Chapter One
Business was slow tonight.
And for once, Donald didn't seem to mind.
He pushed his black-rimmed glasses higher up his nose and scanned round the place. Yep, just the regulars. No one too troublesome. It might mean he could possibly close a little early, maybe get some chinese at a joint he knew opened late. Chase that with a cold beer, catch up with some recorded tv shows. Yep, sounds like it's going to be an ideal night. The last few evenings the bar had been slammed so it was nice that he could take it easy tonight.
Donald was still contemplating what he was going to have for dinner when the bell above the door jingled loudly. The door opened and Beca Mitchel walked in.
"Hey," Donald called out as the pint-sized brunette walked up to the bar.
She nodded in response, climbing up to sit on the stool. He didn't need to ask what she wanted. Donald knew her since she was yea high. He pulled a draft from the tap and placed it in front of her. Without asking again, Donald went over to the kitchen and ordered a grilled cheese sandwich. That was her favourite, and it was cheap enough for him to put it on the house. Times were hard.
He went back, checking on the brunette.
"How's things?" Donald asked. "You coping?"
She put down the beer she was drinking and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.
"Yeah, I'm fine," Beca replied.
Donald did not look convinced. The last two weeks had been hard on her.
"You know, Beca, you could always move in with us," Donald was saying now. "Stacie wouldn't mind -"
Beca just waved vaguely at him, cutting him off.
"Don, we've talked about this," she replied. "You've got a one-bed flat. I'm not going to impose myself on you -"
"Nate would hate you staying at that rat-infested hostel," Donald said worriedly. "He would want me to take care of you."
"Yeah he would," Beca nodded."- but you've done plenty, already. Don't think I didn't notice you never take money for the food, Donald. Thanks for that."
Right on cue, the service bell pinged loudly. Her grilled cheese sandwich was ready.
"Eat up," Donald said, placing the sandwich in front of her. He went back to his job, serving a few more drinks before coming back to Beca. The plate was licked clean. Donald mentally shook his head a little sadly. It must be her only meal for the day.
"Another one?" he said, pointing to her half empty beer. She hesitated for a while before nodding and he pulled her another glass. She seems to be quaffing the drink down. Donald knew her well enough - she was not trying to get drunk; she was probably trying to work up enough courage to ask him for something.
He wondered what it was.
It couldn't be somewhere to crash - she flat out refused his offer. If she wanted a loan, she knew he didn't have much money. It couldn't be she wanted a job at the bar because she was working all hours already.
"What do you need?" Donald asked point blank.
Beca seemed taken aback at how direct he was being. Donald waited as she took another swig of her drink before finally looking up at him.
"You know the fire took everything -" she spoke up.
Donald nodded, not taking his eyes off her. Beca swallowed hard.
"- well, it didn't," she said. "I've got this -"
Her hand disappeared under the counter and then, it reappeared, holding a slim packet. Donald glanced curiously at the object. It was a small folder, made of leather, a little bigger than a normal sized envelope. A red leather cord was wound round the packet, ending up in a tight knot.
Beca had placed the folder on the counter, next to her beer and unpicked the knot. Donald watched in trepidation as she unraveled the cord, revealing the inside. Oh. Papers. The little folder contained scraps of papers. She fished out a few, pushing them towards Donald. He took them automatically, not quite comprehending what he was looking at and how on earth did Beca got these.
"They are notes. Musical notes -" Beca was saying now. "I can't read them. Do you know of anyone -"
"For fuck's sake, put that thing away," Donald hissed, hurriedly pushing the scraps of paper back into Beca's hands. "You're gonna get us both arrested!"
Beca clumsily stuffed back the pieces back into the leather folder while Donald glanced around uneasily. No one seemed to notice. The other patrons at the bar either too busy staring down into their own drinks or flat out drunk in the dark corners. Donald swiped a towel across the counter; hard, busy swipes to cover up his nerves.
"Where the hell you get those?" he muttered to Beca, who was trying to knot the string up. She was all thumbs; shaken by Donald freaking up on her. She got it at the third try while Donald watched on, and then surreptitiously tucked the slim packet back into her coat.
"Beca?" Donald prompted, still waiting for an answer.
She brushed her hair back before nervously tugging the ends of her brown hair, not answering. Donald shook his head in exasperation.
"Wherever you found it, put it back," he muttered fiercely. "Better still, get rid of it."
"I can't."
"What do you mean you can't?" Donald replied. His voice rose an octave and a few heads turned their way. Donald plastered a fake smile on, pretending nothing was amiss and soon those head turned back to their beers. Donald's smile slipped and he went back to wiping the counter with a vengeance.
