Infinite Completion (The Infinity Series Book 1) Page 2

  ‘He’s not coming,’ I say over the music being played.

  ‘He has to be here, he’s the singer,’ Sarah says dismissively.

  ‘There’s a female singer, she could be singing tonight... maybe he’s sick?’ I argue, hoping to be proven wrong.

  ‘He doesn’t have anything to set up, he was late last week too.’

  ‘Was he this late last week?’ I ask. Now I’m starting to think I’d just be embarrassing myself. ‘Maybe we should go?’

  ‘Stop stressing, he’ll be here!’

  The door near the stage opens and he walks in. He’s wearing faded and torn blue jeans, a white t-shirt that clings to his stomach muscles and a black leather bike jacket, with a bike helmet tucked under his arm – only one. He came alone. I hold my breath. He’s still just as perfect as I remember him to be.

  He places his helmet on the edge of the stage, then turns to look straight at me. His smile captivates me. The last time he looked at me like this, I was turning down his offer to dance with him. I want to crawl under the table. I’m blushing, my face burns.

  Breathe! I have to control myself! What on earth am I doing here? I’m not his type! But my heart is already skipping, singing and frolicking through the tulips… Oh God, he’s gorgeous!

  He makes his way over to the bar and I try to look relaxed, sipping my drink.

  ‘Sarah, what is he doing?’ I say.

  ‘He’s getting a drink... no, make that a few shooters... and he’s walking this way!’

  What! No, I’m not ready! My heart is still dancing around the room. I think I might faint.

  ‘Hi ladies,’ he says. Just like that. Just perfect. His voice is heavenly, really, like one of those voice-overs that sound like they’ve come from a Greek God, only his accent isn’t Greek, I’m sure I can hear a slight Irish burr. To be honest, who cares what nationality he is – he has olive skin and smouldering brown eyes – oh boy. ‘We get free drinks for band members and friends, so these are for you,’ he adds as he places a tray of shooters on the table. He takes off his jacket and hangs it on the back of the chair – he’s staying.

  Holy heavens, he called us friends! My heart is screaming like a silly schoolgirl. I’m trying my hardest not to gawp at the panther stretched across the muscle on his forearm.

  He swings the chair around the wrong way and straddles it. ‘It’s Sarah, isn’t it?’ he says, putting his hand out to her, she takes it and grins back at him.

  ‘Yeah, and this is Abbie,’ she replies. I kick her foot under the table.

  ‘Hi, Abbie. I missed you last week.’

  I don’t know what to say. I can only stare at those perfect white teeth and full, soft, luscious lips.

  My heart shouts at me, Say something smart!

  ‘Um, yeah, I was with my dad... um ... fishing...’

  Idiot!

  ‘Wow, you like fishing?’

  ‘Um, not much, but I was invited. I made a promise.’

  ‘Well, in that case, if you’re good at keeping promises, then promise me a dance later?’

  ‘Maybe,’ I say, as calmly as I can manage.

  ‘Hold on, hot-rod, aren’t you going to give the lady your name?’ Sarah points out.

  He smiles at me as though he’s inviting me to come and see just how deep the rabbit hole is.

  ‘Valentine Hewitt,’ he says.

  Valentine. Oh my giddy aunt! There’s no way I’m going down the rabbit hole with him. After tonight, before anything goes any further, I’m going to tuck away my fickle heart and listen to my intuition.

  There is no way this is happening.

  Chapter 2

  Valentine. It’s just a name, right?

  But, his name, wrapped up in his perfect smile sends my heart skipping back through the tulip fields and the aroma of damp leather fills my lungs. My thoughts are unexpectedly sent spinning back to my tenth birthday and a little girl’s fascination with romance. The whole idea of fairytales and forever; of happily ever after and just how wrong I was.

  Experts say that we only really remember long-passed events that brought us sheer joy or complete heartache. These memories will stand out against the backdrop of our life for many, many years and sometimes can be brought on by a smell, song, or familiar taste. Then it makes sense that I can only remember the End of My Tenth Birthday, not the parts that really should matter, but the part which kick-started me – Abigail Bennet; survivor, peacemaker, daydreamer, protector and secret keeper. It also makes sense that the smell of leather and the cold wet months of winter seem to bring me comfort and balance; and maybe that little tinge of hope that fairytales are real.

