by Ciara Shayee
It didn’t take long for her attention to return to Laker’s thigh-tapping fingers.
It was only then that she realised the patterns looked like piano keys. He was playing the piano on his leg. She wondered whether he actually played, or if it was just a tick and she was reading too much into it.
The pair were both distracted from their thoughts when Marley let out a soft, but audible, snore. They shared an amused glance, peering at Marley and Grace curled into one another, both fast asleep. Even when Indie’s body shook with silent laughter, neither of them stirred.
“Do you want to go into the kitchen? We can let them sleep for a while.”
Laker nodded, helping her stand before laying a fluffy, cream Afghan blanket over Marley and Grace. Indie smiled at him as he passed her, the duo taking seats at the counter with fresh glasses of apple juice as an awkward silence descended.
Side-eyeing Indie, Laker struggled to smother the instinct to pull her into his side. The look of confusion on her face, tinged with hurt he didn’t understand, triggered the ever-protective urge he hadn’t known he’d had until recently.
Until he scooped a trembling young woman from a bathtub and ran through a blazing motel room to get her to safety.
“Didn’t your mum ever tell you it’s rude to stare, Laker?”
Laker blinked, wide-eyed. Busted. “Uh…”
“What’s wrong?” The tiny smirk on her face gave away her amusement. Laker’s anxiety-riddled chest loosened a little.
“It’s nothing.”
Laker couldn’t help but take in the subtle changes in Indie’s face now he had the picture of her, fresh from the motel, in his mind. Already her cheekbones were less prominent, her once-hollow features exponentially healthier, even though there was still a way to go before she reached a healthy weight overall. After all, her doctors weren’t sure how much of the weight she was gaining was her, or the baby.
For Laker, every ounce was a victory; a sign she was getting stronger and healthier.
“Seriously, you’re giving me a complex. What’s wrong?”
Laker huffed, reaching up to tug at the peak of his beloved cap. Indie’s brows knotted together as she read the distinctly nervous habit for what it was. Then, he proved her earlier assumption correct, unconsciously playing a melody on the counter on either side of his apple juice.
“Just restless, that’s all.” His efforts to sound cheerful fell flat, his dark brows tightening in thought.
“Did you know Heidi plays the keyboard?”
Laker shook his head slowly, wondering ‘why the change of subject?’
“Wait here a second, okay?” After extracting a promise from Laker that he wouldn’t go anywhere, Indie struggled down from the stool, slowly making her way up the stairs to Heidi and Pippa’s bedroom. The Davieses’ house mirrored her own, so the twins’ bedroom was where Archie’s was next-door. Indie allowed herself a brief moment to take in the pale pink walls, twin beds either side of a dressing table inherited from their mother, and the framed photo of the whole family sitting on top. Peter, Karen, and Grace beamed, newborns Heidi and Pippa wide-eyed and alert in their proud mother’s arms.
Taking the keyboard from the foot of Heidi’s bed, Indie managed to carry it downstairs without breaking it or toppling over. True to his word, Laker was sitting with his back to the door, spinning a paperclip between his fingers. As Indie moved around the counter, she saw the contemplative expression on his face and wondered what had him in such a funk.
“Here we go,” she said softly, recapturing his attention.
Mint green eyes moved from Indie’s expectant, almost excited face to the keyboard as she set it on the counter in front of him. Even worse than before, his fingers itched to press on the ivory and charcoal keys, his eyes lighting up at the sight of the instrument. “May I?” He gestured towards the keys, unable to stifle his glee.
Indie released a soft huff of a laugh, nodding and resting her elbows on the counter as he slid it into place, pressing buttons and flicking switches she’d never have known what to do with. Despite his excitement, Laker paused once he had the keyboard set up the way he wanted, his eyes sliding shut as his fingers tenderly caressed the keys. It had been months since he played the piano back in Italy, but only days since he’d gotten the itch to hear the melodic tones of his favourite pieces.
