Deepest Blues

by Heidi Hutchinson

  “Shane told you just before we left tonight.” Mike traced the scar again as it puckered slightly with her frown. “What can I say to convince you to spend that vacation hanging out with me and letting me prove how brave you are? Then maybe I can answer all the questions you have.”

  Clarke turned her frown to the ceiling, considering his request. “Will you take me to get a tattoo?”

  “If that's what you want.”

  She sighed heavily and then rolled back towards him again. Her hand spread over the cornflower's star-burst shape and she studied it closely. “Will you play with my hair again, until I fall asleep?”

  Mike immediately sank his fingers into her hair. He had no problem with that request. Her eyelids started to blink more slowly and in a few minutes she was sleeping, her hand still over his heart. He stroked her hair for a little while longer, wanting to linger as long as possible, but feeling close to falling asleep himself.

  “Goodnight, Lauren.” He kissed her temple softly before slowly climbing out of the bed. As he left the room, he closed the door behind him.

  He flopped himself onto the sofa and Harrison glanced over, taking in his half-dressed appearance.

  “She sleeping?”

  “Yeah, I'll take the couch if that's cool with you.” Mike leaned his head back and pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger.

  “Is she gonna be around for awhile?” Harrison asked curiously.

  “We'll see. She's pretty flighty.” And she made him think of things he had purposefully not thought about in awhile. But maybe it was time to start talking about those things again. “I'm gonna take off early in the morning. Can you cover for me if she wakes up before I get back?”

  “Of course. You're going to...?” Harrison lifted his chin like that signaled the words he didn't say.

  Kid gloves.

  Still. Three years of that shit. It was starting to wear thin.

  “Yeah.”

  Mike set his alarm on his phone as Harrison shut off the TV. He stretched out on the sofa. It wasn't long enough to accommodate his length, but it would do. He was still feeling overly warm, and the breeze coming through the open patio door felt nice on his bare chest.

  He reached up to touch the place where Clarke had rested her hand. It was cooler than the rest of him, as if the simple contact had refreshed and re-hydrated his skin. He wondered if it were possible to drink her in and permanently heal the cracked and parched landscape of his insides.

  He closed his eyes tightly.

  Those were exactly the thoughts he shouldn't be having.

  Chapter 5

  The Heart

  Clarke squinted against the sunlight pouring in the window and looked around rapidly without moving her head.

  Still disoriented, she sat up slowly, her head protesting every inch of the way. The room was completely unfamiliar and she feared she'd done something stupid and had gone home with a stranger from the bar. Greta wouldn't have let her do that, right?

  The fuzzy memories started to take shape slowly.

  Greta had left with Shane. With Shane?!

  And Clarke had gotten a ride from Harrison and Mike.

  Just like that, the rest of the night came screaming back to her. Getting sick in the bathroom, Mike taking care of her, their whispered conversation in his bed. She looked down at the empty space next to her. He must have left after she had passed out.

  She got up and slowly pulled the door open, looking up and down the hall. Hearing movement in the kitchen, she went that way. Harrison was making what smelled like bacon and she spied a full pot of coffee on the counter.

  “Hey,” she squeaked, her voice still raw from the night before.

  Harrison turned around and flashed his charming smile. “You feeling up to eating?” He lifted up the frying pan.

  “Actually, yeah.” Clarke frowned with confusion. She wasn't as sick as she should have been. Maybe she'd puked it all out last night. She slid onto a stool at the bar and rested both elbows on the ledge.

  Harrison set a plate in front of her with eggs and added a few slices of bacon. “Are you a coffee drinker?” He opened the cupboard door and took out a mug. Clarke nodded with her mouth full of bacon. He poured her a cup and set in down in front of her.

  “I washed your clothes this morning. They should be dry by now. If you want to take a shower here, that's perfectly fine.”