  It was the End of My Tenth Birthday where my story began.

  The end of this day started out with my younger sister, Izzy, older brother, Sam, and I, all playing about with our Barbie dolls and Matchbox cars on the living room floor. Mum was sitting in “Dad’s chair” with our baby sister, Jade, on her lap, trying to concentrate on the program playing on our little black and white television. And we were all waiting. I know for sure, Mum would have been anxious – just as I was, but for very different reasons. Mum and Dad had separated for a couple of weeks and he was living with his parents.

  He finally arrived – my dad, John. His black leather jacket and curly hair wet from the soft rain that fell outside. I can’t, for the life of me, recall if I was happy to see him or not. I don’t remember seeing Mum jumping for joy, either. I can only see myself standing in our tiny little lounge room with the yellow paisley wallpapered walls, smiling at Dad as he handed me a small parcel – and the smell of damp leather filled my lungs.

  It was a copy of Katherine Paterson's Bridge to Terabithia – my very first “big kid’s” book.

  I’d waited for this man to visit – like the coming of Christ himself (or at the very least, Pope John Paul II). I loved this man. I loved him because he would let me hang out with him when he was working on his car. I loved him because he would let me sit on his lap when he played his drums. I loved him because he would let me sit on the bed and watch him sketch or play his guitar. I loved him because he read me stories of pretty maidens being swept up onto white horses by gallant knights, who fought fierce dragons and magical beasts. And when you’re a ten year old girl, you want to believe in fairytales. You want to believe the stories your father tells you of Prince Charming and faraway lands. You want to believe in love. Real love. Forever love – like the love a daddy has for his little girl.

  So when he handed me this book, I loved him. Because with this gift came the promise of love. Maybe he’d come home because he loved us? Loved me. Maybe he’d come home and help me read it? Maybe.

  ‘I found it. It’s the one you wanted, right?’ he said.

  ‘Thanks, Dad.’ I can still taste these words. I meant them. I wasn’t happy that he had left us. I wasn’t happy that he made Mum cry. I wasn’t happy that our Christmas was one without food, or presents under our tree. I wasn’t happy that he floated through life on a big fluffy cloud. But I was happy that he gave me this book – really happy.

  I never saw John again, and realised that the End of My Tenth Birthday also became the End of My Silly Fairytale. Sure, Mum eventually moved on with her life. We relocated to Perth and she found love again. I grew up with a great step-dad and had a fairly normal life, but, nothing ever mended my heart completely; it remained always a little fragile, hoping that someday, somebody would love me – forever – and never leave.

  But, at this stage of the game, I wasn’t looking for a boyfriend, or a big house with a white picket fence – I was more than content with my romance books. Sure, I wanted to meet somebody who would revolve around me as the moon revolves around the earth, one day, but not yet. I wasn’t ready to upset my balance.

  Now, Valentine has given me a smile. A smile loaded with promises meant only for me.

  ‘Abbie? You still with us?’ A voice brings me back. His voice.

  I’m sure I must look as though he’s just handed
me a bunch of long-stemmed red roses with an engagement ring attached to them, because his eyes sparkle with a sort of mischief only a bad-boy would give to a girl like me.

  I know I should be playing hard to get, like they do in the books I drown myself in, but how can I not smile back at him – and give him my heart, just for good measure?

  Phillip makes his way to our table. ‘Valentine, come on... we’re about to start!’ When he reaches us, he plants a kiss on Sarah’s cheek. ‘Hi, babe,’ he adds with an obvious twinkle in his eyes. I can’t wipe the smile from my face.

  ‘Hi, Phil,’ Sarah says sweetly. Now she’s doe-eyed.

  ‘So, you brought your friend with you this time,’ he says, smiling at Valentine and then at me.

  The lights go dim and I can’t tell if Valentine has blushed, but I know I have.

  Then, completely to my surprise, Valentine picks up my hand and gently kisses the tops of my fingers.

  Oh, dear Lord! I’m so glad I’m sitting down. My balance has shifted and I feel dizzy.

