Blackthorne: Heart of Fame, Book 8

by Lexxie Couper

  Mackenzie chuckled. “Want me to tell you he was doing in it nothing but red boxers and his old deputy captain’s helmet?”

  “No,” Josh burst out, face aching from his smile.

  “I’ve got the photos to prove it,” Mackenzie went on.

  “Stop.” Josh shook his head, laughing. “Stop.”

  “Can do,” Mackenzie answered. “But only if you tell me why you’re ringing. I know you rock stars well. You don’t do social calls.”

  “Ouch.” Josh pouted.

  “Said with love, boy. Said with love. Now spill, what do you want?”

  “I want you to write an article.”

  “Is that so? What about?”

  Drawing a slow breath, Josh leant his arse on the bonnet of the Jag and gazed up at Caitlin’s home. “About Doctors Without Borders…and the charity performance I’m doing at the Chaos Room three weeks from now.”

  The fog hadn’t left her.

  Not on the flight back from Canberra after receiving the news her soul still couldn’t comprehend, nor on the taxi trip to Matt’s parents’ home, Matt’s mother weeping at her side, Matt’s father sitting stunned and silent on her other side.

  It didn’t leave her as she sat with them in their dining room, listening to Elizabeth call Matt’s older brother and sisters to tell them what the Federal Minister for Foreign Affairs had finally—reluctantly—revealed to Caitlin and Matt’s parents in his office—that the decomposed body discovered in Somalia had been wearing Matt’s identification badge. The body had been found near the medical satchel Caitlin had given him as a going-away present, along with the remains of a Doctors Without Borders nurse from the same camp Matt had been working at.

  “We’re here, Miss.”

  Blinking at the fog, Caitlin swung her gaze to the man behind the wheel of the car she was in. When did she get in a taxi?

  Where had the colour gone in the world?

  Why did her head feel wobbly?

  “We are ninety percent certain the body discovered is Matt’s.” The memory of the Federal Minister’s words whispered through Caitlin’s grief. “Of course, there are more results coming, and our people are working with the Somalia government to expedite those results, but at this point, it is my sad duty to inform you the Australian Government’s official stance is that Matt is dead. I’m so sorry for your—”

  “Miss?”

  Caitlin blinked, and for a moment the hazy greyness suffocating her vanished.

  She looked at the driver frowning at her.

  “That’ll be forty-two fifty.”

  She fumbled for her purse. Dropped it. Plucked it from the floor beside her feet, opened it and slid out her credit card.

  The driver took it, dubious apprehension in his eyes.

  A few seconds later—or maybe it was a few hours, Caitlin couldn’t tell—he handed it back to her. “Want a tax receipt?”

  The question lashed at her. Shaking her head, she flung open the door and tumbled free of the taxi’s interior. She had to get fresh air. She’d been stuck in small environments since she’d gotten the news—the taxi to the airport in Canberra, the plane, the taxi to Matt’s parents’ place, the taxi here…

  Swinging her head about, she frowned at her surroundings. Why was she here?

  Turning back to the taxi, she peered at him through the open front passenger-side window. “Why did you bring me here?”

  Contempt twisted the driver’s lips. “You told me to.” And before she could respond, he tore away from the curb.

  Straightening, Caitlin turned back to the building behind her.

  The Chaos Room—closed at this time on a Sunday afternoon—sat amongst the other businesses, the sign above the main entry doors dark.

  She stared at it, the fog sliding around her. Why had she told the driver to bring her here?

  Because home is too painful? There are no images of Matt here, just a painting.

  A sob lodged in Caitlin’s throat. Fresh pain splintered her heart.

  She hadn’t realized how much she’d believed Matt was still alive until now. How much she’d wanted to see him again. Not to say goodbye, but to just see him. To smile at him and see him smile in return. And now she would never see him again, except in a photo long overdue to be taken from the wall.

  Drawing in a ragged breath, she dug about in her handbag for her keys. Had she taken them to Canberra? She couldn’t remember.