As the familiar notes of one of his most-loved arrangements began to fill the kitchen, a voice rising in volume shouted from the recesses of his mind.
It’s her. It’s Indie. She’s your muse!
And as he played without effort, his love of music flooding back to him after a long hiatus, Laker couldn’t help but wonder if his subconscious was right.
Across the counter, Indie was enraptured by both the man and the music.
Watching Laker’s hands dance effortlessly across the keys battled for her attention with the dream-like look on his face. His long, dark eyelashes fluttered with the movement of his eyes beneath their lids. She’d been growing closer to him over the past weeks, her relationship with him gaining momentum with every passing minute they spent together. Though she didn’t yet have names for the feelings rushing within, Indie knew they were stronger than the friendship she’d shared with him twelve years ago.
The knowledge that she was now bound to him in ways she didn’t understand both terrified and exhilarated her.
The days Laker spent in Italy with his family were inconceivably difficult for Indie. Until he’d left, it hadn’t sunken in that he was providing her with warmth; her very own sunshine in the form of a friend she could spend time with without feeling guilty. Before he’d even been gone a day she was wrapped in a thick jumper, a borrowed hoodie, and a fluffy blanket, feeling the cold more than ever. Though it confounded her, Indie hated to admit that even Grace’s attempts to help her hadn’t worked as well as they once might have.
Something about Laker drew her to him and kept her there, his innate sense of warmth embracing her even from across a crowded room. The only way Indie could describe it was to say that he had become her sun in every way, bright and earnest in his joy, comforting and supportive when she needed him to be.
Listening to the music flowing from his fingertips, Indie felt more content than ever, the gradually increasing tempo breaking in a startlingly tear-jerking crescendo of colours that burst behind her eyelids as her heart thumped erratically. In all the years she’d spent captive on the ranch, music had been limited to an old, crackly radio in the kitchen. It was only capable of playing country music with twangy riffs and familiar Southern drawls; most of the ranch hands were employed from the South.
The music melted into something softer, something moving, and Indie felt the heavy heat of someone watching her. She opened her eyes, finding Laker’s intense gaze staring right back at her.
Neither Indie or Laker were able to define what was happening between them, why they felt this way, or whether they even should. What they did both know, however, was that they were on a collision course.
One that nobody was going to be able to stop, whether they wanted to or not.
And the funny thing was, as the pair stared into each other through the so-called windows to their respective souls, neither of them wanted to stop this…whatever this was.
It had been years since Indie was this happy, this relaxed. Something as simple as a piece of music brought her to heights unimaginable to someone who hadn’t been through the things she had; who hadn’t suffered the pain, loss, or heartbreak.
From the shell of a human being Laker had found, a delicate flower was finally beginning to blossom. With his attention focused almost solely upon her, Indie was growing more and more confident each day. Days had passed since her last panic attack, over a week since her last nightmare, though it was likely those things would never fully disappear. Nobody really expected them to after everything the girls had been subjected to.
“Did you like it? The music?” Laker suddenly asked.
Indie’s gaze snapped to his face, finding the intensity within his vibrant eyes utterly breath-taking. “I did,” she whispered.
The pride in his face lit up the room. His eyes sparkled beneath happily raised eyebrows, dimples bookending his lopsided grin. “Would you like to hear something else?”
Unable to speak through the thickness in her throat, Indie dipped her head in a nod. Butterflies akin to eagles flapped in her stomach as his fingers began to move on the keys once more, teasing the most beautiful of melodies from the instrument.
“I learned to play at school in Italy. I suppose it’s the only good thing I got out of that ridiculous boarding school,” Laker murmured, afraid of speaking too loudly in case it shattered the atmosphere. “I mean, they made us learn three different languages! Do you speak any other languages?”
“No.”
“French is a pointless language. I don’t see why I should’ve had to slave over it all for three years when I doubt I’ll ever go there.”
