The Problem With Heartache (Crazy in Love #3) Read online

  Finding Home

  Crazy in Love Series

  The Problem with Crazy

  Eleven Weeks

  The Problem with Heartache

  For anyone who has lost someone

  Moving on doesn’t mean moving away

  THE PROBLEM with heartache is that you can’t mourn forever. You can’t walk around the streets wearing black, carrying holy water on your person in the hope that you’ll stumble upon a miracle and be able to use it to bring that person back. One day, you’re gonna forget that tiny vial, and you’re not gonna realise until it’s too late.

  “Are you done?” Mum enunciated each syllable as if it weighed a ton.

  “Give me a second.” I threw my arms behind my back, fiddling with the straps on the bra.

  A solution for heartache, however, appeared to be running. Or, it seemed to be for me. I’d been jogging in the early morning or late at night on the beach every day for six months now, and slowly but surely, I was getting better mentally, becoming able to function again.

  Even if it meant that my boobs were getting smaller. Hence the new sports-bra shopping trip.

  “Are you having fun?”

  I cringed. Really, Mum? Fun?

  My fumbling finally resulted in success and I shook the bra off, quickly shrugging my normal one over my shoulders and throwing my T-shirt on top of that. It hung loosely over my hips, the grey speckled material suiting my mood to a tee. Ha. See what I did there?

  Making bad jokes to yourself: a potential symptom of heartache. Thankfully, not a symptom of Huntington’s disease.

  I grabbed my purse from the little seat the staff at the lingerie store so kindly provided its change-room patrons, and walked to the front of the store to the checkout area, sports bra in hand, ready to make the purchase.

  “I do wish you’d get something pretty.” Mum sighed, pulling at the strap of the black material. “It’s hardly like you play sport.”

  “I just want to be comfortable.” I tucked the material up in my hand. She didn’t know about my nocturnal running habits. If she thought her little girl was roaming the streets late at night, she’d probably install a complex home-security system.

  The guy in front of me at the counter was taking a really long time. He had six different sets of lingerie to put through. I couldn’t help but check around his arm to see what. Black lace, red silk, black pleather … and was that something with fur I could see?

  “Stop stickybeaking.” Mum slapped my arm, and I snapped my head back to my chest.

  “It’s a public place,” I whispered, even though glancing around revealed an empty shop. The only person there was a large guy at the door, dressed all in black, his posture alert. He looked a little like someone in security. Strange for a lingerie shop …

  The transaction in front of me continued. Hopefully, underwear-fetish guy hadn’t heard.

  “People don’t like you to look at their knickers, Kate.” Mum tutted quietly, shaking her head.

  “Well maybe people shouldn’t buy quite so many pairs. And besides,” I hissed, raising my eyebrows at her, “we don’t know that he’s going to wear them all at once.”

  “Ahem.”

  Of course. You whisper two fairly innocent sentences, but the one about the guy in front of you being a cross-dressing lingerie wearer, he hears.

  “Sorry.” I studied the ground.

  The man turned around to face me. He had maroon leather shoes, scuffed, as if they’d seen better days. My gaze travelled up his black jeans, over his red-checked shirt with the triangular collar, the black scarf around his chin, covering his lips, his nose—but not his eyes.

  Holy hell, did the man have eyes.

  “Kate.”

  I blinked. What? How did this guy know my name?

  “Yes?” Mum replied, and I jabbed an elbow to her ribs.

  “That’s me.” I smiled brightly. “Sorry about the panties-wearing comment.”

  “To be fair, this does look a little weird,” the guy said. You can say that again … “We just have this film clip tomorrow, and the stupid wardrobe guy said the models won’t fit any of the … you know …” The man jerked his thumb toward the counter, indicating the underwear the checkout chick had now finished ringing up.

  Cogs clicked in my head. This wasn’t—

  “Lee?” I silently added freaking-Collins. If he was going to the trouble of wearing a bad scarf by way of disguise, I doubted he’d be keen on me screaming his full name in a crowded shopping centre.

