Chapter Ten

Billie flipped on the coffee maker, which she always emptied and left ready to go again whenever she finished her morning coffee, then she cleared their plates away into the deep ceramic sink. By the time she’d filled it with hot water, there was enough coffee for a couple of oversized mugs, and she dumped Jon’s on the table in front of him.

“Milk in the fridge, sugar in that cupboard.” She pointed. “Help yourself.”

“Fine like this.”

She wrinkled her nose, pouring some milk into hers, then she tilted her head toward the living room.

“The whisky’s through here. Plus it’s more comfortable.”

So they relocated to the living room, Jon taking a seat on the long couch while Billie laid down her coffee and opened a dark wood cabinet, bringing out a bottle of whisky and two glasses. She brought the booze across to the coffee table, perching herself on a battered armchair and unscrewing the cap of the bottle. Jon watched her pour two healthy measures of the pale golden liquid, then she offered him one of the glasses.

“Thanks.” Jon took the glass and Billie settled back, moving her coffee and whisky to a table beside her chair.

As she shifted, bringing her feet up underneath her on the seat, snuggling into the chair, Jon sipped the whisky, raising his eyebrows at the unfamiliarly smoky taste.

“That’s nice……..what is it?”

“It’s called Macallan - Scottish single malt.”

“Hmm. I’m usually a Jack an’ coke kinda guy, but this….” He took another long sip, holding it in his mouth to savor the taste before swallowing. “This is pretty good stuff.”

“It is.” Billie sipped at her own glass. “It was my dad’s favorite.”

“Was?” Jon queried as she laid down the glass and switched to coffee again. “Is this part of your long, sad story?”

Billie stared down into her coffee, wondering what impulse had made her even mention it. Wondering more what was causing the impulse to tell him. Maybe it was the fact that she really hadn’t talked about it in so long. Maybe it was his attitude - the way he made her feel that he’d just listen and let her talk. Or maybe it was because he’d be riding back out of her life tomorrow, so she wouldn’t have to endure his pity. Or compassion. The two were one and the same, as far as she was concerned.

She laid the coffee aside and picked up the whisky, taking a longer sip. Even when you were searching for courage, it still seemed sacrilegious to toss back the delicious malt like some inferior booze.

“Was.” She confirmed, finally raising her eyes from the glass to look back at Jon.

He was sitting comfortably back on the couch, his right ankle resting on his left knee, and he held the coffee mug in one hand. She could only guess where his glass was resting. The blue eyes gazing back at her were steady and clear as he waited patiently for her to speak. Billie sighed softly and took one more sip of the Macallan.

“My parents were killed in a car wreck, just over three years ago now.”

“Aw, shit. I’m sorry, Billie.” Jon blurted, but she shook her head with a smile.

“S’okay. Really. I’m………well, I won’t say I’m over it - some things you never get over, I think - but I’m okay with it now.” She knew the next part would be harder to say, but reminded herself that he’d be gone tomorrow. “They - we - were driving back from the train station. My……my fiancé was in school out in LA, and we’d just picked him up for the holidays. We…..we were out on the highway when a truck….” Her voice faded for a moment, and her gaze dropped to the floor, staring at something Jon couldn’t see. Staring into the past. “The police said the driver fell asleep.”

“Shit.” Jon muttered, but Billie didn’t hear him.

Trapped in her memories, she could only hear - again - the rending screech of metal on metal, her mother’s scream blending with her father’s roar of anger and her fiancé’s voice yelling her name as he lunged toward her, even then trying to protect her. She could almost feel the pain again, the pain of being crushed against the door of the car, then the agonising feeling as a piece of jagged steel ripped into her back. It was the first time in a long while she’d let herself remember that night, then she was brought back to the present by a gentle voice.

“Billie?” Jon said softly, seeing her blank expression. “You okay there, sweetheart?”

“Hmmm?” She raised her head, blushing slightly at his concerned expression. “Sorry. I guess I haven’t thought about this in a while.” She drank the last of her whisky, forcing herself to finish the story. “The truck driver fell asleep, they reckon, and he hit us. Killed my dad and Craig - my fiancé - outright. Mom died just after the paramedics arrived.” She shrugged. “I survived. Battered, bruised, and the odd interesting scar to show for it, but I’m alive.”

“Jesus.” Jon murmured. Hearing a tale like that - losing your whole family in one fell swoop - certainly put life into a different perspective. “It must’ve been hard. Losing so many people at one time, I mean.”

