At the sound of a footstep on the deck, Liam tensed over the keyboard. Since the day Jacinda had walked down the alley—and then fallen down in the alley—he’d got into the habit of working at the kitchen table, instead of in the office space upstairs. Not because he was hoping to catch a glimpse of her again. It was just cooler downstairs. That was all.
He squeezed his eyes shut for a second, remembering the way his anger had boiled up on Sunday night, when she’d complained about her life—her seemingly charmed life. The way she’d melted into him, despite the things he’d said. And how something elemental and desperate had swept over him, bringing him to his knees, lost in the Jacinda madness that seemed to be growing stronger the longer she was here. Yesterday had gone by with no sign of her, which hadn’t exactly been a surprise. He had no idea where they’d go from here.
Actually, he did. They’d be going nowhere.
Another small sound came from outside, and he listened again, wondering whether to get up and investigate. It was probably one of the huge seagulls that touched down in the yard sometimes, looking for scraps of food around the beachside houses. With a shrug, he went back to work. It was the only thing distracting him at the moment. He’d taken on a volunteer project for a non-profit in California, building a website that would offer support for kids from Mexican families who’d grown up in the States, but whose parents were undocumented immigrants. The kids lived every day with the underlying fear that their parents could be caught and deported. He’d watched as the immigration issue became increasingly fraught, and although he couldn’t do much from so far away, it felt good to help in this small way at least.
Then he heard a bump in the living room, and the sound of something falling to the floor. Okay, not a seagull. Instantly, he was on his feet. As he went through the door, he dug deep for his most intimidating, aggressive voice, aiming to get the upper hand by scaring the crap out of the intruder.
“What the fuck are you doing?”
In the corner, a small figure was leaning over Ethan’s guitar, where it lay on the ground. The boy spun around, terror on his face.
“I’m sorry!” he squeaked, his eyes round with shock and fear. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to!”
Liam’s heart sank at the realization that he’d scared the crap out of a skinny kid who’d barely come up to his elbow. “Ah, shit. I mean, damn. Sorry, kid.”
The boy’s eyes darted to the door, then back at Liam. Obviously figuring that he was trapped, he started backing away.
“It’s okay, dude,” Liam said. “I thought you were a burglar or something.”
Trying to look reassuring, he took a step forward, but that seemed to push the kid into full panic mode. With a high-pitched cry, he twisted around and made a break for it, heading around the back of the sofa. But his foot caught on the guitar, still lying on the floor, and he tumbled down, disappearing between the sofa and the bookshelf.
Liam went over and looked down to where he was lying on the ground, one arm over his face as though that would make him invisible. He seemed to be in one piece.
“Are you finished freaking out now?”
One huge blue eye peeked out from behind his arm, but he didn’t move.
“Come on man, get up. It’s okay.”
Slowly, the kid got to his feet, his eyes wary. There was nothing to him—he looked like a collection of twigs flung together with a spiky mess of blond hair tossed on top. And he looked poised to run again. Some kind of damage control was needed.
Liam held out a hand. “So I don’t know who you are, but I’m Liam,” he said casually.
The kid hesitated, then seemed to gather his courage, and went in for the handshake. “I’m Sam.”
His fingers were tiny, and kind of sticky. Liam shook his hand, then leaned against the sofa.
“Sam, huh? Where did you come from?”
His freckled face went red again, but he stayed where he was, still on edge. “Next door.”
“Next door…with Jacinda?”
He looked at the boy, studying his features, and for a second he was flung into an alternate reality, where Jacinda had hidden a secret and this scrappy kid was his nephew. Did the numbers add up? He was no good at guessing kids’ ages.
“Yes,” Sam said. “She’s my mum’s cousin.”
Ah. Okay. He shook his head, forcing himself back to the real world.
“My mum and dad split up, so we’ve come to stay for a while,” Sam continued. Then he frowned. “She said she was going back to America.”
Liam stood up again, a sudden tension in his guts. “Really?”
“Yes. Well, except first she said she didn’t have a ticket, and then she said she’d only stay one more night, and then Mum told me she was going to stay and help look after me for a while.” He grinned, his scare seemingly forgotten. “She’s undercover.”
Liam nodded, smiling, but inside he was reeling. Jesus, he had mental whiplash from being flung in one direction and then the other. She was leaving, she was staying…each one detonated a barrage of conflicting reactions. Trying to ignore the battle going on in his head, he turned and picked up the guitar. Making sure nothing was damaged, he checked the neck and the bridge, then ran a hand over the frets.
“It’s a cool guitar,” Sam said from behind him.
He set it back on the stand. “It is.”
“It’s really cool. I could see it through the window.”
The longing in his tone was obvious, but Liam ignored it. No way was some random kid going to mess with Ethan’s guitar. “Uh-huh.”
He shifted the stand farther back into the corner, then turned to look at Sam. He was practically vibrating on the spot, as though the guitar was a magnet and he was nothing but a skinny mass of metal filings.
“You know, Sam, it’s not a good idea to walk into strange people’s houses and start knocking things over.”
He went red. “I know.” Then he tipped his head to the side. “But you don’t look strange.”
Liam had to laugh. “We’re all strange in our own way. You’ll figure that out eventually.”
At that, Sam looked perplexed. “Okay…” His eyes went back to the guitar. “So can you show me how to play it?”
“No.”
“Please?”
“Seriously, no. This guitar isn’t for playing.”
His face fell, and Liam sighed. Why had he left the door open? From now on he’d go back to sitting upstairs with the doors closed. Too bad if it was hot.
“Ask Jacinda to teach you. She plays guitar.”
His shoulders drooped a little more. “She’s undercover, remember? She doesn’t have her guitar here.”
“Go play on the beach then. What are you…eight? You should be outside doing something healthy. Or…I don’t know, play on your iPad.”
“I’m nine. And I don’t have an iPad.”
Liam pressed his fingers to his forehead. He hadn’t come all the way back here to be a goddamn babysitter. And no one—no one—had played this guitar since the night Ethan died.
“And I don’t have anyone to play with either,” Sam added, in an almost-whisper.
Liam considered the small boy in front of him, currently doing a spectacularly good job of looking tragic. Shit. So his parents had split up, he was new here, and he had no friends. At nine, Liam had all the Sweet Breeze Bay kids to play with…including Jacinda, when she visited. And most of all, he’d had his brother. Playing, fighting, or play-fighting, there had never been a moment of loneliness.
That came later.
“Okay, fine,” he said, aware that the gruffness in his voice wasn’t from impatience this time. “But just one turn.”
Despite the reluctant tone of Liam’s agreement, Sam’s face was aglow with triumph. “Yesss! Can we play it really LOUD?”
It occurred to Liam that, given how things had turned out, Jacinda might not be thrilled about this arrangement. “You know what, let’s just be undercover ourselves,” he suggested.
“Cool,” Sam said. “Undercover brothers.”
He laughed. “Yeah, okay. Whatever.” He pushed aside his doubts and went to find an amp. Just one turn wouldn’t hurt. After that, the kid was someone else’s responsibility.