  Something cold and metal struck her searching fingers and a surreal sense of joy shot through her grief. There and choked immediately by the fog.

  Withdrawing the keys to the club, she made her way to the front doors. Perhaps her subconscious knew this was where she needed to be. There was whisky inside. A whole bar full of it. Three bars, in fact. Perhaps the liquor would burn away the fog.

  Perhaps, if she got drunk enough, the grief would go away.

  Perhaps, if she finished off every bottle of whisky in the place, she could erase every memory of Matt, every moment aching for him to be alive, every second hating him for being missing and for asking her to not say anything about them breaking up…

  She shoved the key in the lock and then twisted it to the right.

  “Fuck,” she muttered, pulling her hand away from the lock. “Forgot the alarm.”

  Scowling at the security panel above the lock, she flipped open the cover.

  And stopped.

  The little green light indicating the alarm wasn’t activated flashed at her.

  Why was the alarm not on?

  Apprehension rippled over the greyness enveloping her. For a moment, the fog dissipated. She frowned, returning her attention to the key still in the lock and, heart fast, opened the door.

  The first thing she heard was singing, unaccompanied by music of any sort.

  A male voice, smooth and yet with a faint scratch on the high notes, a dirtiness she’d recognize anywhere.

  Josh Blackthorne was in her club. Singing.

  She stopped three steps into the entry foyer, hidden by the shadows. Whoever had let Josh into the Chaos Room hadn’t bothered with the rest of the club’s lights. From where she stood, all she could see was Josh bathed in a single spotlight, perched on a lone stool in the middle of the small, low stage, a guitar on his thighs.

  He sang with his eyes closed, the messy waves of his dark hair tumbling around his face, his jaw dark with a five o’clock shadow that looked well and truly on its way to being reclassified as a beard.

  Black denim encased his long, lean legs, a retro Blackthorne T-shirt wrapping his torso. His feet were bare, his discarded boots lying at the foot of the stool.

  Caitlin stood motionless, the incredible beauty of his voice caressing her grief.

  It was “Lily’s Song” he sang, the breakout hit that had launched him onto the rock ’n’ roll world, the closing credit track to Dead Even 2.

  She remembered attending the red-carpet opening of the movie with her uncle and Chris Huntley, the film’s star, five years ago. Remembered even then, as a naïve twenty-one-year-old, being moved by not only the lyrics of the song, but Josh’s voice.

  At that moment, she’d become a fan. From that point onward, she’d listened to Synergy as often as she could.

  And then she’d met Matt and life changed. And when Matt went missing, she’d turned to classical music to find him in her lonely soul.

  It wasn’t classical music moving her soul now.

  It wasn’t Bach, or Mozart or Chopin.

  It was Josh Blackthorne’s amazing voice, singing the story of a man who would do anything thing he could, change anything he could, so the woman he desired, the woman he ached for, would see him for what he truly was—the man that loved her beyond everything else.

  She stood in the darkness and watched him sing, listened to his voice fill her club like no other sound ever had.

  And the fog finally cleared, finally evaporated, replaced by tears, silent and hot.

  Moving to the column just inside the e
ntryway, she pressed her back to the cool steel surface and slowly sank to the floor.

  She didn’t wipe at her tears. She just sat, knees curled to her chest, arms wrapped about her legs, and let the tears fall as she listened to Josh sing.

  When the song ended, the last word an elegant note of heartache, silence descended over the Chaos Room.

  It played with Caitlin, eased her, let her live in a moment of quiet beauty, her thoughts sliding and shifting, never lingering on one thing for long.

  She thought of Matt, of the time they went skiing and built a snowman, of her parents, of her uncle who she loved so much and how her father refused to acknowledge his existence. She thought of the photos of Uncle Liev and her dad her mother still kept in a box in the attic. She thought of the time she and Matt stayed awake all night, caring for a tiny kitten they’d found in their letter box, a kitten that grew to a rangy cat that would bring them home live cockroaches and meow with gusto until they gave her a pat. She thought of the night Matt asked her to marry him as they watched the full moon rise over Bondi Beach’s famous waves.

