into play. The lights in the city of sin. Where Coal had fallen … “Did you hear? We all had to sign a document, even me, saying we wouldn’t get—”

“I know, I know.” I sighed. “Any unwarranted media attention as a result of true illegal activity.”

We sat in silence for a while, till I asked, “Do you think Lee really is a bad person?”

Michael’s face broke into a broad grin. “Let me show you something.”

He stood up and walked toward his room down the hall, pausing in the doorway. “Come on.”

I joined him and found him sitting on a ridiculous gold bed spread with an even more opulently over-the-top gold bedhead encrusted with red gems. “This is … romantic.”

“Ha! Vegas, right?” Michael laughed, but his attention was all on a small bag he’d pulled from somewhere. He rifled through the contents, finally bringing something out to show me.

He shoved the piece of paper toward my face and I took it from his hand, bringing it closer so I could read the words on it.

Dear Coal,

Thank you so much
for
evry
everything.

We have moved into a beautiful house by the beach, and you can sometimes see whales from our balcony!

You’re still our favourite band and Dad listens to you all the time. If you write a new song, you should call it Matt’s Dad.

Love from,

Matt McDonald

I frowned, staring at the note again. “What’s this about?”

“Lee didn’t take royalties last quarter. Instead, he put a deposit on a house for a fan who had cancer. We met him in hospital once, when we were there doing some sick kid charity stuff. Lee just took it upon himself to provide for Jim and his kid, Matt, when he saw how much they were struggling.”

I bit my lip. It was so hard to see the darkness when actions like this showed Lee’s light was shining through.

“He also gave Lottie a job, and she has a great eye for clothes, but I don’t know how qualified she really is …” Michael added. I smiled, thinking of the lifeline he’d thrown their little family. He’d saved them.

“And then there’s what he did at Lachlan’s funeral …”

He only had to say the word and time stood still.
Lachlan.
My Lachlan.

Gone
.

I closed my eyes, pictured his face, but it was hazy. I could remember him as a still photograph, but the video-images were getting more and more out of focus.

“Hey, Kate.” Michael’s hand was on my arm and I wasn’t sure when I started crying, but I knew I was now. “S’okay.”

Michael let me cry my tears, and then tucked me under the covers in his bed. I dozed fitfully, dreaming of forgiving Lee and loving Lachlan.

Or maybe it was the other way around.

Dear Lee,

You’re a dickhead.

Kate

I stared at the letter for the longest time before finally crumpling it into a ball and throwing it in the trash. I hated that he made me feel so everything and nothing, so a million dollars and so fifty cents, so freaking confused that it hurt, and ate at every fibre of my being.

I hated that he made me feel.

Three days later, and Tony was coming. They were the whispered words on everyone’s lips, from the sound guys to Lee-
freaking
-Collins himself, and everyone was on edge. I’d even caught Michael ironing his jeans before I’d left his apartment that afternoon—a sure sign of distress.

When I went to call the boys out from backstage they were all huddled together, at odds with their usual separate warm-ups. Maybe they’d sensed that this could be the end. Maybe they needed to hold on to what they had.

They played their usual set to a crowd of their usual fans, although a few had to be escorted out for violence. It seemed everyone was angry these days.

The moment Tony arrived everyone stood up and took notice. He wasn’t hard to miss: he was the first guy on tour I’d seen wearing a suit that hadn’t been a bellhop. The band performed a little tighter, Lee’s audience engagement just that tiny bit sharper, and even the sound and road crew stood to attention. I saw one of them tuck in his T-shirt.