How To Save A Life (Emerald Cove #1)

by Lauren K. McKellar

  "Easy." I snort. "I have this book at home. It's really kinda lame, but in it I paste parts of my favourite piano scores, or lines from books, movies—things that make me feel."

  "That is not kinda lame." Jase shakes his head.

  "Coming from a guy who organised a romantic picnic for a first date? That doesn't mean much," I tease, and he laughs and runs a hand through his hair. "How about you? The one thing you have you would never part with?"

  "I have this wooden box. It's a light-coloured timber, and on the front of it there's this black ink drawing of a soldier. It was my grandfather's from during the war." His face takes on a deep, introspective look. "I've always just ... really admired that, y'know? Fighting for our country. Being that kind of brave."

  "That's really awesome." Silence settles over us, and we both pick at the platter laid out before us. I want more, though. I'm addicted to finding out more about this mysterious guy in front of me. "Tell me a secret."

  He pauses, and his face is cast in shadows. "A secret?"

  "Yeah. Something no one else knows."

  He pauses and looks down at his hands, as if he's contemplating something big. When he looks up, his eyes are so full of honesty. "You once asked how I learnt all that bar stuff?"

  "Mmhmm?"

  "I said I learnt it from a friend." He drinks the last of the wine in his glass. "It was a friend, but the part I didn't tell you was where I knew him from. It was prison. I met him in prison."

  My mind spins with this new information. Jase was in jail? "But you're so young!"

  "I'm twenty-two." He grimaces. "And I was convicted to an eighteen-month sentence at seventeen."

  "So juvie?" My eyes widen. "Wow. I can't imagine what that would have been like."

  He was just as old as I am now.

  "Pretty weird, huh?" he asks.

  "What were you in there for?"

  "Assault."

  Now I'm sure my eyes are borderline falling out of my head. "Did you—"

  "I was guilty, Lia. They got the guy who did it."

  Goosebumps prickle my flesh, and unease cloaks my body in a blanket. How can this guy I'm so attracted to be someone who assaulted another person?

  "I ... I assaulted my dad. He used to beat up my mum."

  Oh.

  "That's ... that's horrible."

  "It's why I don't give a damn where he is in the world, or what's he's doing. I stay in touch with her, but she didn't defend me when it happened. She didn't try and press charges against him."

  I shake my head, and touch my knuckles to his cheek. It's warm from the fire's glow, and I keep the back of my hand there for several minutes as we sit in silence.

  "On the plus, side, you have lots of time to work out in jail." Jase does a mock muscle flex with his other—really, stupidly impressive—arm, and I laugh.

  "And learn about cocktails?" I asked.

  "Dad drank too much. It's why I wanted to open a bar where it was about quality drinks, a great experience, not about getting drunk. I want to ... I guess I want to try and change the culture, you know?" he asks, and I nod. Oh boy, do I know. "In places like Sydney and Melbourne, there are all these great little cocktail bars popping up, but here? It seems towns in rural Australia have this attitude where it's more about getting on the piss."

  "Or using it to escape." I take a sip of my wine, wincing as I realise what I said.

  "So, your turn. A secret for a secret." He shakes off the sombre mood and pours us both some more wine before settling back down on the blanket.

  My mind races. The things I could tell him.

  I'm not really eighteen.

  I don't have my RSA.

  I didn't study for my scholarship today—I went to high school.

  Of course, I know I could give him something lame, or something untrue, but when there's so many untruths already surrounding the basis of our relationship, I want to do something right.

  "I have to get out of this town." My voice cracks on the last word.

  "Can I ask why?" He frowns, then makes a face. "You know that's not a great date topic."

  "I know." I laugh. "I just ... I can't stay here. Because as long as I'm here ... I'll never be enough."

  I won't be enough to stop my mum from drinking. I won't be enough to forge a career in piano.

  But more than that, I won't be enough for them. For the hundreds of people, the number adding daily, who know the sordid truth about my sick family and what happened.

  Who think of it every time they see me.

