A short grunt in response as he rips open another envelope.
I sigh and pick up two letters from my unopened pile. The top envelope is messily written in black biro. I tear it open and start reading:
‘Evie,
Thank you for the heartfelt performance Sunday night. You really did my words justice.’
What?
No. No. It can’t be…
I force my eyes open and read on:
‘In case you’re wondering, I’m going well in here, so well that I might be out a month early. You won’t have to miss me anymore. Because I know you do. You wouldn’t have written that song otherwise. You cried over me, Evie. In front of millions of people. You’re sorry how it ended between us. Well, so am I.
Don’t fret. I will always find you, Evangeline, and I never break a promise.
J.D.’
No. No. No!
I feel tears forming, but I push them down. Nobody can know, not Aaron, not anyone. I look down to the initials again. I used to think the J.D. was endearing. Now all I see is the kind of ugly it represents—one Jeremy Dawson.
I’m about to screw up the insidious note but I turn the letter face down. I need a happiness boost quick fast so I move to the next envelope, which is typed and half ripped from earlier. I begin unfolding the letter, praying that it’s as sweet and funny as Macie’s. I unfold the last corner and see the running red ink: “I WILL ALWAYS FIND YOU.”
Jeremy.
Jeremy, the sick bastard.
I’m going to be sick. I can feel it churning in my stomach, rising upwards. I snatch Abigail from my shoulder and almost throw her into Aaron’s arms. He grunts and glares up at me, but I don’t wait around—I run to the bin beside the office door and expel my entire lunch into the garbage bag. Groans and the odd dry-retch sound from the room behind me, but I’m too emotionally and physically spent to care. Stomach empty, I drop to my knees and hang my head.
“Hey, Eve.” Emma brushes the hair from my mouth and, God bless her, she doesn’t cringe at the vomit stench beside us. Someone groans about having to remove the waste bin. I feel horrible for them. I feel horrible non-stop.
Supporting my arm, Emma leads me to the bathroom, and as I exit the room I note that Abigail is back in her mother’s gentle arms. Ten minutes later, I have removed my soiled sweater and I’m shivering cold in my singlet. But my face is clean, thanks to Emma’s help. When we re-enter the conference room she wanders away to talk with security, but everything else seems normal again. People are in their seats, checking mail or talking with their mentors. I take a calming breath. I’ll be all right. I’ll get through this.
Making my way back to my seat at the end of the room, I walk around the guys from Fatal Attack. To say that I’m completely stunned to find Nathaniel sitting in Aaron’s spot and Aaron standing off to his side is an understatement. My heart drops. They are both staring down at a letter with great interest. Nathaniel sniffs the letter and frowns. That’s when I notice that he’s holding it at the edges with a tissue.
Oh no. The two letters of mine are no longer face down on my seat, which means they must be in his hands. He knows! Nathaniel can’t know. It’s not his responsibility to take care of every one of my little problems. He has enough to worry about.
“You’re back!” I breathe.
Nathaniel lowers the letters and meets my eyes. “Aaron called me as soon as you got these. Why didn’t you tell someone about the letters, Eve?”
I sniff and shrug.
He passes the letters to Hunt. “Call Detective Bowman. Tell him we have two separate threats against Eve.”
“Two threats?” I squeak out.
Hunt looks confused for a second, then nods. He retreats into a quiet corner and is on the phone in no time, although I never hear what he says.
“How can you be certain?” I ask.
Nathaniel pulls me onto the sofa beside him. I feel weird for a second as Aaron moves in front of us, but I’m too weary to move away.
“The second letter was in red ink,” explains Nathaniel. “And if it’s like the letter I received this morning—”
“You got a letter like this?” I breathe. “With these words?”
The despair on his face makes it all the more torturous. “Not these words precisely. Mine was more specific.”
“What did it say?”
He shakes his head, and I know it must be bad because his eyes harden. He looks up to Aaron, and that one look seems to contain an entire conversation.
