Page 44 of The Twelve Days of Christian
I knowexactlywhat she’s talking about. Bloody Loreena. If she was in the room right now, I wouldn’t know whether to swear at her or hug her. I couldn’t feel more exposed than if I’d walked on stage naked at Glastonbury. Having my secret revealed, there’s a pit filled with dark clouds of roiling fear in my stomach, unsure of how the object of my adoration feels about it. I’m not reading shock—maybe she’s had time to get over that in the hours since Loreena chose to spill all—and it’s heartening. I don’t see distaste written in the soft bow of her lips.
Haley and I have become friends these past days, and I don’t want to damage that. To lose what we’ve built in small steady steps would devastate me. But I can’t spend the rest of my life stuck in the friend zone with her, either. I’ve wasted too much time on the outer; been too cautious about what Ollie might have to say if he suspected I was even a little bit attracted to his sister. Now, in his absence, I’ve become bold. Having tasted what it might be like to have her in my life has made me a greedy bastard. I want more with Haley, and I want it now.
“What things?” I venture, the crack in my voice showing I know full well what she means, although I’m unsure of the extent of Loreena’s tell-all.
I shared a lot with her in the quiet darkness. When you don’t have to face someone, it’s easier to open up. And when it’s Loreena, in whom it seems I’ve found my unlikely twin—not to mention one of the most perceptive people I’ve ever encountered—it was hard not to let my defences fall.
And now Haley knows.
“Christian.” Haley reaches across and wraps a dainty hand around mine, stroking my calloused fingers with a soft swirl of her thumb. It’s soothing and wildly erotic at the same time, electricityarcing through my body at the sound of my name, gentle on her lips. “I never knew.”
I huff out a nervous laugh. “I thought I was so damn obvious. Every time I saw you, I couldn’t help myself. It was like that Beatles song. ‘Something’. From the beginning, Haley, there was something about you. And I was so scared of what you’d think. I mean…”
“You shouldn’t have been. It’s OK.”
I have to go there. I’m shit-scared of the answer, but I must ask. I swallow. Hard. Once. Twice. The lump of tension in my throat is a tight, painful knot, strangling the words, but I shove past it.
“And what did you think? When she told you?”
I see a similar nervous swallow ripple down her pale-skinned neck, right where I’d love to place my mouth and kiss my way downwards. I shudder, thinking of what lies at the end of that trail, below the v of her top.
Her words aren’t what I expect. She meets my question with a question of her own that tells me just how far Loreena went.
“Will you play it for me?”
“She told you…”
The secret of my heart has always been laid bare for everyone to see in the lyrics of a song, but no one’s ever known it. I’ve always brushed off people’s questions about ‘Untouchable’, letting them think it was based on remembered angst from those overemotional teenage years, when your feelings are dialled up to the max, raw and painful. Other times, in interviews, I’ve implied it’s about some nebulous fictional woman who I’ve yet to meet and fall for. Fans like that theory, some hoping it might be them; others swayed by the romantic notion of the unknown soulmate waiting for me outthere somewhere. I’ve hidden the truth for three years—and then I told Loreena.
My crazy new friend has dropped me right in it. I can’t blame her. After all, everyone loves a love story. From the moment I confessed my pining for my best friend’s sister, Loreena nagged me. Told me I had to do something about it. Life’s too short. What’s the worst that could happen?
And now the worst that could happen might not have actually happened. I don’t see rejection on Haley’s face. There’s curiosity. Interest. Maybe a quiet invitation to explore these feelings, as she asks me again.
“Please, Christian. Don’t be shy. Play it for me. You wrote it for me. I’ve read the words. Heard you sing it.”
“Not like this.”
“Shouldn’t it be like this?”
My breath snags in my throat. I can’t answer. Dragging myself up onto shaky legs, I stagger towards my guitar case. At the movement, two dog heads lift and swivel towards me. Tully gives an expectant thump of her tail. Mularkey’s eyes meet mine and she offers a hopeful woo. It’s not my song they want.
“I’ll let them out,” Haley says.
They follow her down the hallway. It’s a relief, the tension broken, buying me time to summon courage.
Opening the case, I lovingly pull out my guitar. To the outside world, I can be gruff, sometimes serious, other times brash, but always awkward with my true feelings. Music, and this instrument in particular, allows my emotions to come out to play in a way that’s been safe for me. Now, despite its presence, I’m way out in thedanger zone, and perhaps about to be shot out of the air, crashing and burning, my heart a twisted wreck on the ground.
Or maybe, because it’s Haley, she’ll let me down gently. That might be worse; a slow, painful death. Yes, perhaps I’d rather she put me out of my misery quickly, like the vets she helps, granting an animal speedy peace where there is no hope.
I pull across a footstool and settle onto it, cradling the guitar in my lap. I take a moment to tune it, my fingers twisting the smooth keys, coaxing each string to the perfect pitch while my own nerves jangle off-key. With the strings aligned, one hand strums in rippling strokes, the rhythmic movement damping down the anxiety gripping me. My fingers work across the frets, the familiar chords soothing, the necessary precision welcome when everything else around me is chaos. I’m as prepared as I can be, as calm as is possible hearing her footsteps approach.
Haley curls back onto the sofa, legs tucked beneath her. Her mouth tips in an encouraging smile. Anticipation sparkles in her eyes, and I lower my gaze to the guitar, as if in concentration, but in reality trying to hide my jitters.
I’ve never felt so nervous to play; not even taking the stage for the first time onStar Power; not even when the band played our first big venue, finally looking out on not hundreds, but thousands. I’m about to give the most important performance of my life. To an audience of one.
I close my eyes, allowing the music I wrote to drift towards her, a unique arrangement of chords only existing in this form for her. Then I grasp onto the melody, releasing my words into the air, sung like they’ve never been sung before, to the person who inspired them.
At first my voice is ragged, struggling through a verse. But approaching the chorus, I feel a soft and unspoken reassurance projected back at me. As my voice grows in confidence, my eyes flit open, only to meet her gaze, green eyes anchoring mine. And that is where they stay, how we stay, in total stillness, except for my hands on the instrument and the invisible waves of the music, rippling through the air between us.