  “Thanks, Harry.” Clarke wanted to ask where Mike was, but didn't want to seem too obvious. Obvious about what? We're just friends, it's not like anything happened last night. Except something did happen. Something always happened when they were together. And she couldn't explain it, let alone understand it. But it gained strength with every new interaction.

  “Mike had to run an errand this morning, but he should be back in about an hour. He wanted me to ask you to stick around. Said something about you already agreeing to it?” Harrison's dark eyes twinkled and he suddenly looked so much like his sister despite the different eye color.

  “I should probably get home for something more comfortable to wear. The clothes I wore last night aren't exactly proper for 'hanging out.'” She rolled her eyes. She'd been in a clingy, sequined green tank and black skinny jeans.

  “Mike said you could wear anything of his.” Harrison busied himself getting his own cup of coffee and avoided looking directly at her.

  Clarke watched him closely. “That's really nice of him.”

  Harrison didn't answer, but instead focused on stirring his sugar into his coffee. He leaned against the counter, stirring ever so slowly before looking up at Clarke.

  “How often do you guys go out and party like that?” His question wasn't a surprise to Clarke, she remembered how mad he'd been at Greta the night before. Which reminded her, she needed to text Greta and see how things went last night.

  “We don't. Really.” Clarke cradled her mug in her hands and rolled her eyes at herself. “We have a drink usually, maybe two. Last night was a once in a lifetime thing.”

  “Good.” Harrison nodded in approval. “Because if it happens again, we're going to have to have a more serious talk.”

  Clarke frowned. “No offense, Harry, but you try too hard to parent Greta.”

  “I'm not worried about her.” He narrowed his eyes at her and she felt her frown deepen. They stared at each other in silence for a couple of minutes. Clarke didn't know what to say or how to respond. Too many ideas were battling to be front and center.

  “All I'm saying,” Harrison continued slowly, “all I'm willing to say at this point, is that Mike is one of my brothers. If I think you're endangering his sobriety, I have no problem being the asshole in that scenario.”

  Clarke felt her lips part slightly. She had been so judgmental of Mike's past, but had completely disregarded how being drunk around him might affect him.

  “I appreciate the warning.” She tried to smile but wasn't sure if she succeeded. “I don't want to do anything to screw his life up.” As soon as she said the words, she knew how true they were. She had no idea why she felt, and felt deeply, the need to protect Mike.

  Harrison cracked a smile at her words. “I believe you. Now, go get cleaned up because he'll be back soon and he'll take you out looking like that if you're not careful.”

  Clarke smiled thankfully and retreated to Mike's room to search for wearable clothes. Digging through his drawers, she found a faded pair of Levi's that might fit her if she rolled the waist down a couple of times and a seriously old Nirvana t-shirt. She debated on whether to go commando or steal a pair of his boxer briefs. Was it too presumptuous to take his underwear? Probably, but Clarke couldn't stand the thought that his too-big pants would fall down on her and the world would get a shot of her fanny. She decided to take the underwear and buy him a new package when she had an opportunity.

  Taking a shower in a place where only guys lived meant that her supplies were limited as to what she could clean herself up with. The soap was Old Spice, unfor
tunately, but the shampoo was actually pretty high-end salon quality stuff. Had to be Harrison's. If she could find her purse, she could remedy her manly smell. She had a small travel bottle of lotion that she carried with her.

  She found a pick, also probably Harrison's, and combed out her wet hair, pulling her long bangs forward to cover her forehead.

  A fuzzy memory from last night crossed her thoughts and she touched the scar that stretched out below her hairline. A shiver ran through her, a combination of Mike knowing about it and the reason behind its existence.

  He confused her like no other, but she couldn't stop the feeling of excitement that had settled in her stomach at being able to spend more time with him. Maybe she'd puked something out, because her normal closed-off persona was not showing up for duty today.

  Today, she felt like Clarke. Regular, no-need-to-be-overly-protective-of-herself Clarke.

  Leaving her hair to air dry, she looked at her make-up free face in the mirror. She wished she had some mascara or lip gloss or something, but that was not to be. Oh well, if Mike wanted to hang out with her, this was who she was.

