Then I leave.
I wander to Boe’s Kebabs, which is so close to The Grill I can see the concrete steps from here.
Bozo slides a kebab across the counter, winking as he taps the “Free Range Chicken” sticker on his menu. Our little ritual.No living thing should be caged for its entire life. I won’t touch anything that isn’t free-range.
I nod back, pulling out my wallet. Mid-transaction, something catches my eye in the window, golden hair reflected in the glass. Erik’s sister is sitting on the bar steps with her arms hugging her bare knees.
My feet pivot before my brain registers the action, the kebab forgotten on the counter as I drift towards her.
“Hey, Slater! Your kebab!” Bozo calls out.
I spin around and jog back. “Sorry, mate.”
“All good. You need me to call you a cab again?”
“Nah, I’m actually all good.” When I’m sober, I can make it home in thirty minutes on foot. If I’m running, fifteen. But most nights I’m weaving my way back, turning a simple journey into an hour-long trek, ‘cause why not?
Tonight, though, I feel relatively on my game, having spaced my intake like the professional I am.
“Thanks for this.” I gesture to the world’s greatest kebab, now proudly in my hand.
Turning, I walk towards her—Erik’s fucking sister, approaching her slowly in case I spook her. She is gazingthroughthe gravel path, distant. My heart drops. When I get within a metre of her, she raises her gaze, and as her big brown eyes meet mine, my breath catches.
Crazy beautiful.
“And here we see a musician in her natural habitat,” I say, and should shut the fuck up but don’t. “Post-performance. Slightly tearful. Beautiful.” I pause. “Sorry. I’ve never said anything that corny to a stranger. Or anyone.” I run my free hand through my hair. “I’m Erik’s mate. You… Are you okay?”
Pull yourself together.
She blinks at me. Her arms tighten around her knees.
Fuck. I edge away from her. “Do you want me to go?”
“No!” she blurts out, a sound that jumps and stops me mid-stride. “I’m Blesk.”
“Yeah, I know. I’m Konnor.”
“Yeah.” She smiles faintly. “I know.”
I raise an eyebrow but don’t press her on how she knows my name. Erik must have mentioned me.
I lower myself onto the step beside her, the concrete cool through my jeans. The streetlamps cast light over us. She peers at me; the contours of her face are partially hidden behind a blind of golden hair. I’m usually the epitome of a witty conversationalist, but there is something about her that blocks my thoughts. No words come. None feel right.
I exhale hard. “What’s wrong?”
She gives me an unconvincing grin, sheepishly wiping a tear from her cheek. “I just don’t like playing that song.”
“Which one?”
She blinks at me. “Hero Boy.”
“That’s an awesome song. I don't know who the hero boy is, but I think he's lucky."
“He isn’t,” she sighs.
Fuck—I don’t know why she’s so upset. I don’t know why I care why she’s so upset, but I feel like it’s my responsibility to make her feel better.
Her voice trembles a little. “I just don’t usually play with other people. I’m a soloist, and I like it that way.”
