by Anna Bloom
Then with a small shake of the head, Lyra slipped away.
She’d come back... over Heathcliff...
“Oops, don’t want people getting the wrong impression about us, do we?” Brittany patted my knee again. “I think I’m okay now for this afternoon.”
“Excellent.” I cleared my throat hoping to hell she could fuck off so I could chase Lyra.
I needed to hear what she had to say.
“I’ll see you in class, Brittany.” I stood from the stool and reached down to grab my bag, turning for the door.
“Not if I don’t see you first.” She giggled, making my stomach roll. That was the last thing I needed, a rich kid making my life hell again. I’d been there and done that once, and I was still caught in the sticky web of mess it had created.
Lyra was long gone, so instead I sought out Greene. “Ah, Jack, busy morning. Did Brittany find you? What a vivacious young woman, such a credit to have her with us.”
“Mm. Honestly, I’m not entirely sure her heart is focused on music.” I threw myself down in the leather armchair opposite Greene’s desk. “Professor. You haven’t heard any rumors about Lyra, have you?”
He looked up from his papers. “No, should I have done?”
“No, no, not at all.”
“How’s she doing? I sensed you were worried last week, but I wanted to give you the time to work your magic.”
I crossed my ankle over my knee as I contemplated my answer. “She’s different to the others.’
“Oh?”
“Her talent, it’s innate, natural.” Obviously I wasn’t basing this on my observations since the beginning of term, apart from maybe that short snippet when she actually had truly played today.
Greene stared out the window in concentration before turning back to me. I’d grown used to his daydreams, he always came back to the conversation eventually. Didn’t stop me from rolling the fuck out of my eyeballs while he did it.
“I’m worried, Jack.” He turned back.
“How so?”
“The Collins are reeling from their hit last year. If there’s one thing I know from being in this business so long, benefactors don’t like to be criticized. It messes with their God complex.”
I nodded. I knew Jensen Collins well enough to know this for fact. After all, he’d tied me in good and proper. He held his friends close and those he considered a risk even closer, in chains of gold and diamonds.
“Alex is a disgruntled young man,” Greene continued, musing to himself. “I sense a lot of disgruntlement from him.”
I bit on the side of my lip. “Don’t let his mommy hear you saying that.” I curved an eyebrow and Greene chortled.
“Ah, Francine, the epitome of Mommy bear.”
My breath huffed out of my chest. “Sir, we can’t let them ruin Lyra. She deserves more than being crushed in a political match of white supremacism.”
“I quite agree. It’s why you are going to make sure Friday is the best opening gala we’ve ever had.”
“And if I can’t? Lyra seems to have a barely tangible connection to her gift.” I stared at my hands, wishing I could unlock the mystery of her music.
“You’ll work it out, Jack.”
I went to tell him that I would, even though deep down I didn’t know if I could. Lyra saved me, not the other way around, that was our thing, but a vibrating in my back pocket stopped my words on the edge of my tongue.
That was strange.
Then I remembered Lyra’s phone.
I hadn’t given it back.
“Excuse me, Sir.” I pulled it out, looking at the screen. Luca.
He must have been feeling Raven Smoake flavored guilt.
I almost answered. Almost. To say that I was here with his sister… she was in my grasp, mine to do what I liked with.
I held my thumb over the screen.
Why the fuck did it feel so wrong?
“Everything okay, Jack?” Greene asked.
I looked up, dazed.
No. Things hadn’t been okay for a very long time.
Back home after a painful class where Lyra refused to look at me—if she realized I had her phone she didn’t ask for it—I pulled open my Mac.
It seemed so silly that I’d never checked, never looked. I guess when I ran that night it had been like closing a metaphorical door on my former life. I’d been so angry. I’d wanted to slam the door and never let it open a crack again.
Now Lyra had kicked down the door, splinters of wood flying in its wake.
