Second Chance Lane Read online

  ‘Have you chatted with the boys since you’ve been here?’

  He shook his head. ‘No. I’ve sent Yanni a short text thanking him again for letting me use his place, and the other guys have wanted to chat or video conference, but I’ve fobbed them off.’

  ‘Are they as affected by the accident?’

  ‘We all deal with stuff in our own way. I couldn’t handle being around them because they’d want to rehash what happened or try to distract me by coming up with new material and I couldn’t face any of it.’

  The waitress appeared with their coffees and placed them on the table.

  Tash wanted to say so much, but she settled on: ‘I think it wouldn’t hurt to chat to a professional about what you’re going through, but if you ever need to talk, I’m here for you.’

  ‘Thanks,’ he muttered, staring at the foam on his cappuccino as he stirred in the sugar.

  Her hand itched with the urge to touch him, to offer some kind of reassurance. Instead, as she sipped at her coffee, searching for the right thing to say, she wondered if spending time with a fragile, broken man was good for Isla.

  CHAPTER

  22

  After Tash dropped him home, Kody spent half an hour sitting on the sofa and glaring at the guitar in the corner. He’d been doing it ever since he’d arrived in Brockenridge, staring at the inanimate object like it might sprout wings and fly around the room at any moment. It felt weird, loving an instrument so much his entire life but being unable to touch it now. He knew why, of course. He’d been strumming his favourite acoustic guitar and singing a slow version of the band’s first song when the fire had broken out at the concert. When the fireworks had gone off prematurely he’d been annoyed but slip-ups happened on the road all the time. But the resultant fire and panicked stampede was a nightmare branded into his subconscious he doubted he’d ever get over.

  The stupid thing was, when the warning sirens initially went off, everything halted, playing out in slow motion. The flames spreading from the pit beneath the stage out into the front rows of the venue, the panic of security staff desperately trying to usher patrons towards the nearest exits, the screams of terrified people, and his feet being rooted to the stage while staff tried to drag him to safety. He’d shrugged them off initially, dithering over whether to make a death-defying leap to help those below. Of course the decision had been taken out of his hands when three roadies had tugged him offstage. Another had managed to rescue his precious guitar, but seven people had lost their lives and he’d never forget it. Their screams, along with the smell of burning flesh, would haunt him forever.

  ‘Fuck,’ he muttered, swiping a hand over his face, only to refocus on the guitar again. Not his—Yanni’s, who’d dabbled in strings back in high school, before realising drums were his dream. It had scratches etched into it from being dragged between school and band practice in Daz’s parents’ garage. Its pine colour had faded over time, appearing almost bleached now. And the plectrum, a funky green opal design that teenage Kody had coveted, was tucked into the bottom strings.

  He knew why Yanni kept the guitar—sentimentality. Kody’s first guitar travelled with him everywhere even though he rarely played it. He may have hated school but thanked the big guy upstairs every day that his year seven music teacher had seen his potential and given him an old guitar. He knew every inch of that instrument: the feel of the strings; the rough wooden surface; the precise tuning required. It had grounded him like nothing else in his crappy teen years and he’d taken it around the world as a lucky talisman, a reminder of how far he’d come.

  Kody blinked, the moisture in his eyes annoying him as much as the invisible band constricting his chest. He’d never been the sentimental type, so tearing up over an old guitar was plain idiotic. But he knew that his maudlin mood stemmed from so much more than an inability to pick up a guitar and he needed to get out of this funk before Isla picked up on it.

  From their day together yesterday, Isla was way too smart for him. She’d see right through him. If she knew about the concert accident she didn’t say but the fact she hadn’t asked why he was in town hiding out in this house or how long before he returned to touring spoke volumes. She must’ve looked him up on the internet like any kid would and figured out he hadn’t done any gigs since Wellington.

  He’d explain it to her if she asked. Then again, what could he say? That he had no inclination to play music of any kind? That the thought of getting up on a stage again made him want to barf? That he’d be letting down the only real family he’d ever known but seeing the disappointment in his band’s eyes when he froze on stage would gut him further? How could he explain any of it to his daughter when he’d barely processed his feelings himself? The guilt, the pain, the regret, was wrapped up in a tight bundle of nerves lodged in his gut and refused to budge no matter how much he willed it away.

