Chapter 7

This was as far from fun as it could get. Grayson clearly did not get that Carl, the true Capricorn Carl was, was easily disillusioned. Confidence plummeted if he couldn't meet his challenges, and Carl had struggled with every challenge so far today.

Quiz night at a sports bar . . .

This was almost cause to bolt.

The only thing that propelled him inside was imagining Sage and Leo's disappointment upon finding out he was not famous pianist Jason Lyall. Sage would get laughed at, and Leo made fun of by bullies at school. No, he had to go in and play along, just as he would give that speech in assembly tomorrow.

Carl rocked up to the bunch of dudes in green that Grayson had said would be waiting for him, and got a few gruff hellos in response. "You any good at history? We're in the finals tonight. One win away from an all-inclusive weekend holiday. Damn, it's a bad night for Grayson to be late."

A bell rang through the hoppy-smelling pub and one of the dudes shoved out a bar stool for him to sit. Carl leaned on the sticky table and tried to recall what he learned in school history as questions came flying through a microphone. One of the green team answered all music related Qs. Another, sports. Another, geography. Another, literature. Then came history, and it. Did. Not. Go. Well.

Every question was multiple choice, and each and every one he guessed. Wrong.

The yellow table behind them cheered and trumpeted upon scoring the highest points, and his fellow Green Gruffs muttered under their breaths.

Carl ran a hand through his hair with an apologetic grimace.

"He sends this guy in his place?" someone muttered.

"Shh, he's right there."

"We were that close to winning. He only needed to get two right. Two."

Carl climbed off his stool with all the dignity he could muster and rang out a self-deprecating laugh. "History's not my area."

"There's a fun round in twenty minutes. Trivia—"

A whispered scoff carried down the line of guys to his ears. "Seriously, you're asking him to stay?"

Carl's neck and ears were on fire. He forced a smile and waved the offer of another round away. The space across the pub floor to the exit couldn't have been more than two dozen steps, but they took forever to walk. Each sticky squelch had more eyes glancing his way. Who's the guy leaving already? Think he's the one that tanked the Greens. Bless him.

One of the Green Gruffs chased after him and caught up as Carl sucked in the crisp breeze outside. "Sorry about those guys. They don't wear disappointment well."

Carl didn't think his stomach could drop further. Disappointment. Wow, yeah, he elicited that. He shrugged and ducked into the convenience store next door.

"I'll tell them they should keep their thoughts to themselves."

Carl found himself dithering in the shop without any clear goal, but he pretended to be in the market for something he hadn't found yet, and—magazines. He zipped to them and picked up one of his faves, flipping through.

"Are you sure you don't want to do another round?"

Even if they kept their thoughts to themselves, it didn't mean they wouldn't think them—

Green Gruff Number Two entered the convenience store, flagging for his mate. "There you are. Why'd you—" He caught sight of Carl and his expression shifted to disapproval. He grabbed his friend by the arm. "Come on. Leave him to his... zodiacs. Explains it all."

The Green Gruffs left the store, one towing, the other being towed, and as soon as they were out of sight, Carl's hands started to shake. The horoscopes before him became a blur of colour; he snapped the magazine shut and stuffed it back on the shelf.

He ran after the Green Gruffs and shouted as they headed back into the pub, "Music. I'd have aced the musical questions. I'm a pianist!"

He dropped his head and turned to Grayson who was paused beside his ute, scarf up over his nose, a dark, slightly judgy gaze on Carl.

Carl stormed past him and that truth-seeking penetration. "I don't want to hear it."

This whole day had shown him it was better to be Jason Lyall. Being Carl... was embarrassing.

He struggled with the lock around his bike and shook it before trying again. Then he shoved Toto on his head and wrangled his freed bike down the footpath.

Grayson coughed and called his name, once, twice.

Three times Carl ignored him—

A hand landed on his shoulder and turned him around until Carl was looking into perplexed and worried eyes. "What happened?"

From inside Grayson's jacket—Jason's (was he trying to tease him?)—light flickered and a phone buzzed. Like a mechanical heart going haywire. A little like how his own silly one was behaving.

"It's probably your mates wondering why on earth you sent me to step in. Answer, they'll fill you in."

Grayson didn't answer. He ignored the buzzing lights bursting from his chest and held Carl's shoulder tighter. "What are you talking about?"

Carl shrugged Grayson's hand off him and returned to shoving his bike.

"Please don't leave like this. Where are you going?"

"Home. Have fun with trivia."

"Aren't you my PA for the week? Come join—"

Carl spun around, bike falling against a lamppost, helmet tumbling from his head and catching on the handles. "Are you kidding me? I've hated all the jobs you've given me, but this one was the worst. Did you send me there for a laugh? See how much of a fool I am?"