  ‘Okay, now don’t run away, I’ll come see you as soon as we finish the first bracket... I want to get to know you better, Abbie.’

  I can honestly report that Alice has now fallen into the rabbit hole.

  ∞~∞~∞~∞

  We dance at Pandora’s Pub until Seduction finishes their gig. Hannah and Ethan meet up with us, so now we’re a group of three couples. We decide we’re not ready for the night to end, so we find a pizza place on Beaufort Street – Valentine orders Hawaiian because he thinks it sounds romantic.

  We finally head back to Sarah’s. I go with Sarah in Phil’s Honda, unsure about the ride on the back of a motorbike with Valentine. We eat and drink some more. Sarah and Phil disappear into a room. Ethan and Hannah say their goodbyes, with a wink from Ethan and a giggle from Hannah.

  Valentine and I are left sitting on the lounge-room floor. He leans up against the couch with his legs pulled up and hangs his hands over his knees. He’s watching me and I’m running my fingers through the shag pile, very worried about what he imagines might happen between us now.

  I’m just close enough to smell his leather jacket and breathe the same air and I’m finding it very difficult to draw my gaze from his.

  ‘You have the strangest eyes I’ve ever seen.’

  Concern overwhelms me. ‘Oh.’ My heart falls to the floor… what a strange thing to say… is that a good thing, or a bad thing?

  ‘I could have sworn they were green, but now they’re grey…’

  ‘Oh, I’m tired, that’s all.’

  He grins. ‘Of course you’re tired, we’ve partied hard tonight.’

  I think back briefly to us dancing and now I’m grinning like the local village idiot.

  ‘I don’t usually party, at all. I don’t drink and I don’t really like pubs.’ Could I say anything more stupid? He’s the lead singer in a rock band. And I’ve just told him I’m a boring nut-case. I’m a soon-to-be twenty-one year old single girl, who works as a secretary in a medical centre. I spend my spare time reading romance books and painting pretty scenery of the places I am too afraid to travel to. I feel breathless as he continues staring at me.

  ‘No pubs?’ he says, cocking his head to the side. ‘Well, I hope that changes, or we’ll hardly see each other.’

  I’m very conscious that I’m biting my lip and staring at the nail polish I have just started to pick from my nails. ‘I’ve just never been into drunken crowds and the whole pick-up scene.’

  ‘Is that what you think people go to pubs for?’

  When I glance up from my fingers, he has a smirk on his lips, which sends butterflies loose in my stomach.

  ‘Isn’t it?’

  ‘I’m sure most people do, but some go there to listen to a good band and shake off the stresses from their working week and mundane lives.’

  ‘I guess so.’

  ‘So, what are you into, Abbie?’

  He moves closer and sits with his legs crossed. He smells good. He takes my hand and kisses my fingertips, and my wrists. Oh boy, this is moving too fast! I pull back and sit against the couch.

  He looks hurt. ‘Sorry.’ He inhales heavily and regards me for a long moment. ‘You’re beautiful,’ he adds.

  Now I’m really nervous. I don’t do one-night stands and I feel like blurting this piece of information out, but that would just make me sound stuck-up and arrogant. Maybe he doesn’t want a one-night stand?

  Who am I kidding? Of course, this is what he wants.

  I attempt an apologetic let down. ‘It’s okay, I’m sorry, I just…’

  He interrupts, leaning back on his hands. ‘Abbie, I’m sorry. Really, you’re just… look let’s just relax, okay? And we’ll see where this takes us?’ His chest is clearly visible through his white t-shirt and I want to climb into his lap. I want to run my fingers through that soft dark hair and taste his tongue...

  Really? Where are these carnal thoughts coming from? It’s the strangest feeling, this gravitational pull. The butterflies and the tingling in extremely inappropriate places; a craving that’s completely covered my intuition with a veil. This physical, primal desire to touch him and allow him to take over holds me to the spot. I can’t move. I don’t want to.

  Breathe Abbie! Air fills my lungs.

  ‘Valentine, I need things to go slow, I’m sorry,’ I whisper. Did I say it loud enough?

  ‘Abbie, I’m not the big bad wolf. I want to take it slowly, too, I just don’t know how.’

