I’m not fast enough to avoid Luc’s soft, ‘Could have fooled me.’
CHAPTER
7
Cos I remember, I remember what’s done. And I’ll remember, I’ll remember the fun. With you.
‘Remember’—GRAY
The intention was for us all to help with dinner, but one by one the others drift towards the far end of the huge open plan kitchen and living area. Beyond the plush leather recliners, Finn has found a games machine and hooked it up to the TV that stretches across half the wall.
Soon, the sounds of machine-gun fire and people taking their last gurgling breath punctuate Gray’s latest album. I give up on trying to enjoy the music and switch off my phone before returning to my chopping board. I don’t abandon Luc, partly because it doesn’t seem fair to sit and play video games while he cooks and partly because I’m in no mood to watch people die. Even if those people are poorly animated soldiers on a suicide mission.
In return, he gives me simple tasks like rinsing the salad leaves, and I almost catch one of his rare smiles.
I’m about to ask if I can chop something else when Luc slides his phone across the bench with his elbow. ‘Maybe we could try some real music. And by that I mean a band, rather than a colour.’
I clamp my mouth shut against an automatic defence of Gray and catch Luc watching me. His usual glare is missing and there’s something like uncertainty in his eyes.
‘Are you actually making a joke?’ I ask.
‘Maybe,’ he replies. ‘Someone told me I should have more fun.’
I’m not sure that’s exactly what I said, but I can’t help being pleased. It’s almost an apology for the way he shut me down earlier. I know how hard even almost apologies can be.
I fold my arms and pretend to consider. ‘No colours, huh?’
‘That’s my only condition.’
I forget for a moment that I turned off the music because of the noise from the TV. This is too good an opportunity to pass up. Feeling his eyes on me, I open up his playlists and let my curiosity lead me.
Heat flushes my skin. Looking at someone’s playlist is a bit like looking into their mind. Luc’s is . . . eclectic. It’s dominated by English punk bands, but it’s the selection of high-energy classic house tracks that draws me. ‘I have some of these.’
‘You sound surprised.’
‘I didn’t think . . .’ I don’t know how to say it without sounding as though I don’t like him.
Luc doesn’t have the same problem. ‘That we’d have anything in common?’
‘Pretty much. What got you into house music?’
He shrugs. ‘Well, there was this hot girl and she had a thing for house music . . .’
I look away. ‘Just when I think you’re not a completely lost cause, you have to go and ruin everything.’
A hand waves at the edge of my vision and I lift my head.
He’s not smiling, but there’s amusement on his face, and for a change he’s not laughing at me. ‘Another of those joke attempts,’ he says.
I wince. ‘You might have to work on it.’
‘Noted.’
‘So,’ I lean back against the bench, ‘now I know all your secrets.’
He focuses on the carrot. Chop. Chop. Chop. The knife moves fast, easily, in the kind of rhythm that comes from long practice. ‘You’re going to become Australia’s first Builder Chef.’
He frowns. ‘I’m confused.’
‘You like architecture and cooking. I like reality shows about building and cooking. A lot. And my considerable viewing suggests there’s a market that’s just waiting for a guy like you. You could combine your expertise and be the first to win all the reality shows at once.’
His mouth softens. It’s almost a smile, and I feel stupidly proud.
He shakes his head. ‘I’m not sure that’s going to happen.’
‘But you do like to cook?’
‘It’s a great creative outlet,’ he says.
He doesn’t sound insincere so much as . . . forced. I’m trying to figure out why he’d feel the need to lie. I mean, I’m not going to get annoyed if he admits he hates cooking . . . unless he storms out and leaves me to it. Because love it or hate it, he clearly knows what he’s doing in the kitchen.
‘Need any help?’ calls Jolie, shutting down her iPad.
Luc flashes her a grin. The sight of it dries my mouth and I’m not even in the firing line. ‘Leave it to me,’ he says. ‘We don’t need your special brand of kitchen disaster in this place.’
‘Hey,’ says Finn. Jolie looks his way and he tosses her a controller. ‘Now you’ve got no excuse not to take me on.’
