Eight (Love by Numbers Book 6)

by E. S. Carter

Around thirty minutes later I watch as her friend Rachel introduces her to the packed crowd. Then, with sure strides, I make my way through the side door that will bring me out into the club where I can watch her sing and wait for her mid-show break.

  She’s just taken to the stage when I opened the door and I hear the first, spine-tingling chords of her guitar.

  Just as before, I’m caught up in her orbit.

  The crowd fades away, and my eyes drink in everything about her from the long, wispy braid that sits on her shoulder, to the pale lemon dress that skims her ankles. She wears a white rose in her hair, and I watch as her eyes close and her mouth opens to pour out her soul.

  Your lips tell lies but your eyes betray them

  You think I believe, so you say it again.

  Sorry is a word with a weight on your shoulders

  I’m sorry that I’m here, but she’ll never get older.

  With you.

  Your arms are strong, but they’ll never hold me

  I refuse to be used, tossed aside and demeaned.

  Sorry is a word you only use if you mean it

  I’m sorry you’re too broken to see or believe it.

  For you.

  Your name on my lips is a curse, not a blessing

  The pain worn on your face is a torment that distresses.

  Sorry is a word I would say free and open

  I’m sorry we’ll never be ‘cos I can’t do broken.

  For me.

  One day you’ll awake, and the clouds will recede

  Grey skies in your eyes when your heart stops to bleed.

  If you look very close you can see all you’ve found

  I’m sorry for that I will not be around.

  For us.

  With you.

  For you.

  For me.

  For us.

  I’m sorry that for that I’ll never be around.

  For us.

  I know this time without a doubt that this song, those words, are for me.

  Every intake of breath, every held note, every modulation, is meant for me.

  She may have told me to go, but she kept me with her, and I was important enough to immortalise with her art.

  There’s a chance - an opportunity to restart, to resume, to revive and to resurrect.

  Her heartfelt goodbye, and her melodious vow that what we had is gone, only proves it’s alive, still breathing between us, just waiting for the kiss of life.

  I wait. I listen. I soak up her entire performance until she strums the last note on a cover of David Grey’s, This Year’s Love.

  No more lies, Halle.

  No more using.

  No more hurting you because I’m hurting too.

  I watch as she gracefully lifts her guitar from over her torso and rests it on a stand before turning to the crowd and giving a small, cute curtsy at their rapturous applause, their whistles and their calls for more.

  “Thanks, guys. You’ve been kind to me, but I’m going to take a quick break, and I’ll be back. Grab a drink, grab a guy, grab a girl-” she scrunches up her face and amends “-only if they are consenting to the grabbing, and I’ll see you back here in half an hour.”

  She quickly descends the stage and heads off to her dressing room. I count to ten to steady the beat of my heart and temper the shaking of my hands, before I follow her.

  “Sorry, it’s staff only in here,” she calls over her shoulder. She stands at the small sink in the far corner of the room dabbing at her face with a damp washcloth before running it down her neck and around the back to her nape.

  I stay silent and watch. My eyes devour every inch of tanned skin, and every fluid movement created by the curves of her body.

  She’s stunning, and she doesn’t even know it.

  “I said, it’s staff only.”

  Finally, she turns to face me and the slight irritation on her face at being interrupted fades into shock and then blankness.

  “Josh, what are you doing here?”

  I’m not here to play games, so I answer her honestly.

  “To see you.”

  Her face remains emotionless, and even though we don’t know each other well I know Halle enough to remember that she very openly wears her heart on her sleeve, so I’m hoping it’s just shock that has her standing before me like an inanimate statue. Because the thought of what passed between us being the cause for this cold, detached reaction would be like a punch to my already churning guts.

  “The song, ‘Sorry’ was that about us? About me?”

  I hadn’t planned on asking that question, but her non-reaction has thrown me. I expected her to tell me to get lost, or if I was really lucky, maybe I’d get a smile or even another slap. Anything would be better than the way she’s staring right through me.

  She clears her throat, blinks slowly, and I see my question finally register.

  “Yes,” she says quietly and simply. “I wrote it straight after you left.”

  This is better. A quiet reaction is better than none at all.

  “I meant it you know, my apology I mean,” I confess, hoping against hope that she didn’t think it all lies.

  “I know you did, but it doesn’t change anything. You’re still you, the man in love with a ghost, and I’m still me, the girl that has a closet full of them.”

  “There could be an us. Maybe together we can banish them. Exorcise them all, set them and us free.”

  She shakes her head sadly and dread pools in my stomach. I’ve already ruined any chance we have, and this is the part where she’s going to tell me to walk away.

  “Life isn’t that simple, Josh. You know that. When you start something as wrong as we did, you don’t get a do-over.”

  “Don’t say that. You feel this between us. I know you do.”

  My voice is all but a plea. I’m not willing to walk away from her until she tells me to go.

  “That’s another thing, Josh. Feelings are never simple either. We all crave what isn’t good for us. We all want to pig out on chocolate and avoid anything green. We all want to overindulge when it’s all the excess that will kill us. Emotions, feelings, wants and needs are indicators, not deciding factors. We can choose to follow them or ignore. We can choose what is healthy for us and what will harm us. I’m choosing, Josh, and for once in my life that choice is me.”