“I can tell you why I know these are two separate people,” Nathaniel continues, all business. “Firstly, the letter quoting, ‘I will always find you, Evangeline,’ had the addition of your name, making it personal.” He clenches his jaw. “Your second letter has the same penmanship as the letter I received, the same perfume, but they made damn sure I knew who they were. I can tell you it’s definitely not Jeremy.”
“It’s not?” A word pops in my mind: Heartless. “It’s Laura, isn’t it?
Nathaniel nods grimly. “I’m sorry, Eve.”
“Oh god,” I say, waving my hands flightily. “I already have Jeremy wanting to stalk me, and now Laura. It’s too much. It’s all too much!”
Nathaniel catches my hands, clasping them in his. “The line from your song and the letter, that’s how this Jeremy first said it, isn’t it?”
Hating to entertain any memory of Jeremy, I nod anyway.
Nathaniel tightens his arm around my shoulders. “I knew that song was a bad idea when I heard it.”
I wipe my nose and start laughing, maybe out of hysteria, or suddenly seeing the absurdity of choosing that song to sing on a national broadcast! I am a complete fool. I smile in the most hopeless way possible.
“I’m inclined to agree with you,” says Aaron, the letters in his hands. He shakes his head, disgusted by the whole affair.
“Believe me, from now on we’re only doing your songs,” I say, looking up at him.
I only now register that Emma is standing beside Aaron, her dismay obvious as she peers over at the letters. She squashes into the end of the sofa and takes my hand. “Eve, I hate to say this, but you might want to consider withdrawing from the show. Sure, there’s bad fan mail, sometimes cyber bullying, but this, this is fear mongering at its very worst,” she says, jabbing her finger at the letters. “No one should have to deal with this, and especially not for the $500-a-week allowance we’re paying you. I could talk to the producers at our record company. Under the circumstances, they might sign Ardent Strangers anyway. You and Aaron could release an album in a few months, once this has all blown over. Think about it.”
“Um…” I smile weakly. I look up to Aaron, gauging his thoughts on the matter. Disappoint radiates off him.
His dream… Can I throw it away with a single word?
“Ah, thanks, Emma,” I say, “but I’d like to continue in the competition.”
Aaron looks surprised, but there’s no mistaking the tension leaving his body.
Nathaniel’s eyes twinge with a pleading that nearly breaks me. “Are you sure about this?”
“I’m sure,” I breathe.
“Whatever you want, Eve.” His head rests back in defeat. “Whatever you want.”
Performance two
The contestant’s waiting area is all abuzz. Fatal Attack just blitzed their last song and the crowd are hyped. It’s the fifth ad-break tonight, and I give Friday an encouraging smile as she walks past me and tends to Abigail. I don’t know if I’m more nervous than last week, but I’m really missing a certain CEO who should be sitting in the second row. I’m in two minds of whether to send him an evil message, as his ‘guest’ is not my favorite person right now. Annoyingly, she keeps sending me sweet apologetic smiles whenever I look her way, and it’s hard not to race down and hug her. Her peroxide hair is in a cute ponytail and she looks as gorgeous as ever, but all I can think of is she betrayed me. My best friend.
(Except now I am talking to Nathaniel, and al
l she did was connect him to me—the show would have done that anyway. But she did take a ten-thousand reward in the process…)
I peek at Tasha and my heart hurts more than it already does. I’ve had daily hate mail in the form of red inked letters—the exact replica of the first. Laura Barnes is making damn sure I don’t forget her. The letter from Jeremy has me waking every night, crying. And on top of that, I honestly don’t know if I can sing without Nathaniel. In a minute’s time I’ll be out on stage, searching for an encouraging smile that isn’t there.
I think I need to talk to him.
No, I don’t.
Yes, I do.
I pull my phone out from the back of my jeans, then start texting: ‘Hi Nate. Sorry to bother you. Are you awake…? Eve.’
He replies seconds later: ‘Not a bother. I’ve got coffee, breakfast & I’m tuning into the live feed from the show as we speak. Best of luck to you & Az!’
I hate that I feel a million times calmer, and all it took was a message. That’s the effect he’s starting to have on me. Is that a good thing? I don’t know, but I feel happier as I reply: ‘Thanks, Nate.’
