Chapter Six

The view reminded him of the Highlands outside Bondi, not because they were similar—the highlands were wine country, mountains, and Vegas was desert—but the sheer grandeur of the vista was similar. It should’ve inspired him, but instead he found himself remembering camping with Oliver on school trips into the mountains, how the wilderness appealed to them both with their rigid, regimented lives and families.

How much it had made them long to be free.

He was the only one free of that life now. Oliver was gone, almost five years. And fuck if that didn’t tear his heart out every time he thought about it.

The guitar beneath his tense fingers remained stubbornly silent as he stared into the distance. Refusing to speak to him. He wasn’t sure why he was surprised. For two days he’d slept, rested, even meditated, for Christ’s sake. Anything to light the spark that had disappeared into a darkness he couldn’t seem to plumb. It had convinced him of only one thing: no amount of rest was going to heal whatever was wrong with his goddamn head. The only thing that lit a spark was Kennedy, and that spark wasn’t in his creativity.

She’d taken his breath Sunday night, illuminated by candlelight and crystal reflections, the dim atmosphere of the restaurant enhancing the mysterious slant of her eyes and the dusky hue of her hair. What man wouldn’t prefer to focus his attention on the beautiful woman just out of reach rather than the impotent instrument he’d become?

Except wanting Kennedy was equally as impotent. She’d made it plain two nights ago that distance between them was best. And he’d given it, if only to prove to both of them that distance wasn’t going to make a fucking thing go away. It certainly hadn’t helped him. He couldn’t imagine, after seeing the need in those gorgeous green eyes, that the intervening time had been any easier for her.

Too bad he couldn’t translate that into music.

Steps outside the closed bedroom door alerted him to Nick’s presence. His friend entered, cell phone in hand—the one they reserved for business. Isaac’s chest tightened.

“You’re not asleep.”

As if he hadn’t done enough sleeping already. Or pretending to. Rest hadn’t relieved him of his nightmares. How long was he supposed to stay in bed, especially all by himself?

Nick frowned, his gaze resting on the guitar. “Sorry to interrupt, boss, but I knew you’d want this.”

Isaac waved away the apology. “Who is it?”

“Grace.”

The knot dropped to his gut even as he reached for the phone. “Thanks.”

Nick nodded, his concern washing down Isaac’s skin like dirty water as he passed the cell over. Grace’s calls were never easy on him, but he didn’t refuse one, ever. Unless he was performing, she got his attention. It was the least she deserved—and too often the most he could give her.

“Grace?”

“Hey. Not too early, yeah?”

The sweet sound of her voice soothed the anxiety that had been building inside him. More like a sister than a longtime friend, she was closer than any family he’d ever had—certainly closer than the two people who called themselves his parents. Grace was the only woman he could say with all honesty that he loved. “It’s never too early for you, love.”

Her laughter crackled through the line. “It’s not early for me, remember? Almost midnight here.”

“Too right.” Australia was eighteen hours ahead of Nevada, so yeah. “What’s up? Everything all right?”

“Just busy with the benefit. This time of year is…hard.”

He thought he detected more than hard in her voice, but she’d spill it when she was ready, he knew. This time of year was a struggle for him as well. He and Grace had met through her brother, Oliver, back when Isaac had started boarding school at age ten. They’d grown up together, the three of them, and he and Oliver had been best friends. Now there were only two of them left, and every year the anniversary of Oliver’s death hit him like a semi. It was even worse for Grace, mourning her only sibling while running a charity to honor his memory. LIVE supported LGBT youth in crisis, the kind of support Oliver never received. The yearly benefit concert for the charity was held the week of the anniversary of Oliver’s suicide, less than a month away now.

Isaac’s stomach cramped all over again at the realization.

“So where are you in this crazy world right now?”

Her question, one he heard every time they talked, lifted the corners of his mouth the tiniest bit. “Las Vegas.”

“Ah, Sin City. I bet you’re doing a lot of that, Mr. Rock Star.”

He laughed. “Not as much as I’d like.” Launching into the tale of his most recent adventures took his mind off the guitar clutched in his lap and all it represented. Grace laughed too, the sadness that had laced her voice easing as they talked. He’d missed her; he realized that now. Most times he could push it away with work, but now…well, work wasn’t helping with much of anything right now. Maybe after the benefit he could convince her to come to the States on an extended vacation. He hadn’t seen her in a couple of years, but there was one place he didn’t travel—home—and Grace was so busy with the foundation that getting away proved difficult. He needed her, though, needed the only true family he had left.