  There’s the girl I wanted to see. The passionate, feisty girl that stood on my doorstep my first day in Ibiza and dropped everything all over the floor at my feet.

  “Have you finished?” I ask as I stare at her, watching the quick rise and fall of her chest as she fights to catch her breath. I want more than anything to walk over and take her mouth with mine, but if I’ve learnt anything, I know she’s not ready for that, and I’m not either.

  She looks at me, her brow furrowing in confusion. I guess she thought that after her impassioned speech I’d give up and walk out. She’s wrong. With a soft nod of her head, she gives me everything I need to know. She’s telling me she wants to hear what I have to say.

  “I don’t know what’s happened in your life, Halle, but I want to know. I want to know everything about you. I want to know why you feel it’s only now that you’re putting yourself first and I want to know all about the ghosts that fill your closet.”

  She opens her mouth to interrupt, and I hold my hand up to still her.

  “Please, let me say this, and if your choice is the same, I’ll walk away.”

  A beat of silence follows and then another of her soft nods.

  “You have me at a disadvantage because you know the ghost that I carry inside. You know that just over a year ago I lost my wife.” I swallow, my throat tightening at my admission but I push through it and carry on because she needs to know everything. Her eyes soften at my admission, but I’m thankful she doesn’t offer me the socially expected sympathy.

  “What you may also know is that she died when my son was born, but there are many things you don’t know.”

 
I take a step forward and she doesn’t retreat or tell me to stop, so I take another and continue.

  “I haven’t shared my story with anyone. I haven’t shared her story with anyone, but I’m choosing, if you’ll let me, to share it with you.”

  Another step forward until I’m almost close enough to touch her.

  “I’m not going to lie, it’s ugly, but it begins with beauty. It’s also hard to admit, but something inside me wants to purge it and hopes that by the end you’ll accept my apology because you’ll see I’m not that man anymore, or I’m trying hard not to be.”

  One more step, and if I lifted my arm right now, I’d be able to cup her cheek or run my fingertips over her pink mouth.

  “I’m making a choice right now too. I’m choosing me, but in doing so, I’m hoping that choice will lead me to you.”

  “Josh,” her voice is barely a whisper, and my name is clogged with emotions she can’t express.

  “When I told you before that you’re not her I wasn’t trying to hurt you. You are not her, and I don’t want you to be. I’m standing before you right now, asking for another chance because you’re you. And I want to know everything about you. The good, the bad, the ugly and the beautiful. Because, Halle,” I whisper her name as I reach out to touch her face, unable to stop myself any longer. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”

  He looks at me like no man has ever looked at me before.

  Not as a toy to pass around between his friends, not as a quick fuck to forget about his dead wife, but as a man, standing before a woman that he can’t stop thinking about, and can’t stop wanting.

  “I have to get back on stage.”

  His hand drops from my cheek, and I miss his touch immediately.

  “Oh, uh, yeah. I guess you do. I’ll just…”

  “Wait for me?”

  He’d stepped back and was looking anywhere but me, but his head snaps up and his eyes lock with mine.

  “I owe you a coffee, maybe you could wait for my set to finish and I’ll shout you a cup? That is if you can stick around that late?”

  A blush fills his cheeks and I find it endearing, attractive and so appealing that I want to run my fingertips over it and feel the heat beneath. This grown man, with his suitcase full of issues, acts like a young boy asking his teen crush out on a date.

  “I’d like that,” he replies softly, almost shyly and then adds with a small smirk. “You owe me cake too.”

  I can’t help the laugh that slips free, and with a shake of my head I step forward and place my hand on his chest. The contact sends a ripple of warmth up my arm that continues to make its way over my entire body.

  “No, I think you owe me cake. I barely tasted the last slice.”

  He doesn’t laugh because his focus is on my hand resting on his shirt just above his heart. Feeling the moment change, I swiftly remove my touch and slip my hands into the deep hidden pockets of my dress.

  “I’ll see you in an hour or so?”

  He lifts his head and gives me another of those shy smiles, that combined with the way his dark-framed glasses highlight his eyes, has my heartbeat skipping and my breath catching in my throat.

  “I’ll be waiting.”

  I nod awkwardly and sidestep around him to the door.

  “You can wait here if you want,” I offer as I reach for the doorknob.

  “I’d rather listen to you sing,” he answers earnestly. “You were amazing out there tonight.”

  That weird heart-skipping thing happens again, and I need to get out of this room before my ability to sing tonight leaves me along with the full use of my voice.

  I croak out a “thanks” and swiftly exit the dressing room, unable to wait for him to follow just in case he touches me again.

  The crowd cheers when they notice me walking towards the stage, and I suck in a deep, steadying breath, then take the few remaining steps to my place, front and centre. My eyes sweep the side of the room to follow him as he exits through the dressing room door, and then stands off to the side with his back against the wall and his stare focused solely on me.

  My set list rests at my feet, and I look down despite knowing the next song on the sheet, the one I intended on opening with for the second half. Instead of beginning with the melancholy cover, I pick up my guitar, draw the strap over my head, close my eyes, and strum the opening chords to Stop Crying Your Heart Out by Oasis – a song I’ve never before played for others.

