How To Save A Life (Emerald Cove #1)

by Lauren K. McKellar

  "Okay, I gotta go study. Do you guys want me to make you dinner?"

  "We got it, baby," Mum calls as I pick up my bag. "You just concentrate on you."

  I start up the stairs and head to my room where I throw my bag down and shut the door. I shake my head. Is this really happening? Grabbing the red marker from my desk, I march over to the door and firmly cross off another number on my chart. 136 days to go.

  I'm rifling through my bag, getting out my books to study, when my phone rings, and I pull it out. An unidentified number flashes across the screen, but I swipe across and answer it.

  "Hello?"

  "Hi, Lia?"

  Jase.

  "Hi. Yeah. Lia."

  Oh God, where have my sentences gone? I'm one step away from me Jane, you Tarzan.

  "Hey."

  Pause

  "Hey."

  He laughs, and it's deep and rich and quiet, and nothing at all like the way Smith just sounded downstairs. "This could be going a little better, huh?"

  "It could," I agree, then lie back on my bed, resting my head against the saggy pillow. "How'd you even get my number?"

  "If I saw your employee info sheet, is that breaking bar owner/bar employee trust?"

  "I guess it depends on the intent of this call," I say, and I know I should stay away, that he deserves someone who isn’t half a person, who isn’t a shell, but after my shitty day at school, and Mum and Smith this afternoon, I just want to feel, and he’s making me feel.

  "Well, let's say the intent of this call is to book you in for another shift this Friday and then Saturday, if that's okay?" he says, and I can tell from his tone of voice that he's smiling too. "But then perhaps, if the conversation swung that way, I could also casually ask what you were doing Wednesday night—you know, since I have you on the phone already—and see if perhaps you'd like to spend it with me. Moving slowly. As friends, even. And not pushing you to do anything you didn’t want."

  I press my eyes shut. Because God, right now, do I want to. But still, Wednesday. With the performance coming up so soon, I can’t. Crap. "Sorry, I can't."

  "The bar shifts, or Wednesday?"

  "Wednesday." I sigh. "I really want to, it's just that I'm already shortening my practise time on Friday to come in to work, and I've been finding it tricky to focus lately. I can't take a night off with my scholarship performance so close."

  He's silent for a moment, and I worry that maybe I’ve said something terribly wrong.

  "I ... uh, I have a thing Tuesdays," he says, clearing his throat. "Which is a shame. I'd like to see you."

  "Look, maybe I could see you after practise for a while? I can't stay out all night"—on a school night—"but I could just chill with you for an hour or so."

  The unspoken words roil around in my stomach for a moment.

  "Awesome." Jase rushes in to speak, then coughs, clearing his throat. "I mean yeah, cool. Whatever. Sounds y'know ... good."

  I giggle, then blurt out without thinking, "You totally like me."

  He exhales. "Thank God you already know. I was worried I was going to have to keep it a secret."

  I laugh uncontrollably, and those tingles turn to an undeniable warmth that spreads through me. He joins in, and for those few moments, there isn't any drinking, or friends acting weird, or secrets, or cutting, or crying. It's just us. Just this.

  Just honesty.

  ***

  The house is dark.

  Quiet.

  Wind whistles outside, the windows shuddering in their frames against the pressure.

  Inside, though?

  Nothing.

  So why did I wake up?

  I open my eyes, and I'm staring at my wall. I can't really see it—I just know it's there. I rack my brain, trying to work out what triggered this middle-of-the-night wake-up call, but nothing comes to mind. I hadn't had a nightmare—although there's still plenty of the night to go, my subconscience reminds me—and Mum had been out when I'd gotten home from school, and I didn't think she'd come home since.

  I wondered where she'd been—of course I did. But when I sent her off a text, she'd replied and said she was just over at Smith's, which made me smile. Smith had a place. Smith had a—totally creepy—job. He had determination to try and make things right with her.

  Maybe if things worked out, they'd move in together. He could look after her. Pay for her to get the sort of treatment she needed if AA didn't work out.

