Becky Wicks - Before He Was A Secret (Starstruck #3)

by Becky Wicks

  ‘I’m flattered,’ he replies, putting a hand over his heart.

  ‘You should be,’ I say, and when he flashes me that smile that turns my heart into a melting puddle of mush I know for a fact that I’d probably follow Conor anywhere. As it is though, he’s driving me home to check up on things. Sandi said she wanted to talk in person and I have a vague suspicion I know what it’s about, though I’ve been pushing all thoughts of the house problem from my head. Being deliriously happy is a new feeling for me and I’m trying to enjoy it.

  ‘So, Homewood awaits,’ Conor says, pointing to the Jefferson County sign as we pass it. ‘I hope you’re planning on giving me the tour while we’re there.’

  ‘That should take all of five minutes,’ I smile, but at his words my stomach knots as I imagine Conor meeting my brothers. I warned them we were both coming of course, but the only guy in my life they ever met was Brock and I think they knew in their hearts I wasn’t serious about him. I’ve never been serious about anyone or anything, except them.

  An hour later, after I’ve directed Conor past the marching Homewood High School Patriot Band, the diner where I used to work, the towering church spires and the row of stores I used to run into for every supply imaginable, we pull up on the street outside the house in Edgewood. The sun glints through the overgrown trees in the yard, though I note that someone – David probably – has mown the grass and the painters have left the wooden walls and decking white again, instead of brown and peeling. From the outside at least, everything looks normal.

  The door opens before we’ve made it up the path and my aunt Sandi rushes out to greet us wearing Crocs and jeans and a Predators tight shirt. She hugs me so tightly to her chest I get a mouth full of her wayward auburn hair and practically cough and when she frees me, presses her hands to my cheeks, her blue-green eyes are full of tears. ‘I’ve missed you, honey,’ she says. She has my mother’s hair, my mother’s eyes. She was older by three years and I’m sure never dreamed for a second she’d wind up with her sister’s three kids and no husband because of it. I owe my life to this woman. I pull away from her on the porch, keep hold of her hand and reach for Conor’s as he climbs the steps.

  ‘Sandi, this is my…’

  ‘Boyfriend,’ Conor finishes without a moment’s pause. I turn to him in shock as he steps towards her and extends his hand. My eyes are practically popping out of their sockets as my heart summersaults like a gymnast. We haven’t had the talk yet, haven’t once tried to label what we’ve become, but I admit, the second he allowed me to, I dropped right over that edge. I love it there, floating and constantly falling. I love the way he makes me feel. I love the way we’re bringing out the best in each other. I love him.

  Woah.

  What?

  I look at him now, laughing as my aunt pulls him in for one of her trademark, overzealous, all-encompassing hugs. I love him. I really do. I love Conor Judge so freakin’ much that the thought ignites a zillion fireworks in my chest and my booming heart is the only witness. It seems a shame somehow, as I stand here, that this pivotal moment goes unannounced outside of my vital organs, although I have a feeling maybe my eyes are showing it. He meets them now as Sandi turns around and walks into the house, beckoning us to follow. He catches my hand, pulls me back. ‘Sorry,’ he says, a little sheepishly. ‘I know we haven’t talked about that.’

  ‘We don’t need to,’ I tell him, reaching for his blue shirt at the neckline and standing on my tiptoes in the doorway to kiss him. ‘I’m so glad you’re here.’

  His hair falls into his eyes as kisses me, laces his big fingers through my small ones. He has no idea how he’s changing my life, second by second.

  The familiar smells of coffee and sandalwood incense curl up into my nostrils as I lead him through the hallway to the living room, where aunt Sandi, bless her heart has laid out a jug of sweet tea and some cookies.

  ‘You must be tired after your early start,’ she says, fussing over pouring the tea into glasses and motioning for us to sit. I can tell she has something on her mind and my nerves are on edge suddenly. I pull Conor beside me onto the tattered couch and my eyes scan the room. Nothing’s changed. The stains on the ancient carpet jump out in 3D and I feel a twinge of embarrassment. The piano is still covered with a big sheet, the way it has been ever since I commanded it be sold or hidden. Looking at it seems strange now. Its presence just feels sad instead of scary; a big useless ghost in the corner, unable to cross over or make a sound.

