by E. S. Maria
“By whom?”
“Nate, the owner. And Brodie.”
“Did you know I was singing tonight?”
There’s a slight pause, “Yes.”
“Did Brodie tell you?”
“What’s with all the questions, Hannah?”
“I think you know why. Maybe it’s a good thing you heard me sing that song.”
“Because you wrote it for Paul?”
I don’t answer, but I do slide away from him, needing the distance so I can think straight.
“That was a beautiful song, Hannah. I’m sure that would’ve made Paul very happy.” Atticus reaches for my hand, startling me and making me gasp.
“He was happy. I wrote that song for him on our anniversary,” I answer back sharply, unsure why Atticus stating Paul’s name gets me on the defensive. “Why are you still sitting here with me? Why don’t you go and find somebody else to piss off?
“I’m just sitting, Han. I’m not out to fight with you. This is a free country after all.”
“Well, you can’t just show up whenever you want to and expect me to act like it’s okay.”
He snorts, then I hear glass slamming on the table, “Still hating my guts, I see. I knew that coming was a risk, but nothing could’ve stopped me from watching you tonight. And I’m glad I came because you were a fucking breakthrough.”
What he said ties me up in knots. Then I hear some shuffling, before a cool whoosh of air on my skin tells me he’s no longer sitting next to me.
I hold my hand up, “Wait ... I don’t hate you, Atticus. You don’t have to go, okay?”
“It’s for the best.” His scent hits me as I feel him coming closer. Then he lays a kiss on my temple, “Keep on singing, Hannah. This is your path. You have the power to inspire people with your music.”
Oh.
I should be pissed off with him for just showing up whenever he wants to, wherever he pleases. But then he goes and says these kind words to me.
It’s not fair how he keeps breaking down my walls like this.
I grab onto his arm, “Don’t go. Look. I’ll hear you out. Maybe we can go somewhere quieter to talk?”
“Of course. Where do you want to go?” Atticus asks me, the relief in his voice evident as he takes my hand, standing me up with him.
“I’ll just let Brook know, then, we can go.”
Atticus takes me to where I assume Brook will be. By this time, Brodie’s finishing his last song of the night, but as soon as the rest of the crowd sees Atticus in plain sight, I start to hear girls shrieking and gasping his name, followed by murmurs of delight that Atticus is sharing this space with them.
He squeezes my hand to get my attention, “So where would you like to—”
“Atticus!” Whatever he was going to ask me was cut off by Brodie calling out to him, “Where are you going, mate? I was just about to introduce you.”
My brows scrunch together, “You were going to play?” I ask him, feeling confused.
He sighs, “Uh … yeah, but I don’t have to. I want us to have that talk.”
“Ladies and gentleman, who in here would like to hear Atticus Foster sing us a few songs?” Brodie yells out, and the crowd answers with a roar like they’re about to bring the house down.
I hear Atticus whisper a harsh curse.
But the loud volume of the crowd calling out for Atticus is reaching fever pitch.
I can’t take him away from this. He lives for this, doesn’t he?
“Go. Sing.” I let go of him, gently pushing him on the shoulder. “I’ll wait.”
“No, it’s okay. I don’t have to,” he answers, placing his hand over mine.
“A-tti-cus! A-tti-cus!”
My whole body reverberates from the thunderous claps and booming cries of the people demanding a performance from their local star. And as much as I’m flattered that he would prefer to turn away from this pandemonium so we can talk, I’m not going to be selfish when it comes to him. I have no right to.
“Do you really want to deny this mob of your music?” I ask him in my loudest possible voice. “It’s okay, Atticus.”
“But if I get up on that stage, will you stay and listen to the song?” he asks, his lips close to my ear, making my insides clench. And even through the loudness of the maddened crowd, I can still hear the vulnerability in his voice, and it tugs at my insides.
“I’m a blind woman in what sounds like a packed bar full of possibly drunken patrons. Trust me, I’ve got nowhere else to go alone.”
He chuckles, his lips still by my ear, and as much as it makes my insides clench when I recall how his face lights up in laughter, I can’t help the sadness that comes with not being able to physically see it.
“Well, I’m not gonna take any chances,” Atticus wraps an arm around me, and my heartbeat spikes. Then he pauses, and with hands on both arms, he urges me to sit, where a chair is waiting for me.
“You’re front and centre, babe.” And before I can dispute the endearment, he kisses my cheek, and whispers, “I only need to sing one song. Then we can go.”
I shrug back, “Okay.”
The crowd erupts once again, and I imagine Atticus must be getting on the stage.
“Thank you, everyone! You guys are too kind to this Central Coast busker from Roscoe.”
I can’t help but smile. He has come a long way from busking in just a short amount of time. And even though I was a casualty on his way to success, I can’t feel any resentment for his hard work.
“I wasn’t really sure if I should be singing tonight. The calibre of talent has blown my mind, and frankly I’m kind of developing a complex here,” he pauses, waiting for the laughter to die down. “Brodie is amazing as usual. And … and as for his sister, Hannah? She … well, this budding singer, songwriter is just something else. She truly inspires me,” he pauses, and I bow my head down, unwilling for him to see that I’m blushing.