  But it would.

  I have to stop thinking negatively.

  I shift, and am about to roll over when I feel it.

  The weight on the end of my bed.

  Someone is sitting on my bed.

  Like a deer in headlights, I lie still, very, very still, and try and force my breathing to come long and deep, as if I were asleep. Or how I imagine I'd sound breathing if I were asleep. Crap, crap, crap!

  The room smells like dirt, and sweat, and whiskey, and I have this feeling, a sixth sense if you will, that it's not Santa Claus come early to pay me a judgmental visit.

  It's Smith.

  I know it, just like I know that 'waking up' could be the worst thing I do right now.

  I need to keep the element of surprise on my side.

  Minutes tick by, and still he doesn't leave, but he doesn't do anything either. He seems to just be watching me sleep. Has he done this before?

  My muscles are tensed, and I clench my hands into fists under the sheets. My eyes adjust to the darkness somewhat, but I don't dare risk rolling over in case he sees me, realises I'm awake. Because as horrible as this is, it could be worse.

  Just when I think I can't take it anymore, that I'm going to scream, throw my giant history textbook at him and head for the hills—although since that's where his abattoir is, maybe the ocean would be a safer bet—he moves.

  I scrunch my eyes tight but can still feel his shadow over me as he traces a finger from the crown of my head, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.

  "Good night, little dove."

  Dry, brittle lips press against my cheek, and the stench of his sweat is almost too much to bear.

  CHAPTER TWENTYTHREE

  The dreams are so vivid, it hurts.

  I’m coming home from the store. I’ve been staying at Ellie’s since that day. Mum dropped me off there, and I haven’t seen her since. She needed time to regroup. To recover. Alone. Still, on day three I need new clothes, so I’m here for a change of outfit. I open the front door.

  Something is wrong.

  Something is very wrong.

  Photos are scattered everywhere, all over the floor of our living room. I throw down my bag and rush to pick them up, gathering them close to my chest, to my heart, all these images of our family.

  What was our family.

  They lead in a trail to the kitchen and I walk, stopping to pick each one up as I go, trying to soften the blow of hurt that stabs at my heart when I revisit each memory. Stab. Mum, Dad and I at the park. Twist. Mum, Dad and I on vacation.

  I bend down to pick up the last one in the doorway to the kitchen, Mum and Dad on their wedding day. Their lips are locked in the kiss to end all kisses, and even though it’s my parents, it’s kind of nice to see them in a moment so happy. So in love.

  A small smile plays on my lips.

  And then I look up.

  And then everything changes.

  She’s sitting on a chair at the dining table, the golden afternoon sun glinting off her brown hair.

  Glinting off the blade of the knife at her wrist.

  Time slows down.

  I scream.

  She shakes her head, and the knife slices into the flesh at her wrist, scarlet red blooming where the blade meets skin.

  My stomach lurches, and blood thunders in my ears. This can’t be happening.

  “I’m sorry, baby,” she whispers.

  It’s all I need. Time speeds up. Her words jolt me into action.

  I race around the table and dive, lunging my body at he
r. The chair, my mother and I go tumbling into a heap on the floor.

  The knife, though?

  The knife stabs into my stomach.

  And the pain is inescapable.

  ***

  "Hi, I just have some questions about ... about what constitutes as a crime."

  There's a pause on the other end of the line and some shuffling of papers. "What sort of a crime are you talking about?"

  I lick my lips, and stare at the lake in front of me. "Well, I’m seventeen. Basically, if there's a guy, and he sits and watches me sleep ... and is really creepy ... is there anything I can do about it?"

  The female officer seems to sigh down the line, and I wonder if she gets vague calls like this a lot. "It depends who the man is to you. Is he your boyfriend? Brother? Father?"

  "My mum's boyfriend."

  "And has he done anything inappropriate?"

  "Well ... he kissed me on the cheek." Saying it sounds so lame, and from the harrumph I get down the line, it seems I'm not the only one who thinks so.