  She came out into the living room just as Mike opened the front door. He caught sight of her instantly and she held her arms out to the sides for him to inspect. His gaze went from her eyes to her feet and back again and Clarke felt her face heat up slightly.

  “My clothes have never looked so good.” Mike's crooked grin was exactly what she had been hoping for.

  “I still have a little bit of a weird stomach, but I'm ready if you are.” She sounded confident even though she wasn't quite feeling it.

  “Have you ever been to a recording studio?”

  Clarke felt an eyebrow go up. “No, but I really hope that changes soon.”

  He tilted his head towards the door. “C'mon, Harrison is waiting in the car.” He held the door open for her as she passed through. “Oh, and your purse is in the car too, I charged your phone for you while I was out this morning so you can contact your bestie.”

  Clarke smiled back at him widely. “Yeah, I need to check on her and make sure she and Shane are still just friends.” They would be, Clarke was just messing around. Greta had done this enough times for Clarke to know that the only one who would be getting their heart broken would be Shane. But Greta was so sweet about it that Shane would probably end up thanking her by the time it was all over with.

  ***

  Clarke: How you feel this a.m.? Was Shane a gentleman?

  Greta: I fell asleep on the couch, woke up and he'd gone to work. Home now. Where are you?

  Clarke: Stayed with Harry and Mike. Going to the recording studio.

  Greta: Jealous!

  Clarke: You should join us

  Greta: Can't. Have to work soon. Then I have to hit the weights.

  Clarke: I'll be home tonight, we'll talk.

  Oh, and I'm wearing Mike's underwear but it's not what you think

  Greta: Bahahahaha! Can't wait for that explanation ;)

  ***

  At first, Clarke thought they were playing a joke on her.

  The building they pulled up to looked abandoned. The roof sagged on one side and the outside was in complete disrepair. A used and possibly never changed ashtray stood next to the front door, ancient cigarette butts heaped on top. That is definitely a fire hazard.

  Mike slipped his hand through hers and pulled her into the decrepit building. She tried not to read too much into that small gesture. But she knew she liked it.

  The lobby was dark in comparison to the bright sunlight and it took a second for her eyes to adjust. A middle-aged woman sat behind a desk, talking on the phone. She waved at them and Harrison proceeded down a narrow hallway lined with framed albums. As crummy as the studio may have appeared, it was obvious a lot of hit records were made here.

  They came to the engineering booth and Harrison shook hands with an older gentleman with a tiny pot belly and suspenders. Clarke wasn't sure why she noticed the suspenders, maybe because they were purple while the rest of his clothing was varied shades of beige.

  Mike stepped forward to shake his hand as well, but Clarke shied back. “Nicky, this is my friend Clarke. She's stuck with us today, so I hope it's okay if she hangs around a bit.”

  The man they called Nicky held out his hand and Clarke shook it with a small smile.

  “Pleased to meet you, darlin',” he greeted her warmly. “There's snacks across the hall and Tessa can send one of the boys out for lunch if you get hungry.”

  Clarke nodded mutely and gravitated to the long leather couch against the back wall that faced the soundboard and a large window where she could see a couple more people setting up instruments. The couch had seen better days, probably sometime in the early seventies, but it was comfortable and she started to relax the longer she sat there. People came in and out, instruments got tuned, and Mike told a lot of jokes that made Nicky laugh heartily.

  Mike caught her eye and crashed onto the sofa next to her.

  “Having fun?” His pale blue eyes twinkled and she couldn't remember seeing him so happy and relaxed. At least, not since he'd arrived in California.

  “Yeah, this is all really cool,” she answered honestly. “I had no idea it took this many people to make an album.”

  “Well actually, they're just here to set up.” Mike pointed to some of the techs shuffling around the switchboard. “Harrison and I are producing it ourselves so pretty soon most of these people will clear out of here and it'll just be us. Nicky will hang around, but he'll be in and out. The bass player is a guy who plays in a band that opened for us a few years ago. His name is Tad and he can be a flirt, so watch yourself.”