‘Please,’ groans Cass, rolling her eyes and grabbing her phone. ‘Give me a puzzle and I’ll nail it, but this shooting stuff . . .’
Jolie does a mock yawn, like she’s going to make up something about needing to sleep rather than play, but then she crosses her legs underneath her and nods. ‘You’ll regret this, Finny-my-boy.’
Despite the tough talk, Jolie is so sweet and sunshiny I figure she’ll put in a token effort and then return to her online friends, but there’s a fighter underneath those rainbows. It takes less than a minute for her to beat Finn.
‘Rematch,’ Finn insists.
I’m not the only one watching Jolie. Deep lines crease Luc’s forehead as he studies his sister. He exhales like it’s all he can do to stay upright beneath the invisible weight he’s carrying on his shoulders.
Oblivious, Jolie squeals with laughter as her character loses an arm and ridiculous blood sprays over the screen. Caught up in Luc, I miss who wins the second battle, but then they’re playing as a team and one of them has turned up the volume so loud that it’s hard to stop myself flinching at the sound of gunfire.
Luc sees. ‘Turn it down a bit,’ he calls. ‘I’m trying to educate Zoey about real music.’
‘You mean Gray,’ replies Jolie without taking her eyes off the screen. But she turns it down.
‘Anything but Gray.’
I scroll through his phone and bring up another house track. Its rolling beats and happy vocals are a perfect fit for summer.
We fall back into the easy rhythm of him doing most of the prep and me trying to help, when I don’t get caught up in the music. It’s like the others disappear, but what should be awkward isn’t.
I relax enough to sway along, losing myself in the lyrics.
I’m disturbed by a strange beeping.
When I open my eyes, Luc is frozen by the fridge. The door is wide open, explaining the beeping, and he’s watching me.
‘When you were on stage, it was hard to look anywhere else.’
His words are so soft I can’t be sure I heard right. Did he really just compliment me? ‘Thanks, I think.’
He closes the fridge. ‘You’re better than good.’
Heat rises in my cheeks. ‘There’s something about getting lost in the music . . . I missed it this year.’
‘You didn’t perform?’
‘No. I wasn’t really . . .’ I can’t bring myself to explain. I’m tired of admitting that I couldn’t handle what happened to Dan. I’m beginning to think I can never make up for everything I messed up.
I don’t know if Luc senses my pain, but he jerks his head at the big pot near the sink. ‘Could you fill that up with water and put it on the stove?’
I exhale. ‘Sure.’
Once the pot is on to boil I pick up a spoon resting against the edge of the pan where the sauce is simmering. The golden, creamy mixture with long slivers of bacon smells as good as it looks. I breathe in the aroma as I give it a stir.
‘Did I say you could do that?’
I drop the spoon at Luc’s question and it sinks into the sauce. His mouth curves as I try to fish it back out, half-cooking my fingertips in the process. ‘I thought you were busy with the salad.’
‘All done. And the garlic bread is ready to go in the oven once the pasta is on the boil.’
‘Aren
’t you organised?’ I’m still trying to get the stupid spoon out. I should have known I’d get sprung.
Luc’s crossing the kitchen—whether to help or tell me off, I’m not sure—when I finally manage to grab it. I tap it on the edge of the pan and then lick it before putting it in the dishwasher. It’s all creamy goodness and there’s a hint of some herb and crunchy bacon.
I groan. ‘That is freaking awesome.’
His gaze flicks to my lips.
I lick them self-consciously, worried that there’s sauce all over my mouth.
He looks away. ‘I’m glad you like it.’
‘You must love to cook.’ I don’t know why I’m pressing. His reaction to my comment earlier was a bit odd, and I can’t resist probing. I must want to piss him off.
Maybe because it’s safer for my equilibrium if he’s annoyed with me.
He glances at his sister and then sighs. ‘Jolie thinks I really like it.’ His voice is low, and I have to lean closer to hear.