“It was. It is. But, y’know what? Every single one of them would’ve wanted me to keep on living.” She gave a twisted smile. “I won’t say I’m doing good at it just yet, but I’m trying. I was raised tough, and I won’t give in without a damned good fight.”

“Good for you.” Jon said seriously, then snuffed a laugh, quickly explaining himself before Billie thought he was laughing at her. “Sorry. I was just thinking how I need some of your fighting spirit these days. I seem to have lost the will to…….”

“The will to live? Or just the will to believe life’s worth fighting for?” Billie asked. Anything to get the conversation off her for a bit.

“Honestly? A bit of both.” It was Jon’s turn to take a bracing drink of whisky.

Billie watched and waited - it was his turn to spill something personal, private and - possibly - embarrassing. His next words, though, were nothing that she expected.

“What kind of music do you listen to?”

“I…….huh?” She frowned, but Jon gestured for her to answer. “Not much, really. Bit of country, maybe, but not much. The radio in my truck’s busted, so I sing when I drive. Okay, I sing when I ride, too. And when I cook. Or……..okay, I sing more than I listen to music. Why?”

“Just wondered.” Jon decided to keep his mouth shut on the exact details of who - what - he was. “I’m in a band.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“Yeah. We’ve been playing a lot of shows the last few years, and we really haven’t taken any time out in the last two. I guess we’re burned out. I know I am at least.” He looked across at her, sadness in his gaze. “To the point that, after our last show, we all went our separate ways. I mean, we’ve made it to a pretty good place with our music and all that, but my best friend - he plays lead guitar, and we write together - knocked me on my ass twice in the last month we were on the road. None of the guys are really talking to me any more, and I can understand why. So I went home, tail between my legs, and I guess I tried to drink myself out of it. That didn’t work, so eventually when Dorothea found me, she straightened me out a bit. At least, she got my head straight enough that I decided we’d take off for a while on the bike.”

Now Billie was confused. “So where is…umm…..Dorothea?”

“Back home by now.” Jon grinned as he explained. “Couple of weeks ago, she told me that it wasn’t working. Not us - it’s not like we’ve split up or anything - but that the whole roadtrip thing just wasn’t allowing me to let go, because she was there, and so was my manager. I guess she was right - every time we stopped to eat, we’d end up talking business. So she sent me on my way alone, to try to find whatever it is I’m searching for.”

“What are you searching for?”

“I haven’t a fucking clue.” Jon said honestly. “A reason? A meaning? Me?” He finished his whisky and leaned forward to lay the glass down. “I just couldn’t see any reason to carry on with any of it, Billie. Everything I’d worked for, fought for, kicked in doors and damned well demanded they give me - I got it. I got it all, and it turned out to be worth shit. What it’s cost me - if it’s cost me my friendship with Richie, which I think it has - it’s not fucking worth it. I’ve finally realised that all the money, all the success in the world means nothin’, if you’re not happy.”

“So you have found something.” Billie smiled. “You’ve learned something important. You’ve learned that family - and I include close friends in that - are the biggest treasure you’ll ever have.”

Jon looked at her in surprise. He’d never actually thought of it that way, but she was right. He had come to understand that in the last couple of weeks. There was a sadness in Billie’s face, though, and he understood that, too. She’d lost the three most precious people in her life with no hope of ever getting them back, so she knew exactly what she was talking about.

“You’re right, Billie.” He said, then tilted his head slightly as he continued. “And I’m truly sorry about what happened with your parents and….Craig. You’re a hell of a lot stronger than me, obviously.”

“Pfffft!” She blew a raspberry, reaching for the still-open bottle of Macallan. “You want another?”

“Sure.”

She poured him another whisky, and poured one for herself, then they settled back in their seats again, each lost to their own thoughts for a few long minutes. Sipping the smoky whisky again, Jon looked at her with a tiny, encouraging smile.

“Tell me about Craig.” He said softly, and Billie looked at him in surprise. His expression was open and guileless, looking like he genuinely wanted to hear her story, and with a slight smile of her own she let herself open the door to her memories, beginning to speak.


Next morning, Jon woke naked in a rumpled bed, a baby hangover making the edges of his brain tremble, but nothing that could over-ride the feeling of contentment he felt. He rolled his head to one side, then smiled sleepily at Billie.

“Good morning.” He murmured.

“Good morning yourself.” She replied with a smile of her own.