Sliding Down the Sky (22 page)

“He’s a reporter!” I hissed desperately.

That was all Leo needed to hear. He left me to follow Callum around the other side of the bar.

“I tend to agree with Callum,” he said calmly, but with a deadly serious expression that left little room for misunderstanding. “You need to get out of my bar before I call the cops.”

The guy put his hands up in a calming gesture.

“My name’s Mike Dawson. I work for –“

“I couldn’t care less who you work for, get out of my bar. Now.”

Leo and Callum stood side by side, a united front. Leo folded his arms across his chest, and even though he had his back to me, I could tell he was seething.

“I just want a few minutes with Kia – that’s all,” the guy went on, completely unperturbed. “She has fans, and they want to know how she’s doing.”

Before anyone could answer, he turned his attention to me.

“What are you up to – apart from running this place – now that you’re obviously out of the music business?”

My heart began pounding, as if it was going to leap right out of my chest. I shrank back against the door frame, but he didn’t stop. They never did.

“Do you miss playing? Do you keep in contact with Jason’s family? Have you forgiven him for what happened that –“

Leo grabbed the guy by his shirt, turned him around and frog-marched him to the door. Words were exchanged, but I couldn’t hear them over the rush of blood to my head.

I was falling.

Five things… five things!

I hit the floor, my stomach knotted up so tight that it refused to allow my heart to beat. I could feel it, my heart, deflating like a popped balloon. It happened so fast, with such brutality, that I couldn’t catch my breath.

“I think the highest and lowest points are the

important ones. Anything else is just...in between.”

―
 
Jim Morrison

Callum

For all his bluster, the guy let Leo drag him out the door. Good riddance. I watched them for a moment, fighting the urge to follow them and smack the guy as he left, just to make myself feel better.

What an asshole! Reporters – such bullshitters. Nothing they said had a speck of truth to it, so why the hell did they bother? It seemed to me as if they got their kicks feeding off the misery of everyone around them. Sass was right about that.

I held my ground. Leo had the situation under control. I’d never seen him angry. Usually, he was like the Zen master, but tonight he was raging. It was only barely contained but it was there, just beneath the surface. I silently hoped he found an outlet for that rage. That reporter prick sure as hell deserved it.

I turned around to see how Sass was doing, but she was gone. It took a second to register, but then I heard her. She was on the floor behind the bar, gasping for breath. I ran around the bar and saw her, huddled on the floor on her knees in a kind of crouched foetal position. She couldn’t breathe.

Asthma attack.

It took a moment for the information to make it from my brain to my body as I fell to my knees beside her. I took hold of her shoulders, unsure of what to do.

“Sit up, Sass. Can you sit up?”

Her body was shaking – not trembling,
shaking,
as if she was packed in ice. She didn’t respond, her breath coming in raspy wisps. Panic exploded through me.

“Leo! Quick!”

Leo’s footsteps pounded across the floor and a moment later, he was right beside us.

“She’s… I don’t know…” I said, desperation lacing my words as I glanced up at him.

He didn’t even hesitate. He took her by the shoulders, just as I had done, and he eased her upright until she was sitting back against the bar.

“Come on, Sass. Just breathe. You can do this, it’s okay.”

If she was pale before, she was now transparent. Every trace of colour had drained from her face. Even her lips were white, as though every last breath of oxygen had been removed from her body. I’d never been so scared in my life.

“I’ll call 911,” I said, scrambling to my feet.

“No,” Leo barked. “No, it’s okay. She’s gonna be okay, aren’t you Sass? Just breathe for me – one breath at a time, in then out. Come on, you can do it.”

She stared at him, her body trembling so violently I thought she was going to shake herself into a million pieces. He held on to her shoulders tightly, staring at her as if they had some kind of psychic connection that meant he could breathe for her.

“Breathe,” he begged, his voice cracking under the strain.

I wanted to be sick. I’d never seen anyone go through anything like that before.

Finally, she took a ragged, rasping breath, the effort of which drew her upright before almost doubling her over again.