  My defences come up. ‘You’ve been with that many girls?’

  He lets out a full-bellied laugh and falls back onto the carpeted floor, raking his hands through his hair. ‘Oh Abbie, you wound me! No, not because I’m so used to going fast with a different girl every night. I’m not the bad-boy you think I am.’

  I narrow my eyes and study him. ‘You look like a bad-boy.’

  I watch him considering his next sentence. He stays where he is and keeps his eyes fixed on the ceiling. ‘I’m sorry I tried to hit on you, that first night. I just wanted to dance. And I may have given you the wrong impression of me.’

  ‘I’m not so sure it was the wrong impression. You have a tattoo of a wild cat on your arm, you sing in a rock band and you ride a motorbike.’

  He turns to me and smiles. ‘Don’t they say you shouldn’t judge a book by its cover?’

  ‘Yes, but the cover tells the reader a lot about what’s inside.’

  ‘Not everything, though.’

  ‘Fair enough.’ He had me there. Maybe I’ve misjudged him. Maybe he’s not the average bad-boy looking for a one-night stand.

  ‘Look, let’s just hang out together tonight and see where it takes us, okay?’

  ‘Okay.’ We’re adults. I’m a strong sensible girl. I can do this.

  I lay beside him on the carpet, both of us looking up at the ceiling; our fingers touching.

  ‘So, what do you do when you’re not chasing men around a pub?’ he says with a squeeze of my hand. My stomach flutters.

  ‘I work in a medical centre. I’m a secretary.’

  ‘Oh, that suits you,’ he says with a touch of humour in his voice. I can’t tell if it’s an insult.

  ‘What about you? Are you just a rock star, or do you have a day job?’

  He turns his face to mine, and smiles. ‘I make coffee.’

  Now I really can’t tell if he’s serious.

  ‘I’m a barista, Abbie,’ he adds with a sigh.

  ‘Oh, I like coffee.’

  ‘It’s not a great paying career, but it pays the bills.’

  I get the impression he thinks his job is inadequate. Why do men feel like they have to have a huge pay packet to impress a girl?

  ‘Well, I think it would be a very interesting job.’

  ‘It’s okay, I work in a great little coffee shop on Beaufort Street and my boss is pretty good with my band commitments. I never work a weekend, so this works out well with my son, too.’

  I was hoping t
he subject would come up. He has a kid. So, Phil wasn’t joking.

  ‘How old is your son?’

  He sighs again. I sense he doesn’t really want to talk about serious stuff. ‘Tyler, he’s just turned seven. I married when I was a little older than you and I wasn’t much of a husband.’

  ‘Do you see him often?’

  ‘Yeah, I had today with him. I get to spend every Saturday with him, while his mum goes shopping and does whatever it is women do when they have a day to themselves.’

  ‘Oh well that’s good, isn’t it?’ What would I know about parental visitations? I didn’t see my biological father after the age of ten.

  ‘It’s not ideal, but it’s working at the moment. A marriage breakdown is never ideal, is it?’ he asks me as though I would know the answer. I don’t.

  ‘I guess all you can do is be there for him,’ I say, completely out of my depth.

  ‘Anyway, enough sad stories!’ he says, pulling himself up onto his elbow and turning to me. ‘What about you?’

  Me. Oh, I’m not good at this. I hate the whole, “I’ll tell you some stuff and you tell me some stuff”. I’m boring. I don’t have anything to top a marriage breakdown, kids, or the excitement of being in a rock band.

  ‘I live with Hannah. I finished high school and got a job as a secretary. I like to read romance novels, sketch pictures of places I want to go and I don’t go out much…’

  Valentine lets out a loud laugh and falls back to the floor. ‘You need to get out more!’

  ‘I’m happy with my life,’ I retort.

  ‘Nobody should be happy with their life so much that they stop reaching for the stars, Abbie.’

  It’s my turn to sigh now. ‘I’m not happy with my life, just comfortable I guess.’

  ‘Well, the sun is nearly up and today’s a new day.’

  ‘Yeah, and what are you doing today?’

  ‘I’m going to see Tyler. We got his mum a present and he wants me to be there to give it to her.’