He looks weary, rather than pissed off, and suddenly I wish I’d sided with Cass back in the van, so he wouldn’t have had to cook. Except he’s not the kind of guy who’s afraid to speak his mind, and he wanted to eat in. ‘You let her think that. Why?’
He pushes at his messy hair and it falls right back across his forehead. ‘My dad works really late, and letting her think I enjoy it means she lets me do the cooking. You might have noticed we’re pretty protective of her. Thanks to . . . Dad, she’s been sheltered her whole life.’
I don’t dare make any sudden movements. It’s like back at the ruins. Seeing this other side to Luc makes it hard to remember why I want Finn. There’s so much to know, beyond the grumpiness and the cutting edges. It’s appealing and scary all at the same time.
Dark and complicated is not what I’m looking for in a guy. Not that he’s done anything to suggest he’s noticed the hum in the air when we’re together.
‘What about your mum?’
His lips press together.
I’ve blown it. But then he softens. ‘She’s not around. It’s just us and Dad.’
I bite my lip. ‘Did she . . . pass away?’
‘No.’ He hesitates, and I think he’s going to stop there, but then he continues. ‘All too hard apparently.’
What do I say to that? What kind of person leaves their family? I mean, she must have had reasons, but I can’t imagine what they were.
I wait too long and he fills the silence with a shrug and by turning up the volume on his phone. ‘It’s fine,’ he says. ‘It was forever ago and we’re doing just fine without her.’
My chance to speak is gone. But I can’t get the image of Luc, younger than he is now, maybe with even messier hair, pretending to like cooking so his little sister doesn’t have to. He’s like a Rubik’s cube, and while I can’t solve the puzzle, it changes with every twist and turn.
* * *
An hour later, with our stomachs full of delicious pasta and no room for dessert, we all help to clear away the dinner dishes.
As Cass heads off to use the bathroom, I carry one last load to the dishwasher and accidentally knock the bag I brought back from the supermarket. The basketball rolls out. I pick it up and bounce it at Finn’s feet. ‘There’s a court out the back. Want to play?’
He hesitates.
‘Unless you’re afraid?’ I tease.
Finn glances at the door through which Cass left the room.
‘How about we play two on two?’
I turn towards Luc, who’s looking between me and Finn, waiting for a response to his question.
‘Cass probably won’t play,’ I say quickly. I don’t want anyone spoiling my chance to be alone with Finn. I need to remind him how much fun we used to have together.
‘Yes, I will,’ she says.
Something like guilt stabs through me. I thought she’d gone to the bathroom.
‘Great.’ If my agreement sounds forced, no-one comments on it.
We swap our thongs for sneakers and Jolie waves us out. ‘I need to call Dad anyway,’ she says.
‘Don’t forget to say hi from me,’ Luc says.
She laughs although he was clearly being sarcastic. ‘I’ll send him your love and tell him what a great job you’re doing being a nanna.’ She turns to me. ‘I should warn you, Luc used to play. He’s pretty good.’
Within about five minutes, Luc and I are three points up and I’m wondering why he doesn’t play anymore. Finn might as well be the only one playing on the other team. We have the ball again. Luc passes and I’m already moving towards the hoop. I take the ball out of the air, shoot and score.
‘High-five, partner,’ says Luc.
His hand is firm against mine. The brief contact of the high-five is enough to make my breath hitch.
Spinning away, I throw the ball at Finn. ‘Your ball.’
He jerks his head at Cass, and age-old signal to move. I don’t need to look over my shoulder to know she’s not taking the hint.
Luc fakes to grab the ball and Finn bounces it and turns away. Luc’s reach on the block is half-hearted and Finn gets past.
‘Move,’ Finn shouts.
Cass can’t ignore him this time. She groans and works up to a jog, heading towards the hoop. I let her go, but the next second she’s down, and howling. She’s clutching at her ankle like she’s broken it.
Finn and I drop to the ground beside her and Luc hovers nearby.
‘What’s wrong?’ I ask.
She pulls herself together enough to sob out, ‘I think I twisted something.’