“Good, that’s good,” Leo soothed, easing her upright again. “Now do it again.”

She stared at him, but I wasn’t sure she could see him. I wasn’t sure she could see anything. I knelt beside them both, my entire body taut with tension.

“Are you sure I shouldn’t call 911?”

I’d never felt so utterly useless in my life.

“It’s a panic attack,” he said, glancing over at me. “She’ll be fine.”

Panic attack? I thought panic attacks were a figment of someone’s imagination, but there was nothing imaginery about this. It was real, physical and happening right in front of me.

“Breathe, Sass,” he said, turning his attention back to her. “Breathe in, then out. Come on, try again.”

She did, and this time she grabbed her chest with her hand, squeezing tight as if manually forcing her lungs to take in air. She was still shaking violently, but she continued to breathe in and out, as Leo coached her through it. It felt like it took forever, but in reality it was just a few minutes. A few of the longest, most agonising minutes of my life.

I couldn’t help but draw comparisons to the night of the car accident, six years ago. That sickening feeling in the pit of my stomach was the same, as was the sense of helplessness and uncertainty.

Slowly, the colour came back into her lips, although she remained fragile. She breathed shallowly, like she was afraid to force it.

“You’re okay,” Leo said firmly, leaning forward to pull her into his arms. “You’re fine.”

Slowly, her eyes found mine. They were all I could see above Leo’s shoulder, and they filled with tears before she closed them. It felt like my heart was being savagely carved from my chest with a rusty spoon.

I’d never seen anyone have a panic attack before. It was terrifying. Questions ricocheted around inside my head.

How often does she have them?

Why do they happen?

What made
this
one happen?

Who the hell is Jason?

“Come on,” Leo said, withdrawing from her. “Just sit here for a while and I’ll go lock up, okay? Callum’s here. You’ll keep an eye on her?”

He looked over at me and I nodded. As if I could take my eyes off her now. He stood up and made his way around the bar again, leaving the two of us alone.

“How do you feel?” I asked tentatively. “Are you okay?”

She stared down at her lap. She looked like a rag doll, and a worn out one at that. She was still shaking, but not as violently as before.

I scooted closer to her, although I was afraid to touch her. She still looked like she might break and I didn’t want to be the one responsible for that.

“You scared the shit out of me,” I admitted, willing her to look up.

I thought she might’ve been cold, or maybe she was in shock. I sure as hell was. I shrugged out of my jacket and carefully draped it around her shoulders.

She wouldn’t look at me. My patience was wearing thin. I wasn’t like Leo. I didn’t know what to do or how to handle a situation like that. I needed to know she was going to be okay, and I needed to know now.

I reached over and tilted her chin up carefully. Slowly, her eyes followed until she was looking straight at me. I saw the fear in them, as well as the anxiety. What shone out above all else was the pain, though. I had no idea what was hurting her that much, but I figured it had something to do with what the reporter had said. It was the only logical explanation.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her eyes filling with tears that quickly overflowed, running down her cheeks.

I couldn’t have that. Not on my watch.

I pulled her close to me, rationalising that she needed the comfort as much as I did.

“Don’t be,” I murmured, smoothing her hair down as her head settled stiffly into my shoulder.

She was heavy. Her body, her burden, her pain. All of it.

“You have to choose whether to love yourself or not.”

– James Taylor

Sass

I was drowning in quicksand. Every movement was an effort. I had no strength to question why Callum insisted on accompanying us home. I heard him talking to Leo out the back while I waited at the bar, shivering in Callum’s jacket. I couldn’t seem to stop myself from trembling. I kept thinking about what the reporter said.

Do you miss playing? Do you keep in contact with Jason’s family? Have you forgiven him for what happened?

I pulled Callum’s jacket closer around me. It smelt of him, that comfortable, familiar smell that worked its way under my skin and into my bones. I closed my eyes and tried to forget tonight had ever happened. I tried to forget that Callum had come behind the bar and kissed me, right there in plain sight, because he couldn’t wait to get me alone. I tried to forget that the reporter had dredged up memories I’d been fighting to forget for over a year. And I tried to forget that I’d had a panic attack in front of Callum, the one person who cared enough to want to get to know the real me, broken parts and all. Just when I was trying to convince him – and myself – that I was strong and capable and could handle whatever was happening between us.