  Footsteps on the stairs. Cory and David enter the room and before I know it I’m being swept up in their hugs and questions. ‘This is my boyfriend,’ I tell them, motioning to Conor, who stands and shakes their hands. I like the way the word sounds coming from my mouth as I try it out for size. The pride swells in my chest as he turns to me and raises an eyebrow. I fall all over again.

  ‘You’re the musician, right?’ David says, a half smile playing on his own face. He’s so big now. At nineteen-years-old he looks more like my dad every day and he’s only half a foot or so shorter than Conor.

  ‘That I am,’ Conor replies.

  ‘Are you good to her?’ Cory adds now, sitting on the couch and helping himself to a cookie. He looks up at us from under his long brown hair. He’s been trying out the musician look for a while.

  Conor grins. ‘I try to stay on her good side.’

  ‘You should, else her two brothers will come find you,’ Cory replies and I laugh. I should’ve known he would be more protective than David.

  ‘How are things?’ I ask Sandi, changing the subject. Her expression darkens in an instant and she lowers her eyes to the coffee table along with her glass. It’s covered in newspapers, magazines, and the photo book on New York City that’s been there since my mom and dad left and never came back. My eyes land on a stack of papers.

  ‘That’s why we wanted to talk you,’ my aunt says, picking them up.

  ‘I’ve been paying everything I’ve earned right back into it,’ David says now, slumping down into the worn double-seater couch next to Cory. ‘So has Emmy.’

  ‘She shouldn’t have to do that,’ I tell him, taking the papers as my heart sinks like someone’s tied it to a stone and dropped it into a pond.

  ‘She wants to,’ he says. ‘She also wanted to meet you, but she had to work.’

  Conor sits forward, looking between me and my brothers and aunt. I know he doesn’t know what we’re talking about and a flare of sudden humiliation makes me lower my head. Emmy is David’s girlfriend. She’s been helping us pay for stuff since she moved in, just after I moved out.

  ‘A written notice of default,’ I read from the top paper. That’s nothing new. I scan the next few lines and suddenly my blood runs colds. ‘Wait. Foreclosure? What?’ My head springs up, tears rush to my eyes. ‘Sandi, what?’

  Conor’s hand is on mine instantly. ‘Not yet,’ my aunt says quickly, reaching for my hand. ‘But it’s not the first warning.’

  I stand up. ‘How can this be happening? I thought the advance covered it?’ I say.

  ‘Your advance is gone?’ Conor says suddenly.

  I wince. I haven’t told him anything. Maybe I should have done but he’s had enough of his own crap to deal with. ‘I thought I had it under control,’ I say. ‘My parents had a pretty big mortgage.’ I cross the room as the shame floods over me. ‘We borrowed more to pay it off but our wages barely covered the bills. And then it just got too much. Sandi…’

  ‘We paid some off.’ She’s holding up more papers. I walk back to her and swipe them. Bills. There are big black stamps, some red, on them all. Words like ‘warning’ and ‘final notice’ and ‘unpaid’ jump out at me like evil characters in a storybook.

  I can see Conor’s processing what he’s learning, rubbing his chin with one hand, looking conflicted. I shouldn’t have brought him here. I thought things were better, I thought they were just going to tell me the painters had asked for more than they originally quoted, or something.

&nbs
p; ‘We’ve tried our best,’ Sandi says.

  ‘It’s not your fault, you’ve done everything for us you ever could, you’re a saint,’ I tell her quickly when I spot the pain in her eyes. She works as a bookkeeper for the doctor’s surgery and I know every penny of what she earns goes into this place. She was renting with my uncle before my parents died, so even before he left they had nothing for themselves. Combined we only have this house.

  ‘We’ll have to sell,’ David says now. I look at him, blinking. He sounds just like my father and looks more like him than ever as he studies me from the couch; the same square jaw and changing glint in his eyes, like gasoline in a cup of water. ‘A short sale will show up on any future credit reports as a pre-foreclosure in redemption, less black marks,’ he explains, folding his arms. ‘We can get another mortgage for a smaller place, Sandi can move out, me and Cory can move in together, with Emmy…’

  ‘But this is all we have left of them,’ I say. ‘We can’t sell, David. It’s not an option.’