  She thought of the morning he told her he wanted a break to see if they were still in love or not. She thought of the day he left for Somalia, she remembered her tears, hidden in the shower an hour later.

  She thought of his lips on hers.

  And then those lips weren’t his. Those lips belonged to the man on the stage. A man who seemed as lost as she as he sat beneath the spotlight alone.

  “That was fucking incredible!”

  Caitlin let out a yelp at the sound of her second-in-charge’s voice reverberating through the club.

  She slapped her hand to her mouth, her pulse a wild rhythm in her throat.

  On stage, Josh smiled, his fingers moving to the strings of his guitar. “Thanks. I gotta say, the place has incredible acoustics.”

  “Yeah, the boss knows her stuff.” Zach walked onto the dance floor dressed in the most outlandish boardshorts and tank top Caitlin had ever seen. “I was here the day she ripped into the builders who fucked up the construction of the ceiling. When she was finished, one of them was actually in tears.”

  Josh’s soft chuckle reached Caitlin’s ears. “She’s pretty awesome.”

  “And fierce,” Zach added.

  “And incredible,” Josh continued. “I’m in awe of her strength and courage.”

  Caitlin’s tummy tightened. She closed her eyes. Should she be listening to this? Josh might believe her courageous, but was she? Sitting here in the darkness, silently crying? Was that strong?

  Wanting to step into the light and rest her cheek on his chest, to soak in his warmth so soon after hearing Matt was dead? Was that courageous? Or cowardly?

  “You known her long?” her second-in-charge asked, curiosity in his voice. “I thought you only meet her the other night, but the way you talk about her…”

  Josh’s gentle snort teased Caitlin’s senses. “I saw a picture of her in her uncle’s house years ago. It was just a snap-shot taken by Chris Huntley as Liev and Caitlin were fooling around pretending to out-Bruce Lee each other. She was laughing even as she was doing her best to look menacing. I was eighteen, in L.A. with my parents for Liev and Chris’s wedding. The moment I saw that picture, the moment I looked at it, at her…suffice to say, I’ve seen her eyes so many times in my dreams since.”

  “Fuck, dude.” Zach let out a shaky laugh. “Didn’t expect you to say that.”

  Neither had Caitlin. She sat motionless, staring at Josh on the stage bathed in the single spotlight, her heart wild.

  Oh God.

  Josh chuckled and gave a lop-sided shrug. “It’s the poet inside me. It escapes every now and again and I say something wanky like that. That kind of stuff belongs in song lyrics, not conversation.”

  “Have you written a song about the boss?”

  Caitlin didn’t wait to hear Josh’s answer.

  She scrambled to her feet and ran for the main door. She didn’t care if they heard her leave, she couldn’t be here now.

  The humid early evening air wrapped around her with greedy haste as she threw herself against the door and out onto the footpath.

  Oh God, she had to…she had to…

  “Caitlin?”

  Her heart smashed into her throat at the sound of Josh’s voice behind her.

  “Are you okay? How long—”

  She spun around, allowed herself a split second to look at him, to take him in, to burn him into her brain, and then she stepped forward, buried her fingers in his hair and dragged his head down to hers. She captured his lips. Kissed him. Surrendered herself to the raw intoxication of his lips against hers, opened herself up to the fire of his passion, his life. She willed it to burn away her grief. Needed it to clarify her confusion.

  She kissed him, fisting her hands in his hair, pressing her hips to his, grinding her sex to his groin.

  She kissed him, gave herself to him, like she’d wanted to from the moment she saw him on the footpath—this footpath.

  She let out a sob of disbelief and dismay when he pulled away from her.

  “Hey,” he murmured, cupping the side of her face as he stared into her eyes. “What’s—”

  She tried to kiss him again.

  He pulled back, an unreadable expression flickering over his face. “Caitlin, what’s going on? Talk to me. I know about…about your fiancé.” He brushed his thumb over her bottom lip. “I know you’re hurting now. But trust me, babe, this isn’t going to take away your pain.”