“Why not?”
Laker frowned, but the music never faltered as he pondered his answer. “Well, I guess…I have no reason to. I have my place in Rome, and I’ve never had a particular hankering to visit France.”
“Don’t you want to travel? See the world?” Indie clearly remembered how he’d once told her about his plans to see the world. In fact, she also remembered his conviction that he’d visit Australia before his thirtieth birthday. It confused her to hear that his dream had changed in the years she’d been away. Indie couldn’t help but wonder what or who might have changed his mind.
“Travelling holds little interest for me now,” Laker eventually shrugged. “Everything, everyone, I need is either here or in Rome. Why would I want to leave all that behind?”
Even as he said the words, they didn’t ring true. They hung, limp in the air between them, tainting the sincerity of the melody he played. Indie grew cold as a thought slyly slid itself into her mind.
Is it because of me?
“Laker…” she whispered, horror-struck by the idea. Of course, it’s not because of me. I’m just his friend…
A war raged within Laker as he raised his head to face the ceiling, avoiding the questioning note in her murmur and the expressiveness of her ocean eyes.
It had been weeks since he’d even considered his plans to travel, not least the ticket to Egypt waiting for him back in Rome. It expired in two weeks. He’d bought it from a friend of his grandfather, but the idea of leaving was abhorrent now he had something to leave behind.
I can’t take off for a month, Laker decided, not a hint of doubt in his mind as he made plans to sell the ticket or ask its original owner if he’d like it back. Despite all attempts to the contrary, Laker was more aware than ever that there was something more than simple friendship growing between himself and Indie, electricity still humming in the air as his fingers instinctively continued filling the room with soft notes. He could no longer go more than a few minutes without seeking out Indie, or justifying a walk around the house on the off-chance he’d come across Marley or her mother.
More and more, he found himself being pulled in her direction.
With Indie’s eyes boring holes in his upturned face, Laker couldn’t slow his racing heart or quell the distaste at the idea of eventually having to return to Rome. He was unhappy just at the thought of speaking to his friends, speaking to Marley and Indie, through a phone instead of face-to-face. His thoughts turned to the baby Indie carried—of receiving photos of him or her but having to wait until his next trip to England to see his or her face in person. It hurt, he had to admit it. The thought of missing the baby’s birth, of not being around to help Indie and to congratulate Marley on being a big sister, broke his heart.
Hearing a soft sigh from across the counter, Laker tapered out the music. His eyes found Indie, taking in the way her hair hung in loose braids over each purple-hoodie-clad shoulder. The fingers of her right hand fiddled with the hood toggles over her chest, tugging the hem of her hoodie further down over her rapidly expanding bump.
As Indie sighed, her eyelashes swept over her cheekbones before rising to frame stunning eyes in a shade Laker had never seen outside of her family. The shade may be the same shade as Reagan’s, and as Carl-Roman’s and Marley’s eyes, but nobody could ever accuse Indie’s eyes of being ordinary. Constantly changing emotions swam in their depths like fish in the ocean. Just to look at them was a wonder in itself, their almond shape and entrancing colour making it impossible for him to look away when she met his gaze.
There had been a total shift in his priorities, and it was all because of the girl staring at him. That knowledge confounded, delighted, and tied Laker in knots, because she was Archie’s little sister. He’d known her since she was a baby, held her hands when she was learning to walk, pushed her on swings in the playground. It wasn’t right for him to feel anything more than friendship for her…was it?
Gazing at her with his heart hammering in his chest like a teenage boy with a crush, Laker was forced to admit that whether he liked it or not, whether he thought it was inconvenient, unreciprocated, or likely to get him pummelled by her protective father, uncle, and brother, the emotion pulling hard on his psyche wasn’t merely friendship.
It was love.
Of course, there was no way for either of them to know that the next time Laker touched Indie, they’d be fighting for their lives.