  The crowd sings along as I put my twist on the hugely popular song, but I’m singing it for him. It’s all for him, to let him know I’m ready for change, I’m ready for hope, I’m willing to choose and I’m ready to stop living in the past.

  I’m ready to stop the silent tears of my heart.

  The hour disappears in a heartbeat, and although I never look his way again after my opening song, I always know where he is. I can feel him staring at me. I can feel him drinking in everything I’m telling him through every word that passes my lips. This knowledge fills me and emboldens me and by the time I finish my last song of the night, I’m ready to let him in, but I’m also confident that I’m stronger now. What happened between us made me stronger, and I won’t allow things to be the way they were before. I will not be falling into his bed or his arms.

  “Thanks, Aurora. I hope you enjoyed your evening and I hope that I’ll get to sing for you again sometime. In fact, if you’re here the same time next week, I’ll be sharing the stage with a couple of new bands. We’d love to see you all. Goodnight and sweet dreams.”

  I exit the stage and head straight for the dressing room. I learnt early on that by this time of the night some of the patrons can get a little over-friendly, so I’d much rather seem aloof and disappear, than fight off numerous wandering hands and have to call for security.

  As I’m washing my face, I smile at my reflection and count the seconds in my head. He’s sure to follow me in here.

  He doesn’t.

  I pack up my stuff and stow away my performance guitar, still counting in my head.

  One eighty-three, one eighty-four, one eighty-five…

  I’m still alone.

  Nerves begin to build in my belly. What if I was wrong and he didn’t stay? What if I only felt him watching me because I wished it to be true?

  With a resigned sigh, I grab my messenger bag, tuck the loose strands from my braid behind my ear and walk out of the room with the decision made to tell Rach that I’m heading home.

  I step out into the still bustling club, where the atmosphere is now chilled and relaxed. All the clubbers have gone from dancing the night away in the adjoining club, Accede, to listening to me for a few hours, to now waiting for the sun to rise over Aurora’s balcony, highlighting the impressive and breath-taking vista beyond. I realise how lucky I am that I get to sing at the top venue on the island and to have signed as a permanent artist is unreal and everything I never thought I’d achieve.

  I take a few steps towards the bar and see him. He’s waiting for me with a large white box balanced on one hand and what looks like a thermos flask in the other.

  “Coffee,” he says as he holds up the flask. “And cake.” He motions with a nod of his head to the box in his other hand.

  I don’t bother to hide the smile that is part relief and part amused shock.

  “Where on earth did you get those from?”

  He shrugs and the box tips slightly on his outstretched palm.

  “It helps to have your brother as the owner. The guys in the kitchen helped me out. I thought maybe we could have our coffee and cake on the beach, catch the sunrise together?”

  Wow.

  He chuckles slightly, and I have to wonder if I said something funny.

  “I said that out loud, didn’t I?”

  He smiles, and it’s a grin so big that dimples I never knew he had, pop out on both cheeks.

  “No, you didn’t say it, you mouthed it dramatically.”

  I can feel the heat rising up my neck and painting
my cheeks.

  “Well, it’s impressive,” I offer honestly, figuring there’s no need to hide my feelings when he can see them on my face. Rach is right. I’m crap at hiding how I feel.

  “You wanna take this from me before we’re forced to eat the cake off the floor?” He motions to the box, and I rush forward to take it from him.

  “Is this a whole cake?” I ask, feeling the heavy weight of the box in my hands.

  “Yeah, I figured with the way you scarfed down the last one I’d make sure to have enough to sate your impressive appetite.”

  “Har, har, you’re hysterical,” I mumble with mock affront. “Take me to the beach before I change my mind.”

  “Yes, Ma’am,” he teases with a sweep of his hand, motioning for me to take the lead.

  As I walk past him, I remember where I was going before I spotted him standing there looking so adorable with his coffee date goodies.

  “Oh, I just need to let Rachel know that I’m leaving or she’ll worry.”

  “I already told her.”

  “You what? What did she say?”

  “You want the word for word rundown or the Cliff Notes version?”

  I raise my eyebrows imagining what my best friend said, and he laughs lightly before replying.

  “Well, she spotted me in the kitchen, so I told her my plans, and the short version of the rant went something like: ‘You fuck around with my friend’s feelings again, and you will die a painful and horrible death.’”

  “Oh, no, she didn’t?” I ask in horror despite knowing that she probably did.

  “Oh, yes she did,” he replies in a mock pantomime voice.

  “I’m so sorry,” I rush out, worried that my friend overstepped the line between her and our boss’s brother, even though she was just trying to protect me.

  “Don’t be,” he answers. “She had a right to say what she did. I hurt you, and she doesn’t want that to happen again.”

  He doesn’t seem annoyed by Rachel’s interference. He seems happy with it, as if the thought of someone looking out for me pleases him.

  We begin to walk side by side to the rear exit, the one that leads directly down to the beach. It’s closed to customers as security need to monitor who comes in and out of the club, but staff can use their key codes to access the direct path down towards the water.