Read Online Heated Beat 02 - Lucky Man by Garrett Leigh - Free Book Online
Authors: Garrett Leigh
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counted back in time. “Six years ago, maybe? It’s been so long I can’t remember.”
Finn was silent a moment. Danny wondered what he was thinking, wondered if perhaps his get-out clause for Danny was a double bluff. Maybe Finn was the one who wanted to bail.
Danny stared at his reflection in the window. Two days of stubble. Hair on end. He looked like hell and suddenly felt reckless. It was time to put his cards on the table. “Listen, mate. The schizophrenia doesn’t bother me. At least not the way you think it does. It doesn’t put me off, it just makes me… I don’t know. Worry about you, I guess, for your sake, not mine.”
“You don’t need to worry about me, Danny. I’m just fine. Better than that, I’m happy.”
“Happy, eh? Works for me. I’ll be happy if you’ll be happy.”
“Yeah?” Danny heard the smile in Finn’s voice. “That sounds like a plan.”
A plan sounded like progress, but Danny figured asking Finn to elaborate would make him sound like a knobhead. Instead he said nothing and hoped for the best, a practice that rarely turned out well for him. But for someone who thought they were crap with words, Finn had a way of bringing a conversation full circle.
“Good,” Finn said. “If you can handle my questionable sanity, I can deal with you being an emo retard.”
“I’m not a bloody emo.”
Finn chuckled. “Whatever. I’m playing a solo gig tonight over in Mansfield. Come down if you’re not busy. We can do something after.”
D ANNY DIDN ’ T take much persuading. After snatching another few hours of well-earned sleep and making a half-arsed effort to clean his flat, he took a shower and drove west out of the city.
Mansfield wasn’t an area Danny knew well. He parked his car outside the dubious pub Finn had directed him to. What was it with this bloke and dumps like these? Inside, though, the pub wasn’t as bad as Danny had feared. In fact with the roaring log fire and scent of mulled cider, it was more than decent.
Danny shut the door on the frosty night and headed for the bar. He bought a mug of hot cider and scanned the crowded pub. The textured, honeyed tones of Finn’s voice reeled him in like a siren call, but it took Danny a moment to spot his shaggy blond hair on a small stage in the pub’s cozy alcove.
Yep. Still gorgeous.
Danny felt a familiar warmth creep through him. He found a seat at the bar and soaked up the easy atmosphere of the pub. It was a far cry from the Lamps’ rowdy gig, but isolated and alone on stage, just a mic and his guitar, the laid-back vibe fit Finn like a glove. Danny relaxed. He’d loved the Lamps’ gig, but this felt more intimate, and it suited his mood.
Finn strummed his way through an eclectic set list, mixing up crowd-pleasers with unfamiliar songs Danny assumed were his own work. Danny loved it all, even discounting his unhealthy fixation with Finn’s hair. The gig passed in a flash, and Finn’s call for last-minute requests caught him off guard.
Danny bit his tongue. There were so many songs he’d love to hear Finn sing, but he wasn’t sure Finn had seen him come in, and announcing his presence in front of a crowd of ale-swilling locals felt all wrong.
Besides, Finn’s audience seemed to know him and had plenty requests of their own. It wasn’t until the third song that Danny knew for sure Finn had spotted him lurking at the back. He heard the waver in his voice and saw the flash of heat in his hazel eyes—a heat that matched the stirring in Danny’s heart.
Finn strummed the last few chords of his own unique take of “Supersonic.” He smiled, and though he didn’t meet Danny’s gaze, Danny knew the smile was for him. “Last one, folks. Give me something good.”
An elderly man called out a song. Finn chuckled. “Not my usual remit, but I’ll give it a go.”
He picked out a melody. Tapped out a rhythm on the back of his guitar. The chord pattern that followed was unfamiliar, but Danny
Finn was silent a moment. Danny wondered what he was thinking, wondered if perhaps his get-out clause for Danny was a double bluff. Maybe Finn was the one who wanted to bail.
Danny stared at his reflection in the window. Two days of stubble. Hair on end. He looked like hell and suddenly felt reckless. It was time to put his cards on the table. “Listen, mate. The schizophrenia doesn’t bother me. At least not the way you think it does. It doesn’t put me off, it just makes me… I don’t know. Worry about you, I guess, for your sake, not mine.”
“You don’t need to worry about me, Danny. I’m just fine. Better than that, I’m happy.”
“Happy, eh? Works for me. I’ll be happy if you’ll be happy.”
“Yeah?” Danny heard the smile in Finn’s voice. “That sounds like a plan.”
A plan sounded like progress, but Danny figured asking Finn to elaborate would make him sound like a knobhead. Instead he said nothing and hoped for the best, a practice that rarely turned out well for him. But for someone who thought they were crap with words, Finn had a way of bringing a conversation full circle.
“Good,” Finn said. “If you can handle my questionable sanity, I can deal with you being an emo retard.”
“I’m not a bloody emo.”
Finn chuckled. “Whatever. I’m playing a solo gig tonight over in Mansfield. Come down if you’re not busy. We can do something after.”
D ANNY DIDN ’ T take much persuading. After snatching another few hours of well-earned sleep and making a half-arsed effort to clean his flat, he took a shower and drove west out of the city.
Mansfield wasn’t an area Danny knew well. He parked his car outside the dubious pub Finn had directed him to. What was it with this bloke and dumps like these? Inside, though, the pub wasn’t as bad as Danny had feared. In fact with the roaring log fire and scent of mulled cider, it was more than decent.
Danny shut the door on the frosty night and headed for the bar. He bought a mug of hot cider and scanned the crowded pub. The textured, honeyed tones of Finn’s voice reeled him in like a siren call, but it took Danny a moment to spot his shaggy blond hair on a small stage in the pub’s cozy alcove.
Yep. Still gorgeous.
Danny felt a familiar warmth creep through him. He found a seat at the bar and soaked up the easy atmosphere of the pub. It was a far cry from the Lamps’ rowdy gig, but isolated and alone on stage, just a mic and his guitar, the laid-back vibe fit Finn like a glove. Danny relaxed. He’d loved the Lamps’ gig, but this felt more intimate, and it suited his mood.
Finn strummed his way through an eclectic set list, mixing up crowd-pleasers with unfamiliar songs Danny assumed were his own work. Danny loved it all, even discounting his unhealthy fixation with Finn’s hair. The gig passed in a flash, and Finn’s call for last-minute requests caught him off guard.
Danny bit his tongue. There were so many songs he’d love to hear Finn sing, but he wasn’t sure Finn had seen him come in, and announcing his presence in front of a crowd of ale-swilling locals felt all wrong.
Besides, Finn’s audience seemed to know him and had plenty requests of their own. It wasn’t until the third song that Danny knew for sure Finn had spotted him lurking at the back. He heard the waver in his voice and saw the flash of heat in his hazel eyes—a heat that matched the stirring in Danny’s heart.
Finn strummed the last few chords of his own unique take of “Supersonic.” He smiled, and though he didn’t meet Danny’s gaze, Danny knew the smile was for him. “Last one, folks. Give me something good.”
An elderly man called out a song. Finn chuckled. “Not my usual remit, but I’ll give it a go.”
He picked out a melody. Tapped out a rhythm on the back of his guitar. The chord pattern that followed was unfamiliar, but Danny
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