His text lights up my screen: ‘XO’
I smile. I debate on adding a XO. No, I shouldn’t. Sounds desperate, and I can imagine what that would do to his ego.
Maybe I should reply…
“Eve,” Emma says. “We need you on stage.”
I nod, and look down at the cursor blinking in the compose space. Screw it. I type: ‘XO’ and hit send before I change my mind.
The phone vibrates as I walk onto the stage. I peek at his words: ‘You don’t miss me, do you, angel?’
I’m smiling even as we go to air.
Aaron tips his chin towards the phone and whispers, “What was that about?”
“Um. Nate texted. Said ‘Best of luck to you & Az.’”
He grunts lightly, then turns towards the cameras, plucking his guitar.
My phone buzzes again, but I don’t check it. Rubbing my hands at super-speed, I look up at Aaron. His guitar hangs off him like a machine gun, ready to launch into action. My guitar? It hangs limply from the strap around my body, as if its weight might pull me over and I’ll fall flat on my face.
Dan is in his bikie jacket again, his hair extra sleek and a smile full of cheese. He clears his throat. “Their last song caused quite a stir with the judges, but let’s see what you make of their next song Australia… Give it up for Ardent Strangers!”
I want to groan as the studio falls quiet. No, I want to run off stage. I clutch my guitar and stretch my fingers over the frets, waiting for the count-in.
The band conductor shouts through the earpiece, “1-2-3-4,” and the drums and bass launch into an upbeat tempo that churns away happily as Aaron strums along. It’s a weird new sound for us, a mix of folk, roots and alternative, something I’d never imagined playing as I wind a melody over the top of the music. The crowd are clapping the beat and it’s akin to my heart pumping blood—the music, the crowd, Aaron tapping his foot as he lives every note.
He glances across at me, and we ready ourselves to tell our story—of how we met outside Nathaniel’s hospital room. I don’t know if I can do it, but Aaron’s voice is dark and cruisy as he sings: “The nightmare keeps turning, never-ending, but you cut through the shadows, waking me up.”
“Moon falling, he’s calling,” I sing, “And I can’t fight the cold.”
Aaron gives me a dark look, “Don’t pass me,”
My voice pleading: “He hears me,”
“You might not like what you find.”
I clutch my chest, “He slips through my fingers, over and over, and then I live a lie.”
We look out into the shadows of the audience as we pour our hearts into the chorus: “You’re here, when I lost everything.”
I sing: “I won’t—say goodbye when this is all over, no, no…”
Aaron sings: “He’s gone—and you’re the only thing that keeps me from losing grace.”
We sing: “You’re the only thing that keeps me from losing grace.”
Aaron leads into the second verse, “Darkness always haunting, never-ending, but you’re here, twisting me upside down.”
“Sun falling, you’re stalling,” I sing.
“And I can’t fight my way past it all,” we sing in harmony.
I smile guiltily at Aaron, as I sing, “You warn me, but he calls to me, and inside I go.”
Aarons sings, “I hold you and say, ‘wait for me’. And then we live a lie.”
We end with the chorus again, building it higher until all I care about is the whirl of the music dancing in my blood, urging me faster until it comes to an abrupt halt.
Aaron clasps my shoulder and gives it a squeeze. His smile is electric—mine, too. The audience are cheering, not in that despondent way after last week’s depressing performance, and for once I’m feeling positive that the judges’ comments might be okay.
Or not. The mild clap coming from Skylar at the judges’ table is already putting fear into my veins.
“Ardent Strangers, everybody!” Dan shouts through the microphone. “Zach, what did you think?”
Zach is not giving much away, just a wry smile as he adjusts his cap. “As your mentor, I’d like to say, “You guys really embraced the new sound we worked on. Knew you were going smash it.”
“It was honest in all the right ways, although it could have had a catchier lyric,” says Hudson. He smiles at me. “Eve, so much more confident this week.” Gah, I think I’m blushing as he adds, “You sung out, and totally went for it. That’s what you should do for every show.” His smile drops as he turns to Aaron, and I remember Hudson’s jealously over Skylar. This could be bad. “Aaron, you are a frickin’ rock star already. Don’t change a thing!”