It wasn’t hard to Google the local rag and skim back to old stories. Waiting for them to load I poured a bourbon.
Closing my eyes, I sniffed in the scent of smoke and aged oak. Funny that the smell that reminded me the most of him, held a functioning level of comfort.
I threw it back, letting it burn and scorch in its wake.
August the 8th 2016 had made a splash on the headlines. Local man attacked in his own home, attempted murder they said.
Witness Ruth Cross said the hooded man had acted in self-defense. Saved her life from a regular beating from her abusive husband.
A later report updated the case. The police had confirmed they were looking for an unknown white male in a gray hoody and sweatpants.
I missed that jersey; I missed so much more than a stupid hoody.
I skimmed some more, pictures of my mother leaving court, looking stronger than I’d ever seen her. I peered closer at the screen, was that Lyra behind my mom? Picking up the laptop I held it as close to my eyes as I could, before remembering that I could simply zoom the screen in—tech and I weren’t friends on any level.
It was her.
Her hand reached forward, grasping my mom’s arm.
Lyra looked thin, her face drawn. The opposite to my mother who now looked filled with a renewed appetite for life, free of her personal tyrant.
Why did she look so bad?
I mean, that couldn’t have been me leaving… could it?
She was just a kid… we’d never done anything more than inappropriate hand holding or snatched kisses, under the dark cloud of her brother finding out and smashing the shit out of me.
So why did she look like it was her grieving, not my mom?
I poured another drink and necked it straight back.
On a whim, I picked up Lyra’s phone from where it sat on the low table. What would her password be?
I tried her birthday.
Luca’s birthday.
Tried their old home line telephone number, not even sure why I remembered it.
I couldn’t remember Grams’ birthday, which caused a prickle of guilt to settle in my right temple.
I should remember the birthday of the woman who’d kept me alive.
I even tried my birthday, laughing to myself when that didn’t unlock it either. Settling back, my attention drifted to the Mac still open, the news headline from the trial.
080816: The magic numbers.
What did it mean that she’d used the night I’d left? Why did I even care?
With no scruples, I scrolled through her messages. Not for the first time I should add, but a definite breach of our new teacher/student relationship. Luca. Luca. Luca. He was angry she’d hung up—rude apparently. But also because she’d got a job just to send money home to Grams.
Interesting.
I grabbed my phone and hit a speed dial. “Is she working tonight?”
I waited for the answer.
“Yes, yes, hello. Well?”
Another longwinded answer, too slow giving me the information I needed.
“Okay. I’m coming in.”
I rolled my eyes.
“I don’t care if she’s asked you not to let me pick her up. I’m not coming for that anyway. I’ve got her phone.” Her phone containing a hundred and five messages from her sap of a brother. “Also, are you paying her cash? I want her bank details… No, don’t ask why, just get them.”
I hung up and slipped into the bedro
om to get changed.
Thankfully, Miriam and I had passed like ships in the depth of night again. It was better this way. Much better than us both pretending.
Changed into a black T-shirt and jeans, I pocketed all I needed along with Lyra’s phone.
She wouldn’t tell me why she couldn’t play the violin? Well, I’d just harass it out of her.
I no longer knew what my plan was, all I knew was that I couldn’t stay away from Lyra Lennox.
With a scrawled note on the counter, Gone to Blue’s, which made me grin in a way I hadn’t in a while, I headed down the elevator to the parking lot.
Despite what I said this morning to Lyra, which had been a half-fib, it felt nice to remember who it was to be Blue.
Chapter Nineteen
Lyra
“It’s quiet tonight.” Evan rounded behind the bar, his habitual tea towel flicked over his right shoulder.
Rhian quirked an eyebrow in my direction. Today she’d paired the standard Blue’s bar T-shirt with leather pants that looked like they’d been dipped on and then finished with a gloss spray.
Her expression when I arrived had told me all I needed to know about my outfit of standard Doc Martens and black cut-off shorts.