Grayson backed up a half-step, surprised. "What are you—"

"I couldn't figure out Excel. Can't touch type. Have never written my own CV let alone one for someone else! The whole day I've had to feel inferior. Not everyone is you, talented at a glance." Pulse pounding with frustration, Carl stepped up to Grayson and prodded his chest. "At first, I thought this extortion thing was to mask your own—whatever pain that was at Linda's. Then, I accepted you probably enjoyed being cheeky, making me work for your silence. But now I wonder if I was wrong about you having a big heart. You're just like the rest of them. Trying to make me see myself for the dud I am." Carl grabbed fistfuls of shirt, swallowed the achy knot in his throat, and stared back hard into those dark eyes. "Is it really so bad running a convenience store? Does liking horoscopes make me so undeserving?" He breathed hard. His hands hadn't stopped trembling. "Is this why it feels a little addictive playing Jason? To have people look at me and think ‘that's a cool person'. To be accomplished. To be worth—worth..."

Carl laughed hollowly. What was he doing? Letting his feelings run away with him wouldn't change anything. And letting them run away in front of someone he barely knew... Ridiculous.

He let go of Grayson and stepped back. "Whatever. Go in. Have a blast. I'll stop the melodrama."

Carl turned back to his bike, only to be tugged by the hand and spun around. In a whoosh of movement and woodsy scent, Grayson's arms came around him and hauled him into a hug. Carl startled, and Grayson held on tighter, a puffed sigh rolling along the back of his neck. It took Carl many uneven breaths before he could utter "Grayson?"

"Can we... sit somewhere a moment?" Grayson loosened his hold and gestured down the street to a bench surrounded by lawn and tussock that overlooked the harbour.

The bench was cold, and they were both underdressed for a southerly wind, but emotions ran hot, tempering it. Mostly. Grayson dabbed a nervous-looking sheen from his forehead, opened and shut his mouth, and then, at Carl's shiver, unwrapped his silver scarf and draped it around Carl's shoulders. "Wait here a minute."

He rushed off the bench and dashed towards the convenience store, returning a minute later with steaming paper cups of coffee. Carl tucked the soft scarf he'd been staring at into his collar, and took the drink.

The first sip was a creamy treat and Carl decided he'd give Grayson the benefit of the doubt.

Grayson stared into his coffee cup and then lifted his gaze to Carl. "I'm sorry I'm late. I'm sorry I left you alone. I'm sorry I've hurt you."

The apology had Carl's throat thickening. "Why? Why did you want me doing all this?"

"I thought being busy might numb your feelings. But I misunderstood your pain and made it worse. I was wrong."

Numb my feelings.Carl watched Grayson's gaze drop to his coffee again. It took a few beats, but eventually Grayson continued, "I messed up with you today." He dabbed his brow with his sleeve again. "About your twin swap. I won't tell anyone."

"No more extortion?"

"I'm truly an asshat."

Carl chuckled and side-eyed Grayson for a long moment. "You know what? It's hard to admit making mistakes. Harder to apologise. I maybe, sort of respect you right now." Breath fogged the air between them as he leaned in and added, "I'm sorry for lashing out at you, too. Saying you have no heart... It was said in frustration. It was mean and untrue."

Grayson smiled, but there was a sad depth in his eye. When he noticed the carefulness of Carl's observation, he tried to laugh it off. "You weren't all wrong. It's broken, this one." Laughter turned into coughing, and Grayson shifted away from him on the bench. There was a wall being thrown up, and a big sign to Change The Subject.

Carl wasn't entirely ready to accept the wall, though. He tried lightening the mood instead, thumping a palm on Grayson's thigh. "If you ever decide to fix it, you've got actual groupies to help."

Grayson hesitated, like he was warring inside how hard to shut this topic down. He swallowed and cast a look at Carl's palm. "Including you it seems."

Carl scoffed and pinched Grayson's thigh before letting go. Once again, Grayson's laugh turned to coughing, and the violence of it had Carl gazing hard at the man. That sheen on his forehead, the dampness around his short eyelashes, the red mark where Grayson kept touching his throat. Not nervousness and a slight cough. This was...

Carl smacked a hand onto Grayson's forehead and yelped. "You're hot."

"You don't give up, do you?" Grayson wheezed.

Carl gently pushed Grayson's head back for that naughty comment. "I might have some respect for you and admire your ability to be everywhere at once and appreciate your overall form, but let's be clear. I'm not into you."

"'Course not."

"You're unbelievable."

"Why, thank you."