  “Yeah?”

  Silence.

  “Kate’s just so happy to see you, is all,” Mum said. She took a step closer. “Hard to recognise behind that scarf there.”

  “That’s kind of the point.” Lee gave her a wink. I swear my mother blushed.

  “Well, we’d love to have you over for dinner sometime, since you’re in town,” Mum was saying, her hands clasped together. She opened her mouth to continue speaking.

  “But being a really busy guy, we wouldn’t actually expect you to come,” I overlapped.

  “Well, if we invited you formally, we would,” Mum said, giving me a strange look.

  “I mean, I could.” Lee spoke the words softly, taking a step closer. “So long as you don’t tell anyone about my secret identity.”

  Mum giggled like a schoolgirl. Help me, God.

  I looked past her, past the stands of bras and the occasional naughty dress-up item and into the shopping centre and—

  Him.

  I dropped the sports bra and ran, shouldering Mum as I surged forward, out the doors of the shop.

  Left?

  Right.

  I could just make out the brown hair bobbing in the distance.

  I bolted, as fast as my legs could carry me, darting around mothers with prams, old people supported by walking frames, and teenagers making their way to the food court in an achingly slow fashion.

  Turning the corner, I could see the hair again, but it was still too far away. My knees rose higher, my feet hit the ground harder, and I gave it all I had. I couldn’t let this chance get away. I had to take it. I had to make it.

  This time when I turned the corner, he was almost within arm’s reach. Ignoring the stares I was getting from the lunchtime food-court crowd, I dove, reaching out and grabbing onto the denim of his jeans as I fell.

  I hit the ground, hard. Tiles smashed into my ribs, my knee, and the side of my jaw. Everything went black for a few moments, and I blinked, trying to clear my vision.

  When I could focus again, I looked up. Faces hovered over me, voices yelling things, asking things I couldn’t quite make out.

  I need you.

  Then I saw him. The blue jeans, the white shirt. The brown floppy hair.

  I blinked, and concentrated all my brainpower on focusing on his face. His face, Kate. Look at his face.

  “Lachlan?”

  I blinked again. An old man wearing a chocolate-coloured beret looked back at me.

  Oh, God.

  Lachlan’s grave was located in a small cemetery just outside of town. It was one of the more popular establishments for burying the dead in the local area; people were always gathered there, remembering those they’d lost and grasping to the past. Women sobbed, men knocked back beer after beer, and the native birds sung a song of mourning, a soundtrack for all of us to grieve to.

  I came here a lot. But only when I was sure no one I knew would find me.

  “Hey, Lach.” I sat down cross-legged in front of his gravestone. At first, that had creeped me out, until I’d remembered that Lachlan had been cremated. It wasn’t like I was sitting on his bones.


  I opened my handbag and brought out the little cupcake I’d packed with me. I took the candle I had in the bottom of my bag and stuck it into the pale blue icing. Resting the object on my knee, I fished around in my bag again until I found a packet of matches.

  “So, I thought I’d celebrate my birthday with you.” I smiled down at the tombstone. Beloved brother of Johnny. Special friend to many.

  I’d been more than his special friend, but what could you say? Please, can you change the inscription to include my name? It didn’t seem right. And it sure as hell wasn’t fair.

  I lit the candle on the cake, but instead of blowing it out, I let it burn for a few moments, the acrid smell of freshly lit match filling my lungs.

  “I don’t think this is going to get easier, you know,” I said. “I used to think that in six months time, I’d be well and truly over … this.”

  The candle’s flame danced in the wind, twirling from side to side like a ballet dancer.

  “But I’m not. I think about you and … God, it hurts, Lachlan. It hurts.” Tears stung my eyes, and salt coated the inside of my mouth, an ocean of pain I just couldn’t shake. It hung heavy on me at night; it blanketed me during the day.

  Six months might have passed, but the ache hadn’t lessened. And I didn’t know that I wanted it to. Because if the pain went away, it would mean I was forgetting. And that would cut far deeper than loss.

