Hearts on Air
Page 38

“I’ll go get one,” I said, needing an escape. I felt Trev watch me as I walked away and like always, his attention had me questioning myself. What was I doing here? I mean, what was I really doing here? No matter how much I convinced myself it was all for the music and the travel, I had to admit that a part of it was to do with Trev. I’d be ninety and still asking how high whenever he said jump. It was an unwelcome thought.
A couple of minutes later the filming began in earnest. All eyes were on the stars as they huddled together, discussing the logistics of what they were about to do. Callum spoke directly to the camera, but I couldn’t hear what he said. I moved closer, trying to hear better, but then they all formed a line with Trev at the head of it. The cameras followed as he stepped up onto the edge of the roof, and my pulse sped up like it always did.
I’d witnessed him do this countless times before, but my reaction never changed. My hands still grew clammy and my throat still clogged up. My entire body buzzed with adrenaline.
I guessed that was why freerunning held such an allure for people. The excitement. The fear.
There was a perverse sort of attraction in all of us to those who took chances, risked their lives to do what they loved. They faced fears far bigger than anything we might ever encounter.
My stomach fluttered in anticipation when Trev spread his arms out wide, and then just dropped. Without thinking I ran to the edge of the building, peering down. A small part of me imagined he’d jumped to his death, even though another part knew this was all calculated. The others followed suit and by the time I reached the edge all five of them had jumped. I looked down and saw a connecting roof lower down, a drop of about ten or twelve feet.
There was a cameraman with a handheld capturing the group until they leapt to the next roof. My eyes scanned the distance and I saw at least five other roofs with waiting crewmembers. There were narrow gaps between the buildings and a shiver ran through me as I watched the group jump through the air like it was nothing. My attention was mostly on Trev though, the sure, steady movement of his legs, the strong, muscular line of his shoulders as he made each giant leap.
“Pretty amazing, isn’t it?” came a heavily accented voice from behind me and I startled.
I glanced over my shoulder, and there on the wall sat a young dark-skinned guy. He looked about seventeen or eighteen, and he wore a green T-shirt that said Boo-yah.
“It’s incredible,” I replied, looking back out into the distance. They’d reached the end of their run, all gathered on the last rooftop. Even though I’d been on tenterhooks, I knew this was an easy stunt. Roof hopping was something they did every day as teenagers. Over the course of the filming they’d build up to bigger and bigger risks, upping the theatrics each time.
“Do you work for the show?” asked the young guy, and I returned my attention to him.
“Yes, do you?”
He shook his head. “I’m just a fan. Don’t tell anyone but I snuck up here. When I heard the guys were filming in the city I had to come see for myself.”
“Ah, well, your secret’s safe with me,” I said and smiled. I didn’t know why, but there was something about him that I warmed to.
“So, what’s your job?”
I climbed up onto the wall to sit next to him. “Me? I’m just an assistant, and a temp at that.”
“Damn, hoped you might be someone important,” he joked. “Thought I might be able to sweet-talk my way into a part.”
“You do parkour?” I asked, impressed. My eyes traced his fit, athletic form and I knew he was telling the truth. He carried himself just like Trev and the others.
“I try. Got the cuts, bruises and broken bones to show for it.”
I laughed. “Where are you from? You don’t sound Belgian.”
“South Africa, Johannesburg. Been living here for two years now with my mum and sisters.”
“Trevor always wanted to visit South Africa. It’s on his bucket list,” I said wistfully, and my companion’s brows jumped high.
“Trevor Cross?” he asked, saying the name in the same way you might say ‘Brad Pitt’ or ‘Sylvester Stallone.’ Sometimes I forgot just how famous my friend had become.
I nodded. “The one and only.”
He chuckled and shook his head. “Man, he’d stand out like a sore thumb in Joburg. No offence or anything.” He paused to eye me. “You, not so much, but still a little a bit.”
“Glad my tan has some uses,” I grinned. “What’s your name?”
“Isaac Hegebe.”
I smiled, thinking it cute how he offered both his first and last names like that. “Well, it’s nice to meet you Isaac Hegebe. I’m Reya Cabrera,” I said and held out my hand.
“Nice to meet you, too. You think they’re gonna come back up here? I’d love to get some autographs.”
“I don’t think so,” I answered, and saw his disappointment. I chewed on my lip, deciding if I should invite him to my gig. That way he’d be able to meet Trev. “Are you busy later? I’m playing a show down at L’Archiduc and Trev will be there. I could introduce you.”
His eyes lit up. “Are you serious? Man, that would make my day, no, my year.”
I grinned, his excitement infectious. “My gig starts at nine. Try get there around eight thirty, yeah?”
“I wouldn’t miss it,” he declared. “And you said you were only an assistant. Hidden depths.”
I laughed at that. “We’ve all got them. See you later, Isaac.”
Twelve.
When word spread that I was playing a show, people wanted to come. What was supposed to be just Trev turned into him, Leanne, Paul, James, Neil and two members of the film crew. Callum was either sulking that I was getting all the attention, or was trying to avoid Leanne after the drama of the other night. Probably the latter.
I had to admit though, I felt pretty special that they were all so interested. Sometimes I worried I irritated people with my perpetual humming and singing and tinkering around on my keyboard. At least, I knew it bothered my neighbours back home.
They were constantly banging on the wall to punctuate their unhappiness.
I headed to the venue a little earlier than everyone else to set up and do a quick sound check. I used tassels around my ankles that jingled like a tambourine when I stamped my feet for percussion during my songs, because when you were a one-woman show your hands were typically occupied with the keyboard. I’d invented them one day when I had some ribbon and a bunch of metal tassels and too much time at my disposal.