He continues, “So, how about we give them a hand?”
The crowd applauds, and I hear catcalls of “Go, Hannah,” making my cheeks turn a deeper shade of crimson.
I’ve never touted myself as a singer or a songwriter. I always thought my path was to become a lawyer just like my father. But the accident has given me a second chance to choose the path that truly makes me happy, and making music is that path where I feel I’m at my happiest.
Now I understand Brodie and Atticus even better.
“The song I’m about to perform is something I wrote just recently, while I was holed up in my shack. It might sound a little rough, but I think this is the right time as any to share it, so bear with me, yeah?” The crowd screams in approval, and some random woman yells out that she wants to be holed up in the shack with him as well. I try to ignore the urge to punch that woman in the face because really, I have no right to be jealous. Atticus and I are over, and all I’m willing to offer him is my friendship.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” he responds. “This song is called “Once Again.”
As soon as Atticus starts singing and I hear the poignant emotion from every single word, my chest begins to tighten up, and I feel like I’m losing my breath.
His song is about second chances, and that not everything is what it seems.
I don’t want to believe this is about me ... or about us. But it’s hitting home, and it’s hitting hard.
You want him as your future,
But your future’s standing here.
Think your heartbreak has no cure.
I’ll be your medicine, dear.
That verse confirms it. It’s the final blow, and it cuts through my skin and into my heart, leaving me with shivers and goose bumps all at the same time.
And that’s not even the worst part. The worst part is how my brain is rethinking my offer of friendship towards Atticus. His words are waking emotions that I forced into slumber, and now it’s making its presence known.
I don’t want the song to end, but on the other hand, I also want
him to stop singing the song because I hate the power it’s starting to have over me.
The audience loves the song. Their reception is overenthusiastic to say the least. But as for me, I can’t even bring myself to clap my hands. I’m too stunned by the song to even function properly. A hand squeezes my shoulder, and I tilt my head up to figure out who it is.
“Wow, Han. He’s not holding back, is he?” it’s Brook, and even she sounds in awe.
I am too. I’m fucking speechless.
“Thanks, everyone!” I hear Atticus say. “You’ve been amazing … and loud! Very loud. But I have to call it a night, guys!” Most of them clap, but some of them sound their disapproval. Then I hear the host speaking on the mic, trying to appease the crowd with a round of free drinks.
“Hannah? Are you ready?” Atticus is now in front of me.
Good question. Am I? I don’t even know what to say after that.
Is this going to be another leap for me?
Any doubt I have on my next leap with Atticus is drowned out by the hard thuds of my heart and my blood rushing to my head, drowning any remnants of hesitation I have left.
“Brook? Is it okay if you tell Brodie that I’m going with Atticus? He’ll take me home.”
“Oh … ooh! Yeah, sure. Well, good night, kids! And let’s catch up soon, Han. Now let me find my boyfriend. Gosh, it still feels weird saying it aloud!” The thrill in Brook’s voice is hard to mask, and I must admit that it matches the thrill I’m feeling inside.
“So … where would you like to go?” Atticus asks hesitantly as he takes my hand and helps me up.
“Your place,” I answer way too quickly, but I stop myself from retracting my answer.
“Hannah,” he sighs, “I’m not sure if my place is ideal for us to talk. How about —”
“I don’t wanna talk anymore. We can do that after maybe … I don’t know.”
He pauses, and I know for sure that he’s staring at me with a stunned expression.
“Okay … okay. If that’s what you want.” He’s still holding my hand, and as he guides me through the hyped up crowd, he whispers, “Hold tight.” And I do, my other hand clinging to his arm.
The fresh air on my face and the way the noise from the bar now sounds muffled, tells me that we’re finally outside.
“Where’s your car?” I ask him.
“Tell me what’s on your mind right now, Hannah.”
My heart is beating so fast, and my insides are tightening like never before. If only Atticus could see all of these things happening inside of my body, he wouldn’t have to ask me about it.
“I know that I wanted to talk earlier. But then you sang that song. Maybe it was for me, I don’t know, but now …” I stop walking and I turn to face him, reaching both of my hands to cup his face, “now, all I can think about is you and me …” I feel my heart rise to my throat. “And I want you, Atticus.”
“That song was for you. They have all been about you, Hannah. But I didn’t do that with the intention of getting you into bed with me.”
My heart falls back down with a thud, and I go on defensive mode, “So are you telling me that you don’t want me? Is it because I’m blind? Or is it because of the big-ass scar on my face? I must look so fucked up to you right now.”
“No … Just … Just. Stop. It’s not any of those. Haven’t I been clear about how I still feel about you?”
“Maybe you haven’t,” I spit back, still stinging from the initial rejection, but I continue after a shaky breath, “Since I’ve already made a fool of myself, I might as well not stop now. So let me just give it to you straight, okay? I want you, Atticus Foster. You sing about wanting another chance with me … then help me remember you. Let me remember how you feel. That is my decision, and if you can’t bear to do it, please just take me back inside Peak.”
So that’s it. My pathetic attempt at seducing the person who broke my heart in the first place, has turned into a pitiful act of pleading.
This is humiliation at its finest.