“Well, as exciting as all that sounds, it’s really not why I called.”

As if he hadn’t already guessed as much, though the seriousness of her tone put him on alert. “What’s wrong?”

“Not a lot.” She paused as if testing out words in her mind. She did that, considering things she said before letting them out. Came from a home life run by judgmental parents. “We’re having some issues with the headliner for the benefit.”

“Chris?” He’d recommended the guy personally, knowing the chart-topping performer would be a huge draw in Australia. “What’s the problem?”

“His record label is pressuring him to drop us in favor of a higher profile opportunity in Europe the same week.”

Damn it, that wasn’t not a lot. “He said no, right?”

“He says he’s not sure what he can work out. Which leaves us in the dark as to whether or not we’ll have a major act when ninety percent of our tickets are already sold.”

“That’s fucking ridiculous.” He’d never have pegged the guy for bailing, but then he also wasn’t that close to him. They’d shared a stage a couple of times, and Isaac knew Chris did a good bit of charity work—which was why he’d approached him with this opportunity. He hadn’t heard any stories on the grapevine that would indicate this. Maybe it truly was just pressure from the label; he of all people knew how hard that was to deal with. “How long before he’ll confirm?”

Grace’s voice went tight, a sure sign she had low hopes for this to work out. “He won’t give us a date.”

“Leave it to me.” Chris would confirm one way or the other today. “I’ll get back to you within twenty-four hours with a definite answer.”

“And if he can’t perform?”

This was the fourth anniversary of the charity’s founding, the fifth anniversary of Oliver’s death. It meant everything to Grace and the kids she cared about so much. He wouldn’t let them down. “Then I’ll have a replacement ready for you, I promise. I won’t leave you hanging.”

Another one of those pregnant pauses. “You know…you could—”

“No.”

It was gut instinct, that denial. He’d spent five years running from his home, his memories. Going back was impossible. He swallowed the bitter taste in the back of his throat, deliberately gentled his voice. “Grace… I’m sorry, but I can’t.” Face his past? As if his psyche wasn’t already fucked up enough right now. Grace was the only good thing he carried with him from that time in his life—that and his ambition to succeed.

It was selfish; he knew that. In some ways not being in Sydney kept Oliver alive in his mind, as if his best friend had gone on a trip and would be back any minute. As if Isaac hadn’t had his world shattered when the man who’d been his brother for almost two decades had walked into the surf and not come back. Returning to Australia would be like facing an oncoming train, and coward that he was, he couldn’t do it, not yet. Not even for Grace.

His friend cleared her throat. “Right.” No condemnation or sarcasm, just a mutual understanding of the scars they both carried. The word still burned like acid.

“Five years,” she said on a sigh. “I can’t believe it. I haven’t been sleeping well.”

Neither have I. But he wouldn’t say so; Grace wouldn’t carry his burdens along with her own, not if he could help it.

“I wish I could see you.”

Not I wish you were here. Grace wouldn’t ask again. The guilt threatened to drown him.

“You deserve so much better than me, Grace.”

She murmured a sound—agreement, disagreement; he couldn’t tell. “So do you, my friend.”

“You’ll hear from me tomorrow, I promise.”

“Okay. Love you, bro.”

Bro. Oliver had also called him brother. He closed his eyes tight. “Love you too.”

He ended the call, staring down at the empty screen for a long time. Next thing he knew, his guitar was flying across the balcony to smash against the heavy railing.

“Boss?”

Nick’s shout was followed by pounding footsteps. Isaac didn’t turn around. No one needed to see the anger tearing him up inside. “It’s all right, Nick.”

The silence stretched out for a long moment. Finally Nick stepped onto the balcony. “What do you need?”

There was only one thing that came to mind, but he wasn’t certain he could get it. He’d sure as hell try, though. “Wanna go for a walk?”

“Sure.”

Isaac headed inside to dress, leaving the shattered remains of his instrument behind. It was the shattered pieces of himself he needed to put together, and it wasn’t a guitar that could do it. It was a woman, and he was going to find her.