  Grief ripped at her, raw and total. She gazed up at him. Hot tears stung her eyes. Her chest ached. Emptiness and elemental need churned in her stomach. “I…I just need…to feel.”

  Why couldn’t she be numb?

  “Please,” she whispered. “Please, make me feel. I want you…I want you to make me feel.”

  That same unreadable expression flared in Josh’s eyes again, a turbulent emotion that raged like a thunderstorm, and then it was gone, replaced with compassion so intense Caitlin lost her breath. “Then feel, babe,” he whispered, “and hear my heart as it feels with you.”

  He pulled her to his body, wrapped his arms around her back with tender pressure, tucked her head beneath his chin and pressed a soft, lingering kiss on the top of her head.

  “Hear my heart, Caitlin,” he murmured against her hair. “And let yourself grieve.”

  With the steady sound of his heart beating in her ear, she stood in his embrace, the warmth of his body seeping into hers, her cheek resting against his chest.

  She stood there on the street in the evening sunset and began to cry.

  Mourned the man she knew in her own heart she’d said goodbye to almost a year ago.

  Chapter Ten

  He took her back inside.

  Led her back into her club, his arms around her, his lips still pressed to the top of her head. With each silent shudder of grief that claimed her, his heart broke for her. With every step they took, he held her closer.

  When Zach approached, consternation swimming in his eyes, Josh shook his head. Josh’s gut told him that Caitlin would be mortified to know her employee, even one she considered a friend, had seen her in such a state.

  With a silent nod, Zach left.

  Josh heard the Chaos Room’s main door open and swing shut.

  He didn’t release Caitlin. Instead, he walked her to the centre of the dance floor and tucked her completely into his body.

  Her tears rent the silence. He could tell, even now, she tried to contain them. It was part of her nature to control herself, to hold on tightly to every facet of her life. She’d held on to Matt for this long, and now she was holding on to the tears to say goodbye to him.

  A wave of helplessness washed over him.

  He smoothed his hands up and down her back, murmuring words of comfort that he doubted eased her grief at all. What were words but sounds? How could sounds help anything when your life was torn asunder?

  But with each whisper, with eac
h stroke of his palm over her back, her shoulders, her sobs grew louder. With each murmur of her name, her hands—fisted in his shirt beside her face—balled tighter. Until she and Josh both crumpled to the floor and Caitlin buried her wet face into his neck and clung to him.

  He didn’t move. Even though his knee screamed in pain at its bent position, he didn’t move. His physical pain was nothing next to the pain in Caitlin’s heart. He would no more ask her to move so he could be more comfortable than he would deny her her grief.

  A lifetime passed.

  Caitlin wept and Josh held her. And eventually the tears subsided. Eventually, the quaking sobs claiming her body ceased.

  And still, he didn’t move.

  He didn’t tuck his finger under her chin and raise her face to his so he could kiss away those tears wetting her cheeks. He wanted to. He wanted to take away her pain and give her new warmth. But he didn’t. Because this wasn’t his time. It was hers.

  The minutes passed.

  If they turned into hours, he didn’t know or care. He turned his mind away from the screaming pain in his knee and focused instead on the warmth of Caitlin’s body, on the steady beat of her heart thumping against the side of his chest.

  When she raised her head a little, eyes shuttered, cheeks wet, nose red, he waited for her to speak.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered, not looking at him.

  “Don’t be,” he whispered back.

  She caught her bottom lip with her teeth and nodded, the action hesitant, uncertain.

  “Want me to take you home?”

  She opened her eyes and glanced at him. “Okay.”

  He lowered his head and dropped a soft kiss on the top of her head again. “Okay, let’s go.”

  They rose from the floor together. Josh’s knee screamed at him in violent protest, punishing him for his protracted position by sending shards of slicing pain deep into his knee joint and up and down his leg. He ground his teeth and denied it.

  “Do you know if Zach went out the back?” Caitlin asked, the words a husky rasp. “Do I need to go out there and turn anything off?”

  He shook his head. “As far as I know, it was just the main spot light.”