Carl rolled his eyes and pulled Grayson up. "You really like people liking you." Carl patted Grayson's chest over the heart. "Next is to like liking them back."

"All those likes make me dizzy. Could you... drive us back?"

Carl kept a close eye on Grayson all the way back to his bike. He wheeled it to the ute and heaved it into the bed. When he turned back, it was to find Grayson slouched against the passenger door, dozing off.

"Grayson? Grayson?"

A moan was his only response. Those dark eyes stayed firmly shut, and his head rolled forward. Yikes, he was running a real fever. Carl left him dozing while he dashed to the store for ibuprofen and a bottle of water, then tried to get the man to swallow it. Carl lightly slapped his cheek. "Wake up, you need to take this. Bring the fever down."

Grayson folded in half, buckling to the curb where he curled up like he was set to sleep for the night. Okay, then. So Grayson was the type who turned into a big toddler when he was sick. Carl dropped to his knees, water and two white pills ready. "Open up."

Grayson snuggled into his crooked arm.

"Open up or I'll shove my finger in your mouth."

Still no answer.

Fine, he asked for it—

He slipped the pills over Grayson's tongue and squirted water. Grayson swallowed instinctively and the suction pulled on Carl's finger. Gah. "Not a lollipop, let go—not a carrot either!" Carl wrangled his poor throbbing finger free and glared at his sleepy, sick companion. "I swear I'll never stick anything into your mouth again."

For the keys, though—where were the gardening forks when one needed them?—he had to stick his throbbing finger into the confines of Grayson's pocket. He snagged the metal, pulled the keys free, and wrangled Grayson into the passenger seat. "Hands down the most un-sexiest moment of my life."

Grayson made a sound suspiciously like a scoff, and Carl talked himself out of pinching the sick.

By the time they reached Berhampore, Grayson was snoring. Instead of waking him to get his address, Carl drove home to Jason's and parked in the driveway. He grabbed blankets from inside, let the seat down, and made it as comfortable as possible. Seated beside his patient, Carl jotted notes for his assembly speech. He left briefly to visit the bathroom and yelped when he found Grayson had stumbled his way into the hallway. He was half awake and coughing, leaning against one of Jason's framed certificates. "Bathroom."

Carl showed him the way and left him to it, and a few minutes later Grayson emerged to find the nearest soft surface—the sofa—to collapse onto. "I'll crash here a bit."

He was still there at five in the morning, the blankets Carl had provided kicked off to the floor along with Jason's jacket and a damp undershirt. Carl did him a favour and messaged Sage that he wouldn't make it to the bakery, told the sleeping man he was welcome, and continued preparing for Leo's assembly.

"Need an excuse not to touch the piano," he murmured.

A gravelly voice murmured back a most brilliant solution.

"Excellent. Are you awake?"

"No."

"Then I won't throw you out. Sleep on." He left Grayson with more painkiller, a pot of ginger tea, and a note, and went to shop for necessary items. A few hours later, carrying a few hundred bribes, he gulped his way into Leo's school.

Leo escortedCarl from the gate, non-stop admiration and gratitude for Jason helping him out. The kid's step contained a bounce that Carl hadn't seen before—and it, along with last night's confirmation, convinced Carl that playing Jason Lyall was the right thing to do.

The hall was abuzz with excited chatter as lots of green-and-yellow uniforms took their seats. And Leo led Carl up the front, to the stage. It held a daunting-looking grand piano; Carl faced it down as he moved to the microphone and greeted the audience.

It was thrilling enough to be speaking to kids, but his heart raced harder when he caught sight of three rows at the back for parents. Perched one-two-three in the first of those rows were his favourite witches. Grand.

He searched for Sage and found her standing in the corner along with a few others that didn't get seats. She smiled brightly and waved, and Carl became even more committed to the act. "Hello everyone here today. I originally intended to start this presentation with a short performance but"—he tugged Jason's jacket sleeve up his arm, revealing a bandage—"I sprained my arm and must avoid any strenuous activity."

There were a few sorry sighs at this, some nods of understanding, and one merciless smirk—

Carl straightened. Why was Grayson here? He should be feeling sorry for himself somewhere soft. Not dressed in all of Carl's flannel that he must have found in Jason's closet. Grayson coughed and lounged against the wall next to Sage, raising his brows for Carl to please, continue. He even motioned a zipper across his mouth, a reminder of his promise not to say a word.

Carl gulped again, and cleared his throat. "My helper Leo will be passing out gummy pianos. On the back of each is a number. At the end of this speech, I'll use my phone to draw a winner. Leo?"