  "This is something you need to talk to your mother about. Or, if you don’t feel comfortable with that, we can get Child Protection Services involved, to speak on your behalf.”

  Thu-thunk.

  That’s the sound of my heart as it worries about anyone from the police department talking to my mother. Discovering more about our past. More about her present.

  “That’s fine.” I rush out the words. “But … so I should talk to her … not you.”

  “Until there's an actual law broken, there isn't a lot I can do," she says, and then with a touch of sympathy in her voice, adds, "If he's making you feel uncomfortable, I'm sure she'd understand."

  I'm sure she would too.

  But how do I tell her that the one good thing in her life right now, the guy who has volunteered to take her to AA, is actually bad?

  "When would the line be crossed?" The pink sky gives the lake a beautiful sheen on the surface, making it appear almost two-tone. "I mean, if he forced himself onto me, but how about ... is there emotional abuse?"

  "Yes ... listen, I really think you should talk to your mum. She'll want what's best for you," the officer says, then voices sound in the background and she must cover the speaker, as her voice is muffled for a moment. "Look, I have to go. But call back anytime if you need, and yeah, speak to your mother. I'm sure it'll work out fine."

  The phone disconnects. He didn't do anything wrong, my logical brain argues. But the idea of someone watching you sleep like that—it just screams weird and scary to me.

  I check the screen straight away, but no new messages came through during the call. I know Jase and I made plans for tonight, but no meeting time or place was arranged, and I'm starting to think that maybe he’s having second thoughts. And maybe that’s for the best.

  To keep my mind off things, I bring up Mum's name in my contacts and type out a new text.

  Good luck at AA tonight! Knock 'em dead!

  Seconds later, a reply buzzes in.

  Looking forward to it. Smith's taking me and waiting outside. He's so sweet! Gonna be another smiley face day :) :) :)

  That, right there. How can I possibly ruin that?

  Shaking my head, I grab my bag and head into the hall, pulling out the sheet music for a new piece and placing it on the stand. This piece is different to the one I'd been working on before. Slower. More ... lonely.

  And for some reason, something clicks. The notes make sense to my brain, and my fingers find their designated spots with ease. By the eighth or maybe the ninth run through, I've got it, and I can play the first sonata from start to finish without breaking the tortured piece of music that comes from my heart so easily.

  When I check my phone, it's past six-thirty, and I realise that I've been caught up much longer than I'd intended. I place my sheet music back in my bag, and lock up the hall then dawdle to my car, throwing my bag in beside my backpack on the floor of the front seat. The lights in the bar aren't on, and with only the streetlight illuminating my path, it feels mighty lonely out here.

  Guess he did forget, after all.

  I turn back to the car and am about to hop in when I see it. A note under my wiper again.

  WHERE THE LAKE MEETS THE SEA …

  My lips twist in a smile. I grab my phone and a jacket from my car, sliding it over my shoulders. It's not too cold now that spring is in full swing, but I don't know exactly what Jase has planned, and I figure it's better safe than sorry.

  I switch my phone's torch on and start along the little path that snakes its way beside the lake, the trail I've walked so many times before. It's peaceful here at night, and soon I reach the point where the bush runs beside the road, making it less desolate and rapey.

  The path flips left, and a dune covered in green plants and trees stretches up. The dirt beneath my feet gives way to sand and when I turn the bend, I see it.

  Jase is sitting on a picnic blanket, spread out on the very last of the woodland grass. A small bonfire burns in front of him, right next to the lake shore but out of view of anyone driving past on the main road. The only people who can see it, are us.

  He raises his head from his phone and sees me, then smiles, standing up and offering out his hand.

  Thu-thu-thu-thu-thu-thu-thu-thu—

  Thunk

  My heart's racing so fast, I think it might be about to jump ship and board his. And even though I shouldn’t fall, I don’t want to fall, I can’t help it because he is just so hard to resist.

  I close the gap between us in five steps, and then I'm standing there, and he's standing there, and we're both standing in front of each other with all this hope on our faces. I can see myself in Jase's eyes. It's where I want to see myself, always.