"I can't get rid of them, Donald," Beca spoke quietly.
"If you know what's good for you -" he was saying now.
"They were Nathan's."
Donald's hand stopped in mid swipe. Beca watched as Donald froze. His jaw ticked twice before he resumed his cleaning, slower and more deliberate this time. It was not until she was halfway through her beer that Donald spoke to her again.
"He left it for you?"
Beca shook her head.
"You know he won't do that. He wouldn't want anyone else to get into trouble," she said. "I found them. I just...I don't know. It's important. These were important to him. And I just thought I could do something -"
"Don't," Donald warned. "He kept you out of it for the longest time, Beca. To protect you. Keep it that way."
"You don't understand - " Beca argued back.
"I understand a lot of things," Donald answered. "These things are illegal. I know you are more than a little curious about this. If you think you can use Nate's stuff to -"
"I didn't get to bury him, Don," Beca interrupted softly. " I didn't get to bury my own brother."
That silenced the bespectacled man. The heartbreak was apparent in that simple statement and Donald's mouth fell shut. He knew Beca for the longest time and she was too tough to cry in front of him. This was as close as it could get.
"If you think this is about me, you're wrong," Beca insisted. "I just want something that belonged to Nate for the service next week. This is all I have." She swallowed once, trying to keep the catch out of her voice. "Please. I don't know who else could help."
Donald did not reply. Someone thirsty for a drink was trying to catch his eye and he hurried over to take down the orders. For the rest of the night, he did not come near and Beca was left alone to finish her beer.
She should have known Donald wouldn't help.
No one would.
What she had, folded and tucked in her coat, those dirty musical notes scribbled by hand, was contraband. Unsanctioned music was illegal. Had been for ages. Tried as she could, Beca could not remember when and why. Maybe if she had paid more attention in history class she would, but all she knew and everyone else too, music was illegal.
It was not that they didn't have music. They have. Even at this moment, the jukebox at the corner was spitting out some bland noise. Sanctioned noise. Noise that had been churned out by the Factory, had met the Corporation's approval and deemed suitable and safe for the masses. It was the free-styling, the rhymes and the beats, messy unregulated music that was outlawed. The Corporation had clamped down on that nonsense for decades. No one was allowed to make music unless they were card-carrying member of the Factory. Anyone caught doing so or in possession of, served harsh sentences. She was probably looking at upwards of five to ten years for what she had on her.
Beca loved her brother and she knew Nathan was in deep. He was always feverishly scribbling on whatever he could lay his hands on, humming out loud absentmindedly which could have gotten him into so much trouble. But her older brother did not care. Life was hard. Music was the only thing that made Nathan happy.
He dealt too.
Beca was sure Nathan had been dealing on the side. Because suddenly they could make rent month after month without the usual scrimp and save and worry. Because the pantry and the fridge were full of food for once. Because she found that pair of trainers she had been coveting from the shop window for three months, next to her bed one morning. She had been a little afraid for him but dare not ask, dare not to tell him to stop. And now it was too late.
Beca stared at what was left of her beer, wondering what she was going to do next.
"You done?" Donald loomed over her, disapproval still etched on his face. Beca nodded, hastily finishing up her drink. She reached into the pocket of her jeans for a few bills and placed the notes next to her empty glass. She was already a few steps away when Donald called out.
"Hey, you forgot your change!"
That couldn't be right. She left a tip, like all good customers do, but Beca backtracked to where she was sitting at the bar.
"Here," Donald said, shoving the bills back into her hand.
She looked down.
"Don't say a word," Donald swiftly whispered. "I know a guy. He's dangerous but he might be able to help. I need to contact him first so hang on to that number."
Beca nodded mutely.
"I'm doing this because of Nathan," Donald hissed. " - but if you know what's good for you, just get rid of that damn thing."
A few days later
It was a little earlier than he liked.
He never met anyone this early and face to face; especially if it was new client. The bulk of his business was done by phone or through a third party. This was a rare exception. Jesse leaned backed into his seat, his hand wrapped round the takeaway cup of coffee in front of him. The warmth seeped into his hand, taking away the chill. He couldn't quite control his yawn and Jesse rubbed one side of his face hard.
It was definitely too freaking early.
Last night had been more than a handful. The underground club got busted as usual but Jesse was smart enough to know when to make his exit. He had to pay handsomely for that inside info about the raid. It was expensive but Jesse was wise enough to know that was all part of his business cost.
I'm getting far too old for this - he thought to himself, taking a sip of the strong, black coffee.