  And who want me to face that truth.

  "I don't want them to see me," I whisper.

  Jase sits up and shuffles around so he's behind me. He places one arm around my waist, and I fall against him, his strong chest holding me upright. He runs a hand through my hair, and I tense as I think of Smith, then relax as his touch continues to soothe me.

  It soothes me, relaxes me, but I'm also hyperaware. I can isolate every point of skin-on-skin contact we're experiencing, and I try to commit to memory the sweet smell of chocolate on his breath, the warmth of his body next to mine. It's safe, how I felt with Duke, but more than that—there's an edge of danger to it. As if this thing isn't certain. Isn't easy.

  And I think I like it more.

  "I said there were two reasons I brought you here," Jase says in my ear, and the heat sends chills through me.

  "Yes?"

  "This is the second."

  He shuffles around for a second, and when I try to turn and face him he speaks. "Look at the lake."

  So I do. I look at the beautiful surface of the lake—

  And then I hear it.

  It's a piano, playing this mournful, beautiful tune that reaches into your soul and sucks it from your inside out. It's all encompassing, pretty, and even though the recording isn't great—

  The recording isn't that great.

  I spin around to face him. "Jase."

  "Lia?" he asks, and his breath mingles with mine, our lips just inches from each other.

  "Is this ...?" I can barely form the words, I'm so lost in his golden eyes.

  "You are so magical, Lia. You create this beautiful music. I recorded some of what you were playing the other day, because I needed to show you. You say you're afraid, but don't be." He cups my jaw with one hand. "You are enough. You are so much more than you think."

  Emotion swells in my chest and I rush to close the gap between us, pressing my lips against his in a kiss that's part desperation, part appreciation, and part lust. Our lips are hungry for each other as if the unspoken desire that's been dancing between us has just exploded like an atom bomb, consuming our bodies with lust.

  His hands tangle in my hair and mine wrap around his back, pulling him to me, trying to get as close as I possibly can to the man who made my music more than what I'd ever thought it to be. His tongue flicks against my lips, and they part, allowing him in, and soon we're lying next to each other in front of the fire, kissing, and touching and exploring so much of each other.

  We're getting lost in each other, and as much as I love this feeling, this consuming, passionate, dangerous need that's so different from anything I've ever felt before, I know that I need to take it slow. I have to leave this town for another city in 134 days. And I have secrets I just can’t share.

  "Please," I breathe after a moment, my head held in his firm grasp once more. "We need to stop."

  He gives a close-lipped smile, and I look up at him from under my eyelashes. "We should," he says. "God, I want to keep going, but you're right."

  He glances ruefully down at our glued-together chests and smiles. Somehow, my leg has hiked up around his waist, and I can feel his warmth on every part of me that touches him, and notice its absence as I slowly slide away.

  "Think of the sand, anyway." He sits up and runs a hand through his well-tousled hair, courtesy of me. "I mean, you could get that everywhere. I can't believe you thought we should even do that."

  I grab a strawberry an
d throw it at him, and he promptly catches it against his chest. "Can it, romance boy. You chose the date location."

  "I thought I was being sweet." He does a mock sigh and then starts to gather our things, putting the barely-touched basket back together and throwing some sand over the fire’s dying embers.

  We walk to my car hand in hand, and I offer him a lift, but he decides to walk. I'm about to pull out of the driveway when he raises one hand, and I wind down my window.

  He jogs up to my car and leans his head in, and that sweet scent of chocolate and smoke and man all swirl together in the confined space. "Do you believe that things happen for a reason?"

  I don't know what to say. I shake my head, then nod, then look at him with pleading, hopeful eyes.

  "I think you might be my reason, Lia Stanton." He leans in and kisses me on the forehead. "And I'll move everything for that."

  My face flushes, and I'm oh-so thankful for the seat behind me, or I fear I might collapse. It's the sweetest, most divine thing anyone has ever said to me.

  I pull out of the drive, and head down the street, and when I'm just about to turn the corner, I see him do a leap and fist-pump the air.