We couldn’t all have legs like that though.
“We gonna toss for it, Little Miss Green?”
“Toss for what?” I didn’t plan on arguing about my nickname. I had a feeling Rhian had my back whether she’d admit it or not.
“Who’s gonna sit around the other side of the bar and order drinks all night?”
I laughed. “Well, I’m not old enough to drink.” She rolled her eyes. “And two, I kinda need the money, so I’ll stay this side earning it and not spending it.”
Rhian laughed. “Evan, I like this girl. She’s so sensible she reminds me of my grandma.”
Okay, so maybe she didn’t have my back.
“You okay, Lyra? I’ll be here if you need me, although our gig for tonight has dropped out with a head cold, so unless you want to sing…” Evan let the words dangle.
“Uh. No. I’ll do the bar, thank you. How busy can it be, it’s a Monday?”
I’d actually been relieved when I walked in for my shift. A strange feeling of home settling over me, something that I hadn’t felt yet on campus. Eva though, to be fair to her, had offered to come to work with me. I’d stopped her though, still unwilling to tell her I’d got a job in Blue’s bar.
Clearing my head, I turned for Evan. “Listen, Evan. I’d really prefer to just get an ordinary Uber home. Mr. Cross doesn’t like me, and I don’t want to be his responsibility just because I’m under his duty of care at college.”
Evan nodded, his sandy hair flopping across his forehead. “I can try.”
I frowned. “What do you mean try? He shouldn’t even be picking me up anyway. Just don’t tell him what time my shift ends.”
I needed to stay away from Jack. He’d made me play, teased the notes out of me, made me feel, made me yearn for him and music, a combination I knew only led to hurt.
I didn’t want to play violin.
If being near him meant that happened, then I’d have to spend as little time with him as possible.
“Lyra, you okay?” Evan cocked his head, his astute gaze running over my face.
“Just homesick.”
“Everyone is homesick the first term, just other people like to hide it under vodka jelly shots and tequila.”
I quirked a smile. “Tequila sounds good right now.”
“That’s my girl!” Rhian slapped her hand down on the bar, shattering the remaining shred of my nerves. “Line ‘em up, Little Miss…”
I held up my hand. “I can’t drink, I’m working.”
Rhian shot a dazzling smile at Evan and he gave a slow shake of his head. “Is that a rule, E? Have you heard that rule before?”
“Nope.” He grinned, biting down on his bottom lip. “You never know, a class hangover might stop you feeling homesick.”
I nodded. “It might.” Leaning under the bar I grabbed three shot glasses. “You in, Evan?”
“Sure, boss isn’t here.”
I sloshed the amber clear liquid—holding my breath at the toxic smell—into the glasses.
Extra salt, easy on the lemon,” directed Rhian. “We don’t want to dilute the stuff.
I shook my head and slid her a glass, grabbing a saltshaker from behind the bar and passing it over. “Here.”
I followed her, licking the back of my hand and shaking a heavy coating of salt on my skin. She raised her eyebrows. “You might want the lemon.”
On her count I licked the salt, knocked back the tequila and then realized why I needed the lemon.
Holy fuck.
Evan laughed, holding his stomach. “I feel like we’re corrupting a nun.”
I rolled my eyes. “Please.”
My veins burned with an instant hit of high proof. Ha, fuck you Luca and Raven fucking Smoake.
Bastards.
And bastard Jack Cross.
“Another.” I slammed my hand on the bar. “Just make sure I’ve got an Uber and not an asshole driving me home.”
Rhian snorted, but Evan’s phone distracted him from answering. “Oh shit.” He frowned at the screen. “Got to take this.”
He turned his back, putting his phone to his ear, which made my stomach turn, my skin shiver… ridiculous right?
“Okay. I can’t get too drunk,” I said turning to Rhian… “But as I plan to ditch practice tomorrow, I can get a little drunk.”