Twenty four was not that old but he had been dealing for some time. Since he was twelve actually. In the early days, the Corporation had turned a blind eye, making it much easier to do business. But now? It was getting crazy. All the raids, all the harsh penalties, all the jail sentences that would have only been a mild warning years ago. But worse of all, was the rumours. Rumours of dealers found dead at the bottom of the river, at the clubs slumped over their money, at their own freaking homes with their throats slit. Those were the lucky ones. At least their bodies were found.
He should really go home.
He was tired and for some reason this morning, a little emotional. That was not good for business. Jesse would have stood up this appointment if he had not remembered it was Donald who asked him for this favour. He owed Donald and Jesse was the type who did not like to owe anyone. It was a small favour apparently. He just had to meet up with this girl and if he didn't want to help, that was fine according to Donald.
Well, the girl'd better hurry up.
Jesse had glanced at his phone, noting she was late. He didn't like waiting and Jesse was on his feet ready to leave when he saw her. She was standing at the mouth of the alleyway opposite the cafe. He had deliberately arranged it that way. He wanted to size this newbie up before deciding anything. It was only good business sense.
She was small.
That much he could tell from where he was standing.
Tiny. Petite really.
Dressed in skinny jeans and a hoody far too large for her. The trainers were new and very expensive. Not at all in line with the scuffed jeans and the faded hoody. He couldn't quite see her face. It was half covered by the sunglasses she was wearing and she had that Super Mario cap pulled down a little low. Obviously she didn't want anyone to recognise her.
Was she even legal? He could not into a hella lot of trouble if she wasn't.
No.
He knew Donald. Donald wouldn't pull that shit on him.
Jesse remembered the quick conversation he had with the girl on the phone. She had been tough talking but he could detect that slight tinge of nervousness. That he had found intriguing. And her voice... how would he describe her voice? Jesse mulled over that, almost laughing to himself. He could not believe it was beyond his ability to describe the tone of her voice. He, of all people, should know. But one thing was for sure; he wouldn't mind hearing that voice again.
With that thought, Jesse tossed the empty coffee cup into the nearest bin, crossed the street and walked towards the girl. She looked up when he stopped near her.
"Hey," he said. "Beca?"
Yeah. Her name was a little unique. Jesse remembered that too.
She nodded a little uncertainly. "Jesse?"
"That's me," Jesse replied. "Donald said you needed some help. What can I do for you?"
The girl was glancing around nervously, biting her lower lip. She thrust her hands deeper into her pockets.
Jeez, great - Jesse thought, a little sourly - This is what happens when you deal with a newbie. I bet she didn't even know what she wants.
"Relax. The place's clean," Jesse said in an attempt to assure her. "Just tell me what you want. Punk, rock, emo? Maybe some ska?"
She was still not talking and Jesse was getting impatient. The more he was out here in the open talking about business, the more exposed he was. He also didn't like to waste time.
"You want something older? Maybe a bit of disco?" he prompted. "That one's gonna cost you. I have to dig deep into the archives for that one."
"No.. " she finally spoke up. "I don't..."
"Donald said you needed something."
"Yes."
"Well, hurry up and spit it out. I haven't got all day."
"Do we have to do it here?"
She was looking at him now but Jesse could not make out the expression in her eyes. Those huge sunglasses were in the way.
"Yes, we have to do it here," Jesse snapped a little irritably. "You tell me what you want. I tell you how much. If the price fits, we'll negotiate delivery."
"I don't want any of those things," she replied back, equally sharp. "I'm not... I'm not a user. I have this...thing." She broke off, sounding a little frustrated. "Look, it's easier if I show you."
She drew her hand out of her pocket, unzipped her hoody and delved inside. For a moment, all of Jesse's senses were on alert and almost as quickly, his right arm swept his jacket aside, his hand inches from his gun.
There was no need.
The girl took out a slim leather packet. Jesse watched as the girl bowed her head over it, concentrating hard. She did not even noticed Jesse breathing out slowly relaxing his stance; she was too busy unpicking the cord binding the packet. That had been slightly unnerving. He must too wired up after last night. There was no way this tiny girl was any harm. Look at her clumsily trying to undo that thing. She took off her sunglasses jamming it on top of her cap as she continued trying to open the leather folder.
Jesse groaned inwardly.
What the hell had Donald sent his way? Not someone trying to push something new into the market? Those were the worst. Jesse had lost count of how many times some clueless idiot try to interest him in some new material. Most of the time it was not very good. Terrible even. He couldn't push something like that. He pushed known stuff, safe stuff. Old stuff the Corp had banned. Not stupid new material that some wannabe thought was the next big thing.