  I tried to guard my heart. I tried not to fall too deep, but I haven't just tripped. I've skydived for this man, rocketed right into him.

  And I don't know how I'm going to leave him in 134 days.

  CHAPTER TWENTYFOUR

  School has become an exercise in loneliness, but I don't care. I don't feel alone when every few minutes, I get a text from Jase.

  He's a thrill I can’t get enough of. He makes me laugh, makes me smile, and makes my girl bits feel like doing crazy things, just to get his attention.

  Keep thinking about last night.

  My cheeks flush, and I look from left to right to see if anyone's looking, but of course, no one is. No one looks at me anymore, and I like it.

  Me too. Can't wait to see you again. Do you want to hang out after—

  "Lia."

  I stop right in my tracks. I was so caught up in texting I failed to look up. To look ahead. To see who was there in front of me.

  She's leaning against my car, dressed in jeans and a white shirt, her arms folded across her chest.

  Ellie.

  Step four: Never lower your guard.

  "Ana said you lost your job."

  When she says Ana's name, I feel a pang of loneliness. Since I got fired, she’d texted me a few times, and I hadn’t written back. What with everything else going on, I never seemed to have the right words to say.

  "Yeah." I shrug, and unlock the driver's side door. I'm about to throw my bag across to the passenger side when Ellie hops in my car.

  "We need to talk."

  "Can you get out of my car?"

  "Can you give me ten minutes of your life?" Ellie matches my tone and raises it. "Look, I'm worried about you. I've tried so hard to make sure you're okay and you keep pushing me away."

  "What if I don't want your sympathy, El?" My voice cracks over her name, as if it wants to stop me from saying it. "What if I just want my life to be normal like everybody else's?"

  More people enter the parking lot, and soon it's a sea of uniforms orchestrated with the chords of voice and laughter.

  Ellie lowers her voice and drills her blue eyes into the side of my head. "You're not like everybody else, Lia." She stretches her hand over the console to grip my arm. "And that's why I'm fighting for you."

  Tears well in my eyes and I blink them back, forcing them open in the hope that the air will keep the emotion at bay. I grip the wheel of the car and tighten my hand around it, my fingers digging into my palm where the two meet. I don't know what to do. I don't know what to—

  "Hi."

  Oh God.

  Really? Surely this is some kind of mean practical joke.

  "We met at The View a few weeks ago. I'm Kat." Kat squats down beside Ellie, a big smile on her face.

  "Hi, I'm Ellie."

  "What are you guys up to?" Kat asks, and Ellie looks to me expectantly.

  This is hell. I don't want to talk to Ellie, and I don't want to revisit my past. But even more than that? I don't want to hang out with Kat and Ellie, and that overriding desire wins out.

  "We're going to the beach. To chat."

  Ellie relaxes into the seat.

  "Sounds great!" Kat enthuses. She grabs the handle to the back door and opens the car, sliding into the seat. "Let's do it."

  "Kat," I beg. "Really?"

  Her usually lively face turns serious for a moment. "Lia, I ... I worry about you. I know I screwed up, but I care about you. I just want to make things right."

  "You can't just force yourself back into my life!" I shoot Ellie a glance. "A message that a few people in this car could do with hearing."

  Kat sighs, and grabs her bag again. "I can't make you forgive me, Lee Lee. But I'm here for you when you're ready." She wraps her hands around the seat and squeezes my middle, and I try not to flinch under the contact. Then she hops out of the car and waves goodbye as I drive Ellie and myself out of the car park and down toward the beach.

  ***

  The ocean is a contradiction. One day she's still, calm, with gentle waves teasing the shoreline and pearlescent shells lining the beach, waiting for small children to collect them, clean them, and add them to a collection.

  The next, she's a hurricane. Angry waves beat down on the sand, foam spitting up the beach, and seaweed leeching all over the yellow granules, big ugly globs of greeny-black spikes that are uncomfortable to step on as well as to look at.