Leo stepped forward and held up a clear plastic violin filled with lollies. Not a piano, but music-themed.

"Sweet treats for all the studying I'm sure you're doing."

He and Leo received a laugh from the teachers and a tremendous cheer from the sweet-starved kids. The sound rushed around him, and... this is what he'd meant about Jason being addictive. It felt nice—if also nerve-wrecking.

"There were many things I could have talked to you about today—fascinating musical trivia, accounts of my trips performing abroad, the technical ins and outs of being a professional pianist"—he jerked his gaze away from where it strayed to Grayson's sick-yet-amused expression—"But I decided to talk about something that is important for everyone sitting here today, no matter how young or old you are: Courage and facing adversity.

"My journey to mastering music—and any journey you might undertake—is marked by countless challenges, feelings of doubt, and Sisyphean obstacles. These are things we all have to face with determination, strength, and bravery."

Carl had imagined, upon looking at all of Jason's awards, what fortitude it must have taken to get to where he was, and he hoped he was hitting the spot as he shared these thoughts with the kids. "It's fun to dream of mastering the great works of composers and moving audiences with the magic of music, but the reality—the road to that emerald city—means aching fingers, stumbling over keys, repeating pieces for hours. It also means battling self-doubt, and refusing to let other people's negative comments and unimpressed frowns get to you. Each step is a struggle, but the only way to reach your dream is to push on."

Carl's gaze had once again wandered towards Grayson. This time, though, Grayson wasn't amused. Those dark eyes were back to boring into Carl.

Carl jerked his head towards the kids and continued. Facing fears head-on; the necessity of courage in our lives. "Even if it's uncomfortable, even if it feels like the world is against you. Believe in yourself. Trust in yourself. You may not reach your destination, but your heart will only feel at peace if you've taken all the steps you can."

Carl wrapped up his speech to ear-splitting applause that only grew louder after he drew a winner for the violin-case of sweets.

Teachers and parents flocked to him afterwards, thanking him for coming, and it was all a massive head rush. Seventy percent of him was happy to bathe in the attention. The other thirty percent niggled—and niggled harder when one of the witches asked a technical question about whether learning on a keyboard is easier than an actual piano.

Before the question was fully formed, Carl made eye-contact with Sage, waved, and wrangled his way out of the crowd to where she was patting Leo's head proudly.

"Leo," Carl said, "I've heard at least three kids say you're awesome!"

Leo flushed, and his mum cheered.

"Come round to the bakery for cupcakes anytime," she told Carl, and to Leo, "Enjoy the rest of school, hun, come straight home after."

Leo waved her off and swivelled around, scanning the crowd like Carl. The witches were leaving, waving to their kids—the two bullying boys who'd tried stealing his bike and a girl with red plaits. The principal asked the kids to start stacking chairs, and Leo gripped Carl's sleeve and made him promise to not leave him alone with them.

"I know you just talked about courage, but I don't have any yet."

Carl patted Leo's shoulder. "I'll be your shield."

"You're the bravest ever."

Carl thought about how he couldn't talk to his real mum about knowing the truth; thought about how he'd run away from his ex because he couldn't face telling him it hurt too much to be his best man; thought about how he play-acted Jason to avoid feeling like a dead end. He smiled sadly and shook his head. He wondered if this was the reason Grayson had stared at him so hard during his speech. Courage. What a topic to choose.

"Don't look up to me too hard, Leo. I'm all talk."

Leo didn't hear him. He was pointing across the hall to where Grayson coughed into his elbow while being cornered by a half-dozen cooing women.

That seemed about right.

Carl shook his head and steered Leo instead towards the stage, where he'd left the bags that had held his bribes. Leo trailed his fingers over the ivory keys of the grand piano, and the bullies stacking chairs stopped to snicker.

Red plaits stared at the boys. "What's funny?"

The boys said—loud enough for it to reach Leo's ears, as was probably intended—"Getting that guy to speak is as close to playing the piano as he'll ever get."

"Yeah," the other one said, "Can't afford a piano, let alone a teacher."

Further back, Grayson—who'd freed himself from his groupies—paused overhearing this and started a swift stride towards the boys. He wasn't fast enough for Carl, though. The microphone was right there, and he made sure he was close enough to it when he said, "Hey, Leo, if you like that piano, you should check out mine at home."

Leo's miserable face transformed into a hopeful one, while the bullies returned glum-faced to stacking chairs. "Really?"

Carl silently cheered himself for his quick thinking, and then got slightly carried away with the rush. "Not only can you see it—" He spied Grayson shaking his head in warning, like he knew what was coming. But it was all too late—the words were tripping out of his mouth.

"I'll teach you how to play it."