  Clarke rolled her eyes and Mike chuckled as he continued, “We'll take turns recording our sections and then playing it all together. We only have a little bit left, we've already done most of the work. But there's a final song we want to touch-up and then I have one I've been working on that I wanted the guys' opinion on.”

  “This might be a stupid question, but... who's gonna sing?” Clarke asked quizzically.

  “Me.” He grinned at her reaction. “What? You think drummers can't sing?”

  “That's not...” Clarke could feel her cheeks heating up and she looked away.

  “I know, I'm not good-looking enough to be a decent front man like Luke Casey, but I got the pipes.”

  He chuckled at her discomfort and leaned into her face to whisper quietly, “This is my favorite part of the day, look at Harrison.”

  Clarke's eyes flashed up to the large window to see Harrison looking at his reflection in it. He was facing her but clearly not looking at her. He ran his fingers through his thick wavy hair a few times, moving certain pieces around and then checking himself over again.

  “Is he primping?” Clarke tried to hold back her smile, but she lost it when Mike did. He turned his face into her, pressing his forehead to her shoulder and choking on his laughter.

  “Hey! What are you two laughing at?” Harrison called at them though the window, rapping at it with his knuckles, and Clarke covered her mouth with her hand.

  “I better get to work.” Mike stood up and bit his bottom lip. “You should count how many times he fixes his hair between takes. Do it for me, I've always wanted to know.”

  “You got it.” Clarke snickered and reached for a pen on the nearby end table. She shook her head as she marked a singular line on the side of her thumb with the ballpoint pen.

  ***

  Mike took a long drink off of his water bottle then screwed the lid back on. He shifted a little on the stool and cleared his throat.

  “You wanna take a break, Osborn?” Nicky's voice came through the speaker.

  Mike nodded before standing up and stretching a bit.

  The buzz from being in a studio was singular. Add to that the feeling of recording music he had written himself, and Mike was having a really fantastic day.

  He made his way back into the outer room where Clarke was still sitting o
n the leather sofa. She gave him a smile and he turned his back to her, flopped down on the sofa and rested his head in her lap, kicking his feet over the armrest at the far end.

  She looked down at him with a startled gaze even as one of her hands immediately went to the top of his head while the other rested lightly on his shoulder. He closed his eyes and sighed.

  “I'm gonna see if there's any sandwiches left,” Harrison said, and Mike felt him brush past them as he moved toward the door.

  “Grab one for me if they do,” Mike called out. Harrison grunted in response.

  “Are you getting tired?” Clarke asked, her fingers languidly drifting over his hairline.

  “Mm.” He took her hand from his shoulder and moved it to his chest. His eyes opened halfway to look at her fingers. He ran his own fingers over the lines and planes of her hand, turning it over and studying it carefully.

  It was so much smaller than his, but not so small as to be dainty. No nail polish. Her nails were filed down and kept short. No jewelry even. Her hands had nothing remarkable about them at all. Maybe that's what made them so remarkable.

  “Do you ever wear a watch?” he asked. Ilsa had a different watch for every outfit she owned. Some of them cost more than his car.

  That was a weird memory to access.

  “If the occasion calls for it.”

  Her voice. Mm, Mike could listen to that voice for hours. He closed his eyes again and clasped her hand in both of his, pressing it to his chest. He was being too familiar, he knew it. But he couldn't stop. If only there were a way for her to know all of it. The whole of the truth, without freaking her out.

  Her soft scent overcame the musty aroma of the sound booth and he inhaled slowly, deeply. It wasn't overpowering, something floral and understated. He had picked up on it several times over the past week, but hadn't gotten close enough to be sure it was her. When she'd applied some lotion in the car, he knew it was her.

  Clarke was comfort incarnate. Her smooth voice, her soothing touch, her soft smile. Mike slid further into the depth of her peaceful nature.