  He owed the band an explanation. But for now, he’d touch base with Yanni and lay the groundwork for his big reveal: that he’d be leaving Rock Hard Place.

  He flipped open the laptop on the coffee table and stabbed at the button to video conference. The wifi took longer to connect out here so he waited, relieved when Yanni’s face appeared. Apart from the lines fanning from his eyes and the deeper grooves either side of his big nose, Yanni looked the same as he had in high school: curly black hair, big brown eyes and a grin that made you want to smile back at him. He’d been Kody’s first real friend, someone he could depend on when he’d started high school and realised being a sulky, grouchy introvert wouldn’t get him far. They’d bonded over their love of music, and when Blue, Roger and Daz had started hanging around the music room at lunchtime too, Rock Hard Place had been born and they hadn’t looked back.

  ‘Mate, good to hear from you,’ Yanni said, holding up his hand in a wave. ‘How you doing?’

  ‘Okay.’ He hefted his walking boot into the air. ‘Apart from this.’

  ‘What the hell happened?’

  ‘I battled your quad bike and lost.’

  ‘Dickhead. Bad?’

  ‘Fracture.’

  ‘I was talking about the bike.’

  Yanni never failed to make Kody laugh, even when he didn’t feel like it. ‘I’ll replace it.’

  Yanni waved away his offer. ‘So how are you, apart from a bung ankle?’

  ‘Not bad.’ Not good hung unsaid between them. Evading the truth was much easier than flat-out lying to his best mate. ‘The damnedest thing has happened.’

  Yanni waited for him to continue. Another thing Kody liked about his friend: he didn’t waste words. Some guys blathered for the sake of it, spinning bullshit as naturally as breathing, but not Yanni. He was a good listener.

  ‘Have you ever met your neighbour here?’

  ‘Nah. I keep a low profile when I’m in Brockenridge. That’s the whole point of having a place out there: to decompress.’

  ‘Fair enough.’ Kody inhaled a breath and blew it out. ‘You’re not going to believe this but … remember Tash?’

  ‘Your Tash? From back in Melbourne when we were gigging at the Princeton?’

  Kody nodded. ‘Turns out she’s your neighbour, and she has a kid, Isla, who’s mine.’

  Yanni’s jaw dropped. ‘Tash had your kid and you didn’t know?’

  Kody didn’t want to get into Tash’s lie so he said, ‘Biggest surprise of my life, but in a good way.’

  ‘You’ve got a kid …’ A slow grin spread across Yanni’s face. ‘I’ll be damned.’

  ‘Yeah, it’s a real spin out.’

  ‘So that would make her … what? Thirteen?’

  ‘Yeah, almost.’

  ‘That’s great news, mate. I’m happy for you.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  Kody wanted to ask so much. Do you think I’ll make a good dad? What happens if I can’t get my shit together? What will happen to my new relationship with my daughter once I leave town? But no use asking Yanni questions he might not want to hear the answers to.

&nb
sp; ‘Uh … how’s Tash? Are you guys getting on okay?’

  ‘Yeah, she’s been helping me out since the ankle. And she’s facilitating my relationship with Isla.’ Only Yanni knew how gutted he’d been when she’d walked away from him all those years ago. Yanni had been the one to watch over him as he’d downed enough tequila shots to pickle his liver three nights in a row, who’d given him a pep talk about bucking the hell up before they got to LA, who’d taken him on a double date with two American cheerleaders the first week they’d landed in the City of Angels. Yanni had his back and always would, which meant revealing the real intent behind this call.

  ‘Anyway, I wanted to talk to you about something.’

  Yanni nodded and pointed to his face. ‘I knew you weren’t calling just to look at this mug.’

  ‘As handsome as you think you are, you’re right.’ Kody huffed out a breath then rushed on. ‘I know all of you saw shrinks after the accident, but how are the boys coping these days?’

  ‘At the risk of you biting my head off again: better than you.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yeah. Being back in Melbourne, killing time until you’re ready to join us, has been good.’