~ oOo ~
Meanwhile, listening from the back of a candy apple red van…
A pair of thin lips twisted up into a sneer, rough fingertips subconsciously moving from the earpiece in his ear to trace a recently-healed, crescent-shaped scar stretching from temple to forehead.
“I’m coming for you.”
chapter twenty-five
Laker grimaced at the sound of harsh retching coming from the bathroom upstairs. He could hear it from his spot on the living room sofa. In the past week, it had become a familiar sound, with both Indie and Grace catching a debilitating stomach bug.
Their immune systems were still struggling, so the pair had to battle valiantly to fight off the infection. Finally, after days of sickness, Indie was starting to seem a little better. Laker berated himself for feeling a twinge of relief when he heard her murmuring reassurances to Grace a few minutes later, hating himself for feeling relieved that it wasn’t her—this time. It disgusted him that he was prioritising Indie over Grace, even if only slightly, but there was nothing he could do about it.
Not since he’d realised his feelings for Indie ran deeper than he could ever have predicted they would.
In the almost two months since he’d played the keyboard for Indie, Laker had wrestled with himself over and over, even going so far as to book a flight back to Italy. His plans were foiled by Grace when she spotted the booking receipt in the printer. It only took a few words from her to remind Laker that he was needed here; that Indie needed him. He’d cancelled the seat and hadn’t thought about leaving again.
No matter what he did or where he was, his first thought every morning was of Indie, his last thought at night a plea she’d be able to sleep through the night and get some much-needed rest.
Since the anniversary of Penelope and Karen’s deaths three weeks previous, both girls had been especially sombre. Indie’s nightmares made a return, but she refused, point-blank, to talk to anybody about them.
Much to Laker’s frustration, he was very much included.
Indie eventually emerged from the hallway, taking a seat on the sofa opposite Laker. It stung that she didn’t sit beside him, but he forced himself not to dwell on it, or the fact that ever since the day he’d realised his true feelings she’d been pushing him away. A coincidence, of course, but puzzling in the extreme, considering there was no way she could have known about his epiphany.
Could she?
“Grace is back in Dad’s room,” she offered by way of explanation when Laker glanced between her and the doorway to the hall.
“
Okay. How are you feeling?”
She shrugged noncommittally, stroking her belly through her t-shirt. She was enormous. At this point, everybody had felt the baby kicking; occasionally his or her movements were visible through her clothes.
Reagan had joked his future granddaughter was a footballer in the making, something Indie had smiled at but not commented on further. He was still so confident there was another little Marley in there; she wasn’t so sure.
Laker released a slow, steady breath, leaning back against the sofa with his eyes closed as his fingers began playing a random beat against his thigh. In an attempt to distract herself, Indie slid forwards to grab the pad of sketching pencils and paper from the drawer in the coffee table. Sitting back, she mulled over what to draw, finally deciding to just close her eyes and let inspiration strike. In the weeks since she rediscovered her talent for drawing, she’d been busy utilising the three-hundred-page, A4 sketch pad Reagan brought home for her one day, filling the pages with stunning images of her loved ones. As she flicked through to the next blank page, lots of familiar faces peered out at her, the accurate details startling even her—and she’d drawn them.
Pausing on one of her favourites, Indie’s forced impassiveness melted away into wry amusement. Her fingertips brushed a lock of errant, moppy brown hair before sliding down to rest against the chubby cheeks of her beloved eldest nephew. Despite the fact that the drawing wasn’t in colour, the little boy’s eyes popped from the page.
Noticing a slight tear at the top of the page, Indie turned it over to ensure it hadn’t defaced the picture on the other side. A silent gasp pushed past the barrier of her lips as she took in the dark eyes staring back at her. The intense, knitted-together brows shadowed a shockingly realistic gaze, their stare so penetrating that Indie had to turn the page to catch her breath. Subconsciously, her eyes flicked upwards to the owner of the eyes in the drawing, disappointed to find Laker had closed them.