  Conor stands and walks to me, puts his arms around me. ‘You are what’s left of your mom and dad, baby,’ he says. ‘You’re doing them proud, whatever happens.’ I sink against his hard chest.

  ‘But I don’t want to sell.’

  ‘We have no choice,’ Sandi says softly. ‘If they keep sending these we’ll have no choice. Everything we pay is just keeping them off our back a little longer, but we’ll never be in the clear.’

  I shake my head, taking deep breaths against Conor, but I can’t look up at him. I feel so ashamed, like all of this is my fault somehow.

  ‘Stephanie,’ Sandi says, ‘that advance covered so much we couldn’t have covered…’

  ‘It wasn’t enough,’ I say as anger replaces the shock and tears. I wanted to move to Nashville to help us all out of this mess; to be a success. They all believed in me but nothing’s good enough.

  ‘So the whole advance is gone?’ Conor asks.

  ‘Yes,’ I say, ‘but it wasn’t enough.’

  ‘You’re doing everything you can,’ he says sternly, taking my shoulders. ‘Jackson, this isn’t your fault, you can’t be expected to pay for a house worth five times what you earn!’

  ‘Conor’s right,’ Sandi says. ‘Your parents earned more than this whole street put together! They thought your future was secure…’

  ‘Well they were wrong, our future is screwed,’ I snap, pulling away from Conor and sinking onto the piano stool. I catch the sheet with my boot and watch as it slides to the floor. Cory walks over and throws his arms around my shoulders and I can’t help the sob that escapes my mouth. I hug him back from the stool. ‘What are we going to do?’

  ‘Sis, we have to sell,’ David says firmly. ‘We don’t want to give up either but we don’t want to ruin our chances of getting a mortgage on a smaller place. We can make most of the money back if we sell – that’s what they said…’

  I turn to him in anger now. ‘You’ve already had realtors here?’

  ‘They had to evaluate,’ he says, shrugging helplessly.

  ‘And you didn’t tell me?’

  ‘You weren’t here!’

  ‘Have you heard of a phone, David?’

  ‘Are you staying tonight? I cleaned your room for you,’ Sandi cuts in. I can tell she’s trying to break up a fight before one starts. I sigh as Conor puts a hand to my shoulder again.

  ‘I don’t know… we have to get back.’

  ‘Come on, we never see you,’ Cory says. ‘We have new songs.’

  ‘I have to work.’

  We can stay,’ Conor says, sweeping my hair behind my ears. ‘We can drive you straight to work in the morning.’

  ‘I need air,’ I tell him, getting to my feet again. ‘Let’s go see Nancy and think about it.’

  ‘Are you OK?’ Cory says, and the worry in his voice breaks my heart. I squeeze his hand.

  ‘We’ll figure something out,’ I tell him.

  We walk to Nancy’s in less than seven minutes, cutting through Maple Alley like I always did for every shift. The bell tinkles as we walk onto the black and white chequered tiles. It smells like home, the greasy fries and bacon, the coffee brewing perpetually behind the counter. Two couples are eating at two tables and Nancy’s folding napkins, sitting on one of the round red stools. ‘Well if it isn’t my favourite singer and desert island superstar,’ she cries when she sees me, rushing over and throwing her arms around me. ‘It’s so good to see you, honey, you’re looking so well! And who’s this?’

  Nancy is Homewood’s version of Gretchen, only younger and much less frazzled. She hired me when I was sixteen and became a kind of surrogate older sister. She’s looking at Conor now in what I know is approval, smiling through her trademark ruby red lipstick. My heart floods with pride again. He’s so handsome, so out of context though, here in the place I grew up. I introduce him and Nancy beckons us over to the counter in a swish of her long brown hair, chattering at nine hundred miles an hour about what I’ve missed and asking me all about my publishing deal. ‘And the house?’ she asks, handing us Cokes and two glasses filled with ice.

  ‘Not great,’ I say and she squeezes my hand sympathetically.

  ‘Cory and David are such sweeties, they’re always in here,’ she says. I’m not surprised. They practically grew up in here while I was working. ‘You did the right thing, getting out of this place, no matter what,’ she adds softly and I note Conor nodding in agreement as he swirls the straw round in his Coke. ‘She had everyone enchanted with her songs on that guitar,’ she tells him proudly with a grin.