  “I had to spend my birthday with you. Without you, it just wouldn’t have been right.” I leaned over and gave the gravestone a light kiss before I blew the candle out.

  Happy birthday to me.

  “I STILL don’t see why you have to do this.” Benny sighed, folding his arms across his chest, an action that looked entirely ridiculous since his hands barely reached the other side of his body. Instead, they rested on his bulging stomach, a hangover from his days of drinking too much beer after he was kicked out of the police force. Or, that’s what he liked to tell me, anyway. He didn’t know I’d seen the stash of Tim Tams he’d asked Michael’s girlfriend, Stacey, to keep for him in the back of the tour bus.

  “It’ll be nice.” I shrugged. Outside, the sun was setting, throwing orange streamers of light over the comfortable residential street. Houses flew past us in suburban uniformity, wearing matching outfits of lush green grass, terracotta brick, and brown-tiled roof.

  “Nice is going back to the city and getting you laid.” Benny smirked, and I threw my hand out and hit him on the arm. “Hey!”

  “It’s creepy that you find me ‘picking up’ nice, man.” I shook my head. “Seriously, dude. I know you get paid to watch me, but you don’t get paid to watch me, know what I mean?”

  Benny chuckled despite himself, and I pressed my lips into a smile. In all honesty, Benny had a point, a damn fine one. When Kate’s mother, Deborah, had sent the band a message on Facebook asking if we wanted to come over for tea a week after I’d seen her in the city, I’d been a little surprised. What the hell was I doing here, out the front of the house of this chick I’d met twice, maybe three times before, ready for dinner with her family?

  Sure, when I’d met her at the gig six months ago, I’d been intrigued. She was beautiful, but not in the usual way I saw every damn day. There was nothing fake about her. She was just … real.

  Still, that wasn’t the main reason I was here. Family. That was why. Because if there was one thing I was good at, it was being a family guy.

  That was how I paid my debt.

  We pulled up outside one of the identical houses, our black Chrysler rolling into the driveway with ease. “This it?” Sam, the driver, asked. He jerked his head toward the brick two-storey house with timber beams decorating the porch.

  “If that’s what the GPS says …” It was Benny’s turn to be a smart ass.

  “Shit! You actually know about that? My bad. I thought you still thought there was an actual woman on the other end of that box.” Sam laughed.

  “I didn’t know Siri was a thing, okay? Lay off. That joke’s getting old.” Benny rolled his eyes, referring to the time when we had managed to effectively convince him Siri was a real chick.

  “Okay, I’m gonna head in now. You gonna wait in the car, or want to check the place for ninja spies first?” I asked Benny. He gave me a sardonic look, all eyebrows and lips raised to one side.

  “I’ll come to the door with you,” Benny grunted.

  “Oh! A true gentleman.” Sam held his hand up for me to slap.

  I rolled my eyes and gave him a gentle tap. “I’ll be an hour, maybe two. Go grab yourself a bite to eat if you’re bored, but maybe don’t go too far into town. This car isn’t exactly subtle.”

  I pushed open the door and swung my jean-clad legs out onto the sidewalk. Immediately, a wave of heat hit me, and I tilted my head back into the cool air-conditioning of the Chrysler to suck in one more breath.

  Seconds later, Benny was by my side, his head swivelling left and right up and down the street. Thankfully, no one had followed us. It was just one of the many reasons I had been so keen to get back to Australia for a second tour. The paparazzi were nowhere near as bad here as they were in the States. Or maybe they just weren’t that smart. Either way, I wasn’t complaining.

  Benny and I walked up to the front door of the unassuming house, and I knocked, three sharp raps. Benny nudged me in the side, and thrust something into my hands—a silver-wrapped bouquet of flowers, yellow gerberas, I think. They were sunny as hell and screamed “friend” which was just what I need them to do. “Nice touch.” I nodded my appreciation at him, and he smiled.

  “I make you look good,” Benny purred in an overtly sexual manner, just as the doorknob rattled and the brown wooden door in front of us swung open.