  "Hi," he whispers.

  "Hi," I whisper back, and then his hands are linked with mine, and he's pulling me closer to that broad chest of his and lightly feathering his lips over my own. All thoughts of just being friends fly away with the evening breeze that stirs the lake.

  It's the most perfect thing that's ever happened to me.

  "So, I hope this is okay." He gestures to the rug behind him, the bonfire, the lake, the stars and the moon, and I can't help but do a loop-de-loop with those crazy butterflies in my stomach because he couldn't have arranged it better if he'd tried.

  "Is this what you do with all your friends?” I give a coy smile.

  “We were never just friends, Lia.” Desire flashes over Jase’s features. “I thought you’d know that by now.”

  He settles down on the blanket, patting a spot next to him for me to join. "So, I brought some things with me."

  He grabs at a basket I hadn't seen that's sitting behind him and starts unpacking. There's a bottle of wine and two glasses, some cheese, biscuits, crisps, chocolate, strawberries, and a baguette that's so long it almost covers the entire blanket.

  "You organised all this?" My eyes practically bug out of my head as still more delicacies are retrieved rom the basket.

  "Actually, I just ordered it from this girl in Sandy Bay. You can get date picnic baskets," he confesses, with a slight grimace. "I hope that's not weird."

  "You mean you didn't go to a strawberry patch and pick the best ones there for me?"

  "No." He shakes his head sadly. "And I didn't personally squash the grapes at the vineyard to turn into this wine either."

  He twists the top and offers me a glass, and even though it's red, and red wine is so not my kinda thing, I'm on a date, with an amazing guy who has a date picnic basket for crying out loud——it kinda is my thing now.

  "So what'd you get up to today?" he asks as the wine splashes into the glass. Waves dance on the shore in the distance, and the fire crackles and pops, hot orange streaks of light flirting with the night air.

  "Just sch—" No, no, no, "scholarship study. And some cleaning."

  "Fair enough." Jase nods. "Do you live alone?"

  "With my mum."

  "No brothers or sisters?"<
br />
  "Only child."

  "And can I ask about your dad ...?"

  I look down at the purple drink resting in my hand. "Yeah." I finally force the word out. "He's dead."

  "Damn." Jase shakes his head. "That must have been hard on you both."

  Relief floods through me at what he didn't say. He didn't say he was sorry. Because there's one thing I don't need from Jase, from anyone in Emerald Cove or Sandy Bay, and that's sympathy.

  "It was." I frown. "More so on her than me."

  Ain't that the truth.

  "Do you miss him?" he asks, taking a sip of his wine.

  "Not at all."

  If you're ever looking for an effective way to shut down a line of questioning on your first date, that'll probably do it. I start running through ways I could have answered that question instead, lies and half-truths, ways to avoid this awkward silence we're in now but—

  "I don't miss my father either."

  My attention snaps to Jase. "You lost him, too?"

  His gaze goes to the fire, the dancing of the flames. "Yeah," he finally says. "I did."

  I reach out my hand and squeeze his leg, and he places his hand over mine and squeezes right back.

  "I did not, however, bring you out here and order a damn date picnic basket, all at the risk of losing my man card, just to depress you with stories about my deadbeat dad." He straightens his posture, and raises a glass in the air. "I brought you here to utilise the very specific hour, hour and a half you mentioned you had for me on the phone with two main activities."

  "What's the first?" I grin, and take a strawberry, biting into it. It's rich and sweet and explodes in my mouth, juice coating my tongue.

  "The first is to get to know you better." Jase smiles and lays back, propped up on one elbow.

  "Ugh! I hate all those boring getting to know you questions."

  "Who said mine were going to be boring?" Jase challenges.

  "You just asked about my family. Isn't that proof enough?" I retort.

  "Fine. Only non-standard questions allowed." There's a dark twinkle in Jase's eye, and I worry what I've gotten myself into. Only for a second, however, because his opening line is, "What's the one thing you have that you'd never give away, for love or money?"