Giving a little air punch, she stood on the bar of her high stool and leaned over the bar smacking a kiss straight on my mouth. “That’s my girl. Then maybe you’ll sing.”
“Is it Church?” I laughed. The tequila ran hot in my veins, transforming me from the inside out into someone much more fun than me.
“Not until Sunday…” she left her words dangling but I waved her away and poured more drinks. No chance of me singing, in this life or the next. God no longer wanted to hear my words of worship. He never did from those who turned their back. Pastor Clarke had made that more than clear.
Turned out Monday night wasn’t that quiet. Although it didn’t make Rhian get off her skinny ass to help.
“This is nothing,” she assured me, taking the glass I’d poured her from my right hand, while I held my own in my left.
“Remind me not to be here for a busy night.”
I glanced over her shoulder, my stomach, weighed down with five tequilas, plummeting to my boots. “Great Uber’s here.”
Rhian flicked her glance over her shoulder, somehow managing to make herself look sultry and demure all at the same time, despite the fact she’d had double my quantity of drink—thank God. “Oooh, boss man.” She fluttered her long and thick eyelashes.
I didn’t get a chance to question what she meant.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Jack stormed to the bar reaching for the glass.
“What’s it to you?” I knocked it back, dribbling it down my chin. Not cool. Or pretty. Or anything other than toddler-like.
He laughed, and I don’t mean ‘Haha you’re so funny’. Bitter and twisted, his lips flattened into a straight line. “Evan!” His shout cut through the chatter of voices and the background music.
To his credit, Evan sloped around the corner of the bar looking unruffled, despite the fire breathing of Jack Cross in the hottest outfit I’d seen him in yet.
So hot, in dark jeans and a stretched black tee, he made my legs ache with heaviness. How did he still look so good and manage to be such a dick?
Stop it, Lyra.
I stepped back, trying to put some distance between myself and the six-foot-something volcano of spite.
“That was quick,” Evan smirked.
“Underage drinking, Evan?”
“Oh please. That’s our bread and butter,” Evan returned.
“Underage bar staff?”
Evan scrunched his fa
ce at that. “Blame her.” He pointed at Rhian, “she’s taken a liking to our newbie.”
Jack looked like he might rip someone’s head off. All it did was make me square up to him, pressing myself into his space. I still resembled a toddler, just one having a tantrum now. Not unlike Jack himself.
He stabbed a finger at Rhian, who grinned into her drink like she knew a hilarious joke and didn’t want to share the punchline. “Stay away from her.”
“No, Jack. You stay away from me.” I poked him in the chest, registering with a still functioning brain cell that his chest was mighty firm. “I’m at work, not college. I don’t need a ride. I don’t need looking after by my brother’s once best friend. I don’t need you to ridicule me in public in front of people I’m hoping will be my friends. Just leave me alone.” My voice trembled, but that wasn’t so bad as the stinging in my eyes. I’d take anything other than crying.
Rhian hissed through her teeth and Evan gave a low whistle.
Jack grabbed my arm, yanking me closer, almost pulling me off my feet. “What did you say?”
“I said, leave me alone. Here and at college. This is my place, not yours.”
In a flash he vaulted over the bar, so quick I actually jumped with a shriek. “You come with me.” He towed me behind him. Even if I’d wanted to stop, he would have had me off my feet anyway.
The first warning should have been him stubbing the security code into the keypad.
The second should have been the way he kicked at the stock like it was fallen leaves at the local park. The bottles didn’t rustle though. There was no dry crinkle of summer ending underfoot. The bottles smashed with an almighty crash, the smell of alcohol quickly filling the air and stinging my nostrils.
“Tequila, Lyra?”
“Jack, please. Leave me alone.”
He still had a hold of me where he’d pulled me along, his hand turned, his thumb pressing into the tender flesh on the underside of my arm.
This was Jack. Pain and desire. The two things were intricately linked, and I’d known that before I’d even understood what desire was.