  Today is one of those days, a fierce, angry ocean contrasted with a lovely calm spring sky. I park in the lot by the beach, and Ellie and I walk out. I kick off my shoes and wrench off my socks, ready to let the warm sand massage my feet. "Let's do it."

  We walk some way around the beach in silence before we come across a log that must have washed up either from the lake or the ocean sometime over the last few weeks. I say weeks, because once a month someone from the council comes to tidy the beach up, and unsightly things such as logs, litter, and occasionally the homeless, are removed from our tourist mecca.

  Ellie crouches down to sit and I fold my skirt under my legs, protecting my bare skin from the rough surface. We let the sound of the beach do the talking, the seagulls singing their scratchy song above and the salty smell that is undeniably beach infiltrating our noses.

  Minutes tick by, and I take the chance to study my old friend. Her blue eyes gaze straight out at sea, and her lips are set in a plump line. Those lips are usually so easy to smile, but today, with me, they're a challenge. Today, with me, they're firm.

  It's a face I know so well, but right now one I don't know at all. A lot can happen in eighteen months. I hug my stomach tighter. It's a fact I know too well.

  "When'd you move?"

  I blink. Not the question I expected. "Not long after the ... accident. A month, maybe? I don't know."

  "Hmm." Ellie nods, her eyes still fixed on the ocean. "And you started back at school?"

  "Yeah. I'd only missed about a month, total, but I was looking for a distraction. I just kinda threw myself into it, y'know?" I study my square nails, the white tips.

  Minutes pass.

  "So you've been running from the past ever since it happened."

  Crack.

  It breaks my heart.

  "I'm not running. I'm just"—I flick my hands out as if I'm shaking water off—"dealing, okay?"

  "You changed your number, you moved house, you started at a new school, you deleted your social media—"

  "I needed space."

  "Space to run!"

  "SO WHAT IF I DID?" I leap to my feet, fury bubbling inside of me. "You have no idea what it's like, Ellie. None."

  "BECAUSE YOU NEVER LET ME IN." She stands too, and there's earnestness in her eyes, so much sincerity and care that it breaks the barrier I'd tried so hard to keep her out with. I let out one big giant sob, an ugly cry that c
omes right down from my gut, and she races to wrap her arms around me, pulling my head to her shoulder and rubbing my back as I cry, and I cry, and I cry.

  I cry for the fact that I haven't seen my best friend and actually spoken to her in a year and a half. I cry for all the secrets I keep, the heavy weight they place on my shoulders, on my soul.

  And lastly, I cry for Ellie.

  Because no friend this good should have to put up with one this average.

  "I'm sorry." I pull back and look into those troubled blues again. "I just ... I miss you, a heap. But I don't know how to deal with what happened. I don't want pity, or judgment, or—"

  "Lia." Her voice is soft, but commanding. In control. "I'm your best friend."

  Four simple words.

  But they're enough.

  She sits back down on the log and I join her, a little closer this time, even though the bark is rougher here. Even though life seems harder here.

  "Do you want to tell me about now? I mean, what really happened? I know the rough details" she says with a small smile, and I give her a wry grin in return.

  "I doubt anyone in Sandy Bay High will ever forget that day."

  She laughs, and I manage to giggle along with her.

  It's true.

  It's the reason I changed schools.

  The reason I tried to delete as much of my past as possible.

  Because that day was infamous in the minds of every Sandy Bay High student out there. It might have only been rumour, but he truth was buried there deep. It’s hard to forget the girl whose parent came to school and yanked her out of class.

  It's hard to forget the girl whose mother almost killed her.

  CHAPTER TWENTYFIVE

  Friday's practise goes well, and once more I'm in the groove. I've finally found my rhythm again, after weeks of lacking focus, and I wonder if it has anything to do with connecting with Jason, or maybe reconciling with Ellie is the cause for my smooth transitions this time around.

  When I finish, I run a brush through my hair, spray deodorant under my arms and, after a quick look in my phone camera, swipe some lip-gloss over my lips. Then I throw my piano gear in the car and head next door to the bar to start my shift.