  ‘Not much has changed then,’ he says, throwing me a wink.

  ‘Well, I wouldn’t have touched the piano again without him,’ I say and Nancy’s eyes widen in surprise.

  ‘You’re playing piano again?’

  ‘She’s more than playing it. She’s owning it,’ Conor says. ‘She knows some pretty neat tricks on that thing.’ I don’t miss the innuendo. I flush when I think back to the cabin, how we splayed across it exploring each other’s bodies for the first time, but he’s keeping a straight face and I can’t help laughing.

  Nancy’s asking us about the Bluebird and our encounter with Noah Lockton when the door bell tinkles again. It barely registers, but my name sounds out across the diner and I spin around as recognition sinks in.

  ‘Stephanie?,’ the man says again, walking towards me. He’s big as ever, maybe even bigger, baseball cap on backwards and a sleeveless Adidas shirt highlighting his half-tanned arms. Conor stands up when I do, though my heart is drumming at my ribs now.

  ‘Brock,’ I say as he sweeps me up in a hug I couldn’t escape if I tried.

  ‘You’re back,’ he breathes into my hair.

  ‘Brock, this is Conor,’ I say, struggling to put my feet back on the ground. He places me down and I step backwards against Conor. He puts his hands on my shoulders to steady me, then I watch as the two shake hands. Awkward, my brain is saying. Glancing at Nancy I know she’s thinking the same thing. She shuffles off to clear some plates.

  ‘Out running?’ I say to him, for want of a better sentence and he motions to his outfit and the iPod sticking out of his top pocket.

  ‘Got to burn off Nancy’s burgers somehow,’ he replies. His eyes are darting from me to Conor as he orders a coffee-to-go and I know he’s dying to ask.

  ‘Conor’s my boyfriend,’ I confirm before he can venture the question. ‘He’s a musician. We’ve been writing songs together. He’s been helping me a lot since I got to Nashville.’ I realize my cheeks must be blazing as I babble on. Brock studies my face, nodding his head slowly as my words sink in. The cleft in his chin is holding sweat from his run, as are the vague sun lines on his forehead.

  ‘So I guess your acceptance of my proposal is still not on the cards?’ Brock says after a moment, but he’s smiling. He nudges my shoulder as his coffee is placed before him. ‘I always knew you were too good for this place,’ he says, lifting the lid and reaching for a packet of sugar.
‘Can’t blame a guy for trying though, right?’

  ‘You definitely can’t,’ Conor says and Brock laughs.

  ‘Look after her buddy, she’s something else,’ he tells him, snapping the lid back on his cup. He plants a kiss on my cheek. ‘I’ll be watching for you at the CMA Awards, hot shot.’ With that he heads back outside with his coffee.

  ‘He’s dating Kimberley now,’ Nancy whispers loudly from behind the counter and I turn to her in surprise as my arms circle Conor’s waist. ‘He waited a month or so. I think that’s pretty good going for him, right?’

  I smile, pressing my cheek against Conor’s shirt so he can’t see me turning even redder. I know he’s probably thinking how I never slept with Brock. He doesn’t know Kimberly, but I do and I’m pretty sure Kimberley wouldn’t have put him through such torture.

  Conor drops a kiss on my head and pulls out the money for the Cokes. ‘Let’s go back and tell Sandi we’re staying,’ he says, dropping the notes on the counter. ‘Unless there are any more awkward exes you think we might bump into round here?’

  I whack his chest but there’s a glint in his eye that tells me he’s messing with me. He knows damn well there’s no one else and I hope right now that there never will be.

  ‘You’re back,’ Cory says, stopping what he’s doing as we step into the living room again. I realize he looks panicked and then I realize he’s been trying to cover the piano back up. I step forwards, put a hand to his shoulder.

  ‘Yeah, we’re staying. Leave it,’ I tell him.

  His eyes widen as he drops the sheet again. I can feel David and Sandi looking at me too, still on the couches, but I sit down, put my hands to the keys and suck in a breath. Sitting at Conor’s piano was one thing, the one at his cabin another, but the one in my own house is something else entirely. For a moment I stare at it, pressing the same white keys up and down, letting them spring back up. If we lose this house, I’ll never get this chance.