Page 12 of The Twelve Days of Christian
If those two snippets of time are all I’m ever going to have of Haley, I’ll live with it. It’s better than the nothing I had before. But if there’s one thing I’ve learned in the past day, I’m not happy with that situation. I want more. The flip side of this disaster means now I have eleven more days of opportunity to try and get it; as long as I take things quietly.
“Tell me,” she says, with an inquiring tilt of her head. “About the farm.” She bites at her lip, as if unsure the question is appropriate. “That’s if you want to. If you don’t, that’s OK. But I’m curious.”
I push past my awkwardness at talking about this. I won’t say no to her.
“Well, it’s an ongoing commitment, really. Getting the bank off their back was only the half of it. Like Ollie, I’ve invested in a vehicle.”Laughter spills spontaneously from me at the ridiculousness of it, even though it should really make me angry. “Except mine’s a big green tractor. Do you wanna see?”
I pick up my phone and locate a picture of Dad seated in the cab of the enormous John Deere on the day it was delivered. He wears the grin of a delighted kid with a new toy. My brothers stand alongside its knobbled tyres as tall as they are, dour faces frowning into the camera.
“Holy shit,” she says. “Are you sure you couldn’t have found something bigger?”
“Well, I did need to keep some money aside for a bit of bling.”
I show her the pictures of shiny new stainless steel vats installed in the dairy.
“Impressive.”
“Necessary,” I reply.
“And it’s going OK?”
“Yeah, great,” I say, with more confidence than I feel. Me having to bail them out should have shamed the three of them to do better this time. I think Dad really is trying, but I worry my brothers’ still might sabotage it—subconsciously perhaps—in response to the resentment they try to hide but still lurks near the surface. What guy wouldn’t feel pissed about their useless little brother riding into town like a white knight to save the day?
“They’re really lucky you could help. Lucky they’ve got a son who would go that far for them.”
I say nothing. I can take praise for my music all day, lapping it up, but this simple compliment makes me draw inwards in discomfort. It’s a natural impulse for me to reach for my guitar as a diversion. Istrum a little of the first thing that comes unbidden to my fingers, losing myself in the rippling chords of ‘Untouchable’.
The words play in my head, but I won’t sing them, not here. That would be dangerous with the woman they’re about sitting right next to me. Oh, I can do it on stage in front of thousands, no problem—and I always do, since Ollie knows this song is special to me, but not why. Although we’ve both got the voice to hold lead vocals, he’s the natural showman, so I’m happy to defer to him—except for on this one.
“Beautiful guitar,” she says.
“It is,” I say. It’s a Gibson acoustic, with sweet Sitka spruce on top. I love its sound, as warm and full-bodied as the mahogany that wraps around the back and sides.
“Guess you’re not going to break that one?”
“Nope,” I say. “Not unless the day comes when I need to put it out of its misery, like my old Fender.” She frowns at me, brain whirring so hard I’m sure if I leaned in close I’d hear it. “The one I famously destroyed on stage? I guess that’s what you were referring to?”
“But—”
“It was already broken, Haley. Some roadie dropped a fucking great speaker box on it. The boys thought it would be hilarious if I did the angry musician thing and smashed it on stage. So I did. At least I got something out of it. God knows I was seriously pissed about the situation. I loved that guitar.”
“But it looked so real, like you hated the thing.”
“Guess I did a good job then, huh?”
“And the papers. They quoted you on it. Claimed you said you and Teddy had a fight backstage, and you were still mad about it.”
“Yeah, well, lots of things get printed that were never really said. Come on, you’ve met Teddy. Who would fight with Teddy?” Our drummer is as cuddly and inoffensive as his nickname. “Smoke and mirrors, Haley. Surely you know that? They don’t want to hear I’m a nice guy. Makes much better headlines when they have shit to throw.”
“Like with Kendra and Ollie,” she says with a resigned sigh.
Poor Ollie. He’s almost as mild-mannered as Teddy, a nice guy they can never seem to make anything stick to. But they showed no mercy when he started dating Kendra Cole. She’s exactly the kind of girl they love to hate: the lead singer and only girl in her own band; she is too talented and too opinionated. Perfect fodder for their crap. In the end, that’s what killed any chance they had of making a relationship work.
“Yep. And like me and Waverley.” I’m not going to miss the opportunity to set Haley straight on this one. “I know you’ll have heardthatstory.”
She stares down at her hands, a flush rising all the way to the apples of her cheeks. If this means she believes I did even a fraction of the things they implied in that relationship, I’m definitely going to fill her in.
Heat rises in my own face but it’s not embarrassment, it’s a red hot flare of anger. To my shame, a tiny bit of it is directed at her, that she could believe that crap. Mostly it’s my fury at those bastards who printed it—gossip magazines and tabloid papers greedy at the expense of people’s lives. The frustration of how they steamrolled over our futile attempts to tell the truth is a lead weight in my stomach.