This must be what rock bottom feels like.
Atticus takes me by the elbow and starts walking, but not speaking a single word. My heart sinks even deeper, and into an abyss that has become increasingly hard to get out from.
“Are you taking me back to Peak?” I ask, on the verge of tears.
He stops walking again, and I do the same. But what I hear next is the familiar beeping of a car alarm being switched off, then a car door opening.
“Get in,” Atticus commands, and he guides my body inside, placing a hand on the top of my head as I step inside his car.
I stretch my arms up and feel the car roof above me. And before me are the same clean lines I felt that day he manhandled me from my group session.
I hear the car door opening from the other side, and as he gets in, the enclosed space allows me to enjoy the way he smells. I don’t know what it is about this guy’s scent that gets me every time, but it does. God, it so does.
I instinctively turn to face him, and just as I do, his long fingers cup the sides of my face, and he kisses me.
His lips on mine, warm and moist, and his tongue as it enters my mouth is hesitant yet persistent. It feels perfect, and I have no choice but to give in. The first time he ever kissed me, I was completely unprepared for it, but I knew that clearly, my body was. Now they are in sync, as my thoughts are filled with images of Atticus’s green eyes darkening with desire for me, and my core clenching in response.
Atticus pulls away, his breathing laboured, “My place.”
“Your place,” I answer back, just as breathless as he is.
He untangles himself from me, and I reach for the seat belt, my heart racing and my cheeks feeling flushed and warm. But my hand reaches for his arm, halting his movements.
“No rush. Please … just be careful,” I utter meekly.
Then I feel his hand on my cheek, and he kisses me chastely on my lips, “I promise.”
He starts the engine and drives off.
The ride is quite short, and from where I remember Peak is, which fronts the beach, Atticus’s shack must be just around the bend.
“Do you remember that house close to the rockpool? You know, that blue and white beach house which I said I’d own when I became super famous rock star?”
He’s parked the car, and we’re just walking up what I assume is the path to the house. Then I hear him unlocking the door.
I chuckle softly, “Yeah. I remember. It was just the right size. Not too big, but it had a killer balcony. Wait, don’t tell me this is it? Did you …?”
“I’m just renting it for now. The owners decided to move up to Queensland. They’re not interested in selling this. Well, for now, anyway. I’m thinking of making them an offer they can’t refuse.”
“Really? Why would you buy a house here when you’re travelling all over the world? Why not make the city your home base? Do you think it’s practical to plant roots here?”
“You ask way too many questions,” he replies lightly, “but I want to be upfront with you from now on. Yes, I do have an apartment quite close to the city, and that’s where I stay if I’m not touring. But I want to be able to have a place to run to when shit gets too real … somewhere I know I’ll be happiest in.”
“So Avoca makes you happy?” I grin at him.
“No. I’m happiest where you are.”
“What? That doesn’t make any sense,” I laugh it off nervously, feeling my stomach flutter.
“I know it’s hard to believe considering what I’ve done to you … to us. But Han, it will always be you. So even if I’m not physically with you, just knowing you’re in the same vicinity as I am, it gives me a sense of calm that I can’t fully explain.”
Oh.
“But―but you were never around. You only came back that one time over a year ago.”
“I came back a lot more than once. But every time I did, you were with Paul. The first couple of times were hell because I told mysel
f that I couldn’t rebuild a bridge I destroyed myself. So I stayed away. But that time last year was my weakest moment. My jealousy won over common sense. And when my common sense finally took over, I ended up hurting you all over again.”
I jump when I feel his warm touch over my scar. “Then I found out about the accident. Hannah, I …”
His voice trails off, and I don’t know what he’s about to say next.
All I know is that I don’t want to talk about that or anything else anymore.
At least for tonight.
“How about … how about we talk about this tomorrow?” I whisper, “Please, I just want you to kiss me again.”
I tilt my head up as an invitation, and with one choked groan, Atticus dips his head and meets my waiting lips. Both of our lips open eagerly, welcoming each other’s tongue in a desperate dance. I go up to the tops of my toes, needing more of his beautiful mouth, if that’s even possible. But he does one better, making me gasp as he grabs the back of my thighs so he can lift me up.
“God, Hannah. You taste like how I dreamt you would,” he mumbles against my hot mouth.
“You dream about me?” I ask in a whisper, unable to hide the grin spilling on my face.
“Fucking always,” he growls back.
He’s walking forward, and I feel myself bouncing slightly as he goes up the stairs.
I move my lips to his jaw, and down his neck, making him moan. I know for sure that his green eyes are now getting darker, and the expression on his face will be focused … even aroused.
I’d give anything to see that.
Just imagining the expression on his face makes me want to combust. What started as a slow burn when I first heard his song at Peak is now turning into a raging inferno.
He stops walking, and with my legs still wrapped around his waist, I hear him opening a door.
“Are we in your bedroom?” I ask softly as he walks once again.
“I hope this isn’t too presumptuous for you?” he asks, letting me go so he can close the door.
“No. This is just perfect.” And before I know it, he swiftly turns me around making me gasp. Then he fists his hands in my hair and pulls me closer, tipping my head up so he can smash his lips on mine.