Hm, I was not expecting that. Apparently, Hudson can put aside his issues, no matter how much it pains him. Unlike Skylar.
Proud, I pat Aaron on the back, and my heart lifts as he sneaks me a smile.
“Skylar, your thoughts?” Dan asks.
She purses her glossy lips and shrugs. “It was fine.”
And that’s all she says. I can’t believe it. And it looks like it cost her. I feel happier than I have all day, all week.
An hour later, the show’s all over and I can breathe again. Aaron and I are in the green room, having talked to almost every contestant, praising their performances or consoling the few who screwed up. But Aaron’s energy is infectious and I’m buzzing with relief and more of that post-performance euphoria. I’m a little scared that I might get addicted to the feeling.
Penny, Quinn and Wendy bustle toward us and I practically leap into their arms for a group hug.
“Good going tonight, Lockhart!” says Quinn, patting me on the back.
“Breakfast is on us tomorrow morning,” Penny adds.
“Thanks, guys,” I say. I’d give pretty much anything to sit back in one of those corner booths and chill at the café. “Count me in.”
“Aaron, how ‘bout it?” Quinn asks. “Breakfast?”
“We’ll be there.” Aaron shakes Quinn’s hand and puts his arm around me at the same time. Weird, but I feel as if he’s claimed me as his girlfriend again—a show for my friends. Part of me wants to shirk him off and remind him that we’re waiting, that it isn’t fair to Nathaniel. But I don’t do that. I stand there and smile. My mood plummets further when my friends step aside to let Tasha through.
“Eve, can we talk?” she asks.
I sigh, then nod, hating that Tasha and I have grown this distant. “I’m listening.”
She fiddles with her red clutch for a moment, looking as if she’s about to cry. “I never meant for that to happen, Eve. Pete saw the hotline and after that there was no stopping him. I tried to talk him out of it, but then he called the number and spoke to the operator. Minutes later, Nathaniel Blake called to verify that it was legit. Pete told him all sorts of things, about you, how we were best friends. Then Nathaniel want
ed to talk to me, and before I knew it, Pete had me on the phone. Seeing you at work, you were so upset… I knew I’d ruined everything between us. Can you ever forgive me, Eve?”
“Um…” I will not cry. “I’ve really missed you, Tash,” I say, squeezing her tight as she bursts into tears. “Hey, I forgive you.”
“It’s not just that.” She sobs. “Pete and I broke up. I’ve really needed you.”
“What?” Good lord, poor Tasha. “When?”
“The night after I took Nathaniel’s cheque. I couldn’t take it. I said we should give it back, but Pete lost it and said, ‘What’s more important Tash, the wedding and me or some high school friend?’ That’s when I knew it was wrong.”
“You broke up with him,” I answer for her.
She nods.
Everyone seems to be crying lately. I can’t escape it. The world feels like a depressing place. I give her another bear hug. “Oh, Tash. I’m sorry I haven’t been here for you.”
She sniffs and laughs. “Give me more hugs and we’ll be good, yeah?”
“I think I can do that.” I manage to hug her tighter, even lift her from the floor for a second, because that always make her laugh. “I’m glad you got rid of Pete.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. He obviously wasn’t ‘The One’. Now you have a chance to find your Prince Charming.”
She laughs. “I knew there was a reason I needed to talk to you.”
“Meh. I’m stealing material from a friend,” I smile, remembering her advice after I left Jeremy. I never believed it at the time, but now ‘The One’ might be a real-life possibility.
“Thanks, babe,” she says, wiping the last of her tears.
“Can you excuse me a sec?” I say as my phone vibrates in my back pocket. I feel slightly rude as Tasha wanders back to our group, but several messages light up the lock screen, and one sent from Nathaniel seconds before I was due to perform: ‘I saw that smile. You miss me.’
I laugh and text back: ‘You’re right. (Sigh.) I do.’
My phone chimes. ‘Ah, progress.’
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