‘Let me see,’ says Finn. He places his hands over hers and prises them apart. He’s gentle, but insistent. This Finn is the one I miss. Caring and kind.
Only none of it is directed at me.
Because I’m not looking at her ankle, I see the hint of satisfaction in Cass’s face as she blinks away tears and bites her lip. She’d much prefer to be the centre of attention than to play ball.
It’s not that I think she fell deliberately, or that her ankle isn’t sore, but I reckon if someone said Gray himself had shown up to perform an intimate gig two blocks over, she’d be on her feet in a heartbeat.
‘Ouch,’ she whimpers. ‘Sorry everyone, I think I’m out of the game.’
‘I saw a first-aid kit in the van,’ Luc says. ‘Do you want me to get it? It probably has an instant ice pack.’
Finn sighs. ‘No, I’ll get it.’
He helps Cass inside, his arm supporting her weight. I’d like to think he glances back longingly, but I know that’s probably wishful thinking. Luc is still holding the ball and my hands drop uselessly to my sides. It was fun while it lasted—and not because of Finn.
I almost ask Luc to play on, but instead I take a step towards the house. ‘I guess we should go in.’
He rolls his shoulders. ‘I don’t think so. Unless you’re done? Happy to call myself the winner.’
‘We haven’t even played.’
‘But I win by default if you give up. I didn’t figure you were the type to wimp out on a challenge.’
I have been for a while, and I haven’t liked it much. I push myself off the bench and step out onto the court. ‘I didn’t say that.’
He tosses me the ball. It arcs high into the clear dark sky, and the smack of it hitting my hands echoes in the night. ‘Game on.’
We play. I don’t know if this place even has neighbours, but if it does, they’re far enough away that we might as well be playing ball on an island.
Each breath comes out harsh, scraping my lungs as my chest heaves. Sweat cools my heated skin and I shoot. The ball thuds against the backboard, spins once around the edge of the ring and then drops through the net. Swish.
My love for music took my focus from playing ball not long after I hit high school, but our board at home above the garage still took a hammering. I played by myself when I needed to think, and with Dan when he’d come by and dare me in that way I couldn’t refuse. Despite him being bigger and st
ronger and better, I’d line up to lose every time, like a sucker.
We didn’t do deep and meaningfuls much, but we played one-on-one whenever we needed to, and now that he’s gone I’m starting to realise it was kind of the same thing. Caught up in my memories, I completely miss Luc’s drive to the board and easy score.
‘You’ll have to do better than that,’ he calls. There’s a grin in his voice and I can’t help smiling back.
‘Just letting you get comfortable.’
He throws the ball so it bounces into my hands. ‘Oh, I’m comfortable.’
It’s on.
I play hard, using all the tricks I learned from Dan. My elbow into his ribs buys me a second, and I land the shot.
But he replies with ease. His body’s hard and I bounce off rather than change his path when I go for the block. Luc’s good, better than me, and he’s not letting me have an easy basket.
Sweat drips into my eyes and I tie my hair back and go again. This is how I like to play.
I spin to get the angle but he’s there, big and sweating. This isn’t like any game I’ve played before. It’s impossible not to be aware of him. With every gasp for air I catch Luc’s particular scent of sea and sun and something sweet. Raw vanilla? Wondering about it gets me scored against again.
Focus, Zoey.
I shake my head to clear it, then lift the ball above my head. As I raise my arms, my damp sundress clings to my skin.
He’s looking. Maybe I’m not the only one who can be distracted. I hold the ball in one hand and pull the material away from my body with the other. The colour in his cheeks deepens.
Good.
I take the chance and shoot. Point to me.
‘You’re not playing fair,’ he mutters.
I hold out my hands and look around the empty court. ‘Complain to the ref, my friend.’
My triumph is short-lived. He scores another two points in a row.
Point after point. We play until I lose count of the score and I’m doubled over, hands on my knees. ‘Isn’t there some kind of mercy rule?’
‘You quitting?’ he teases. But he’s breathing hard too.
‘I know when I’m beaten.’
‘I’m happy to call it a draw.’
The Last Days of Us Page 7