  That may never happen hovered on the tip of Kody’s tongue. He didn’t want to stuff his mates around and now that he had Isla, he had to make careful decisions and not rush in.

  ‘Any idea when that’s going to happen?’

  Kody shook his head. ‘Not a bloody clue. I still can’t pick up a guitar, let alone sing a note.’

  ‘Fuck,’ Yanni muttered, concern clouding his eyes. ‘Still that bad?’

  ‘Yep and it shits me.’ Kody thumped the table in frustration, causing the screen to pixellate for a second. ‘I want to get past this but I can’t.’

  ‘You need professional help.’

  ‘So I’ve been told.’ He hesitated. ‘Tash virtually said the same.’

  Yanni’s eyebrows shot up. ‘You opened up to her about all this?’

  ‘A little.’ A lot—he hadn’t anticipated telling her any of it but she’d always been a good listener and he’d fallen into old habits. Or maybe she’d got under his skin? Because as angry as he may be that she’d withheld Isla from him all these years, spending time with his daughter had shown him exactly what kind of a person Tash was: a caring, loving mother who’d raised an amazing kid, a resilient, well-adjusted girl who took major surprises like meeting her dad in her stride.

  It had softened his stance towards Tash to the point he’d found himself teasing her. Her blush about his bath comment had catapulted him straight back to the time they’d first met and she’d blush at the slightest innuendo. Her innocence had been a huge turn-on and he’d loved unveiling her hidden sensuality. But that couldn’t be his intention now. He had more important things to worry about, like getting to know his daughter and figuring out how he’d let his mates down if he ultimately couldn’t return to his role as front man of Rock Hard Place.

  ‘So are you two … getting reacquainted?’

  Kody snorted. ‘Not in the way you’re implying. I’m too bloody furious with her for keeping Isla from me all these years.’

  ‘Why did she?’

  ‘Protecting the kid, mostly.’

  ‘From you?’

  ‘No—more from the lifestyle, I guess. And not wanting me drifting in and out of Isla’s life while the band was travelling constantly and doing so well.’

  ‘That wasn’t her decision to make.’ Yanni’s lips flattened in disapproval. ‘You’re a father, for fuck’s sake, you should’ve had the chance to see your daughter grow up.’

  For a second Kody wished he’d never told Yanni about Isla. But he valued his friend’s opinion and had to tell someone the truth. ‘Yeah, I know, but I’m moving past the bitterness for the sake of Isla. Tash and I are bound now, so no use alienating her when it’s easier if we work together for the sake of Isla.’

  Yanni deflated a tad. ‘Yeah, you’re right. Ignore this grumpy old man.’

  ‘You’re my age, dickhead, and we’re not that old.’

  Yanni laughed. ‘Want me to come up there and hang out for a few days?’

  ‘No!’ Kody yelled, earning another laugh. ‘Thanks for the offer, but the whole point of me being up here is to get my shit together.’

  ‘That was before you discovered you had a daughter, though. You sure?’

  ‘Yeah.’ Kody made a grand show of looking at his watch. ‘Gotta go.’

  ‘Hot date?’

  He flipped his middle finger in response, before smiling and hitting the disconnect button. He’d done the right thing in calling Yanni. Telling him about Isla and Tash made him feel lighter somehow, but as his gaze fell on the guitar again, the band of anxiety around his chest constricted. Revealing he had a daughter to his mate was easy compared with telling him the rest: that he feared he’d never play music again.

  A loud banging on the back door roused Kody. He had no idea how long he’d been asleep—the last thing he remembered was drifting off to the sounds of a raucous kookaburra, but as he hobbled to the door he noticed dusk had descended.

  As the banging intensified he called out, ‘Hold your horses,’ glad for the increased mobility of the walking boot but wishing he didn’t need anything at all. The doc said he’d be in this damn boot for at least six weeks, but because the fracture in his fibula was hairline he could ditch the crutches. He reached the door and flung it open, to find Tash on the other side holding a casserole dish.

  ‘Isla made you dinner,’ she said, holding it out like an offering. ‘She would’ve loved to share it with you but she had dance class.’

  Through his sleep-clogged mind, he wondered if Isla sending Tash over with a meal was her version of matchmaking, before dispelling the thought. He already knew Isla enough to guess this was a genuine attempt to look after him.