Distant voices filtered through to the bar area. Callum and Leo. I heard one of them mention the reporter’s name and my skin crawled. God, I hoped Leo wasn’t telling Callum about Jason. He wouldn’t, would he? No. I trusted him.

A few minutes later, Callum reappeared.

“All locked up,” he said, scratching his chin distractedly. “Leo’s gonna meet us out back, at the car.”

I stood up, taking a moment to let my knees get used to the idea. My whole body felt like jelly. It’d been a very long time since a panic attack had affected me like that, and all I wanted to do was get home where I was safe. I was paranoid that we were being watched. Reporters can do that, paparazzi too. They suck the sanity right out of you.

Callum stuck to me like glue as we made our way through the bar and out the back door. He hovered as I climbed into the car with Leo, then he followed us home in his car. I wasn’t really sure why. I was too tired to ask.

Leo was quiet on the drive home. A few words making sure I was okay, and that was it. He didn’t say anything about Jason, and he didn’t mention what had just happened either. I was grateful for both.

Gemma and Aria were already in bed when we got home, another thing I was grateful for. I didn’t feel like going over things again. I assumed Callum was just going to see us home then take off, but I was wrong. He came inside, sat down on the couch and accepted the whisky Leo offered him.

“Sass?” Leo asked, handing me a glass.

I shook my head.

“I think you should,” he said gently. “For the shock, if nothing else. It’s been a hell of a night and it’ll help you sleep.”

I didn’t have the strength to argue so I took it, sitting down on the couch beside Callum. I just wanted the night to be over. The sooner I downed the whisky and went to bed, the better. I could feel the questions brewing and the last thing I wanted to do was talk.

I took a sip of the whisky, coughing as it burned a trail down my throat. Callum scooted closer, rubbing my back gently.

“Take it easy,” he said, just loud enough for me to hear.

“I’m gonna go check on Aria and Gemma. Back in a minute,” Leo said, taking a quick swig from his glass before putting it on the coffee table and heading for the hallway.

As soon as he left, Callum’s hand stilled on my back. I could feel it burning through his jacket, like he was branding me with his palm. The frustration built inside me. I wanted to shrug it off, move away, put some physical distance between us, because I thought that’d help me keep it together. But I couldn’t move. Instead, I stared down at the glass of whisky in my hand, watching the amber liquid swirling in the light. It was probably bullshit, but it had been so long since I’d had anything that strong, I thought I could feel it affecting me already. My head felt heavy, like my body, like my soul.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

No. Not at all. Not ever. Especially not right now, when it was all I could do to keep my eyes open. I’d promised to tell him the truth, so I did.

“No.”

He gave me a second, although it felt like much longer. I hunched over my glass of whisky, holding it tightly while it rested on my thigh. My arm throbbed, a reminder I didn’t need, especially right at that moment. I was already feeling fragile.

“Maybe it’d help if you did.”

I sighed, one of those sighs that feels like your breath is being sucked out of your body, taking every last ounce of strength with it.

“I don’t think it would,” I murmured. “I don’t think anything would help.”

His fingertips, resting on my back until now, began to trace little circles just below my shoulder-blade. It was distracting, just like it was every single time he was near me.

“You’re really tight, just across there,” he said gently. “Your muscles are all bunched up. Does it hurt?”

I was too exhausted to be anything but honest. My whole body ached.

“Yeah. A bit.”

His fingertips began to search deeper, and it felt so good, a little moan escaped before I could stop it.

“Turn around,” he said, pushing me gently with his hand.

I did, although I had no idea what he had in mind. I was about to ask him when he began massaging my shoulders, with both hands this time. Slowly, I could feel the tension rising from deep inside my body, working its way to the surface. I closed my eyes.