  “Lee! So glad you could make it.” Kate’s mom launched—and I mean launched—herself at me, kissing me on the cheek. She smelt like perfume and wine, and I smiled. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all.

  “Hey, Deborah.” I nodded. “This is my security head, Benny.”

  “Oh! Are you here for dinner, too?” Deborah asked. “Do stay. We have enough. I always aim to try and feed an army—I can only imagine how malnourished you must be living on the road.” Deborah shook her head, and I stepped back. There was something about the look in her eyes that made me think she was about to pinch my arms to try and gauge my body fat ratio.

  “Oh, he’s not—”

  “I’d love to stay for dinner. Thank you for inviting me.” Benny smiled down at Deborah, his large frame towering over her.

  “Well, come in, come in. Don’t just stand there in the doorway.” Deborah bustled inside, and Benny shot me a pointed look above her head.

  “I ain’t turning down a free meal,” he whispered.

  I tapped his stomach gently. “I don’t doubt it.”

  Benny slapped me on the back of the head as I followed Deborah into the house. We walked into a living room, decked out with two long suede lounges and a glass coffee table in the middle, some magazines stacked neatly in a rack to the side. On the wall was a big flat-screen television, speakers flanking it. Floral curtains bookended the window that looked out onto the street.

  None of that grabbed my attention, though. What captured me straight off were the series of frames sitting on the mantel. They painted the picture of a happy family with an easy ride, and I knew that no matter what story they outwardly told, these guys had had anything but.

  “Come through into the kitchen. Let me make you a cocktail.” Deborah turned around and rushed us forward into the next room, a combined dining room/kitchen, with a wraparound bench. On the burner, a pot bubbled away and the smell of garlic and onion wafted toward me.

  “Would you like a mimosa? Or I can make a …” Deborah paused, studying the bottles of liquor lined up on the kitchen bench. “I could try a mojito? Or just one of these spirits with juice, or soft drink? I don’t know, you’re probably so used to fancy—”

  “Just a beer would be great, if you have one.”
I interrupted her speech before her face got any redder.

  “Yes! Yes, of course we have beer. I’ll just get—Kate!” Deborah yelled, and I flinched just a tiny bit. “Kate, come and get your guests a beer. Two beers. Get them a beer each.”

  Benny nudged my side, and I thrust the flowers forward. “Sorry, Deborah. These are for you.”

  “That is so sweet,” she said. She took the flowers and bent over the cupboard below the sink, rifling around and then producing a vase.

  Footsteps thudded down the stairs behind me, and I turned around. Standing at the entrance to the room was Kate. She looked different to the last time I’d seen her, and yet the same. Her brown hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and she was wearing black jeans and a large black shirt that seemed to hang off her tiny frame. Her face was pale, as if she hadn’t seen the sun in too long and the look in her eyes, that of the lost.

  Or, it was that of the lost, I should say. Now, it had been transformed into full-blown rage. “Mum …” There was venom in her voice, and her eyes flashed with anger. “Did you invite Lee Collins here after I specifically asked you not to?”

  Ouch. Good to know I was a welcomed guest. Benny shuffled awkwardly by my side.

  “Oh! Did I forget to mention that, dear?” Deborah didn’t even make eye contact with her daughter, instead filling the vase with water and arranging the flowers within it. “And I’m sure he’s fine with just Lee. The Collins part really isn’t necessary.”

  I stifled a laugh. Only because I was afraid that if I let it loose, Kate might take one of the dining table chairs, break off a leg and stab me with it.

  “Kate.” I smiled. “Nice to see you again.”

  “Nice to see you too.” She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes.

  “Hey, I’m Benny.” Benny stepped forward, his arm outstretched, and Kate took his hand and gave a limp shake before shoving her hands back in her pockets.

  “I’ll just get those beers.” She power-walked/ran to the sliding door and flung it open, storming through the backyard. I’m thankful I’m not a misplaced ant on that path right now.