  ‘She’s a good kid,’ he said, opening the door further. ‘Come in.’

  Tash hesitated before stepping in. ‘Were you asleep?’

  ‘Guilty as charged.’ He dragged a hand through his hair in a half-hearted effort to tidy it. ‘What gave it away? My bleary eyes or the tousled do?’

  She smiled and something deep inside twanged when it had no right to. ‘You look pretty rumpled.’

  ‘I wasn’t expecting company.’ He eyed the casserole dish and his stomach rumbled loudly, making her laugh.

  ‘It’s mac and cheese, Isla’s speciality.’ She moved around the kitchen as if it were the most natural thing in the world to bring him dinner. ‘I’ll dish up for you then get out of your way.’

  ‘Stay,’ he said, the invitation slipping from his lips before he had a chance to suppress it.

  She paused, plate in one hand, ladle in the other, fixing him with a curious stare. ‘You sure? Because you were already stuck with me in the car earlier, then at the café. I’m fine to drop this off and go.’

  ‘Have you eaten yet?’

  ‘No. I have to pick Isla up in an hour so I was going to grab a souvlaki in town.’

  ‘There’s enough for two in there, yeah?’

  She glanced at the dish and nodded.

  ‘Then join me. Please,’ he added as an afterthought when she still seemed reluctant. ‘So she dances?’

  ‘Yeah.’ Tash grabbed another plate and ladled mac and cheese on it, about a quarter of his portion. ‘She loves it almost as much as drama. When she’s on stage, she’s a natural.’

  Kody couldn’t help but feel chuffed that maybe his daughter inherited her stage presence from him. As if sensing his thoughts, Tash stole a quick glance at him.

  ‘She’s like you in so many ways.’

  ‘Yeah?’ His throat tightened with emotion and he gratefully took the plate she held out to him.

  ‘Uh-huh.’ Tash grabbed some cutlery before sitting opposite him at the table and it struck him that if they’d stayed together, they would’ve done this kind of thing all the time. Sharing a simple dinner when he returned home from tour,
hanging out, comfortable with each other.

  He’d always felt like this around her, even when they’d been sitting cross-legged on the floor in his studio apartment in Melbourne, sharing a small pizza because they couldn’t afford anything else. She’d never made him feel second best because he didn’t have a lot of money. Back then, he’d fully expected his first real relationship to be his last, they’d been that in sync. Before she’d gutted him and stole almost thirteen years of his daughter’s life from him.

  Scowling, he picked up a fork, stabbed at a glob of macaroni and shoved it into his mouth to stop from bringing up the past.

  Oblivious to his deteriorating mood, Tash said, ‘There’s this way Isla has of tilting her head when she’s listening to music that reminds me of you. And she picks the sultanas out of anything. And she likes to lie in bed for at least thirty minutes after waking to ease into the day—’

  ‘I wonder if she can sing like me,’ he blurted, desperate to change the subject because the longer Tash waxed lyrical about how like him Isla was, the angrier he got that he hadn’t been around to witness it firsthand.

  ‘She has a great voice,’ Tash said. ‘But she’s never been interested in lessons or anything. Maybe that’ll change now?’

  ‘Maybe.’ He shoved the macaroni around his plate, his appetite gone. He hated this roller coaster of emotion whenever he was around Tash. He wanted to shelve his resentment for Isla’s sake but realising he had to learn so much about his daughter made him want to thump the table and rail at this woman who had deprived him of so much.

  Tash laid her fork down and only then did he notice she’d barely touched her meal too. ‘What’s up? I thought we were okay after that coffee earlier today?’

  He could lie, but opening up to Yanni earlier had been cathartic. Maybe if he lay it all on the line for Tash they could finally move forwards without the residual bitterness eating away at him?

  ‘We are, mostly,’ he said, gruff and abrupt. ‘And I want to learn everything about Isla, I really do, but hearing you talk about her gets me here.’ He thumped a fist over his heart. ‘I want to get past the fact you lied to me all those years ago, and that you’ve kept lying for thirteen years, but it may take time because it’s bloody tough to deal with.’