"Hey, whatever you have, I'm sure it's.. umm... good - " Jesse started. He will let this girl down easy, as a favour to Donald. "But I don't deal with this kind of thing - "
"Shit. This stupid thing is hard to open as fuck," she swore. The knot finally came loose and the folder opened in her hands. She looked up and for the first time, Jesse saw her eyes.
Blue.
Her eyes were cornflower blue.
"I can't read any of this. Donald said you can help."
Jesse's attention snapped back. He dragged his eyes away, looking down at what she was holding in her hands. Papers. Scraps some of them. Filled with musical notes. His eyes flew across, picking up each sound, each nuance, each timbre and Jesse immediately fell back, shaking his head.
"I'm sorry. You've got the wrong guy," he stuttered. "I can't help you with this."
Like hell he couldn't.
Beca felt like screaming. Because this guy, who was suddenly in a big hurry to leave, knew exactly how to decipher these notes and he could help. He just fucking didn't want to. He didn't even say goodbye, turning on his heels and walking away far too quickly.
"Hey, wait up!" Beca shouted. She hurriedly shoved the packet into her back pocket.
He ignored her, speeding up. She had to stop him. Damn these short legs. They were no match for his longer ones. He was already looking around for a cab. She got to catch him before he jumps into a cab or she would never see him again. So Beca did the only thing that came to her mind.
She ran, tackled him round the waist and screamed.
"What are you doing?" Jesse shouted back, nearly falling backwards. He found his footing and tried to untangle her arms around his waist. What the fuck is this girl up to? And damn, why was her grip so strong?
"I'm sorry! I'm lying," Beca sobbed dramatically. "I'm not pregnant."
"Wha -"
"I love you. Please don't leave me."
"Let go of me!" Jesse said in terror. He was still trying to push her away.
"I'll change. I promise I'll change," Beca was crying now. "I'll wear those things you want me to wear. You can tie me up and whip me. I'll let you do all those things you like to me. I'll be so good. I won't flinch, I promise," Her sobs went up a notch as she tightened her hold round him. "Please! Just don't leave me."
"For fuck's sake, let go! You crazy bi-"
"Is everything ok here?"
Jesse stopped in mid tirade. Beca's star turn had attracted a little attention from a police officer standing nearby. Jesse was suddenly aware of the heat he was packing and those papers Beca had with her. Beca was still sobbing, her arms locked around his waist, her face pressed against his chest. The crazy bitch was probably not thinking how much trouble she was in right now.
"Please don't leave me," Beca drew back, her voice catching pitifully. "I don't care if the belt hurts. I don't have anywhere else to go -" She broke down into noisy tears.
"Ma'am," the officer called out, coming nearer. "Are you ok?"
Fuck this sneaky bitch - Jesse thought angrily. He quickly fixed a grim smile on his face. "Everything's ok, officer. Just a little spat."
"I wasn't talking to you, I was talking to this lady here," the officer replied. "Ma'am?"
"Honey -" Jesse urged, through gritted teeth. He untangled Beca's arms from around his waist and spun her round. "The officer is talking to you."
"I'm fine," Beca sobbed. "I'm ok."
"She's fine. We're just had a little fight," Jesse said, squeezing Beca's shoulder, just a tad too tight. He need to get out of here fast. They need to get away before the officer got more suspicious. "We're just on our way home now."
The police officer beadily stared at Jesse who now had one arm wrapped round Beca's waist. Beca chose that moment to wipe her arm across her streaming eyes and nose, pushing the sleeve of her hoody up. The officer's gaze fell on her exposed forearm and immediately swung back to Jesse. Jesse followed suit and he physically flinched. There were fading bruises on her arm and an angry looking welt on her wrist.
"I'm going to need your names," the officer said. "And I am going to escort both of you home."
Great. Just great.
He got the fucking police right at his doorstep.
Jesse peered out of his window, grunting a little. That police officer was still there. After Beca's histrionic display, Jesse had no choice but to hail a cab, bundled that insane girl inside and gave the address to his apartment. The police officer had escorted them home and now he was outside, lounging on his bike for the last half an hour. Must be a slow crime day.
Jesse impatiently tapped his fingers on the window sill. This was all that crazy girl's fault. He should have gone with his instincts and stood her up. He could have just told Donald sorry, he was not up for it. But no...he decided to give that girl hobbit a chance and looked where that got him.
He irritably glanced towards the sofa.
She was still there, sitting with her legs folded close to her chest, trying to occupy as little space as possible. They had not spoken a word. She might have twigged that this was the worst possible thing that she could have done and had thankfully not said anything. All through the taxi ride, she had looked out of the window while he looked the opposite way and when they reached his place, Jesse had sullenly let her in.
The implicit understanding was she would stay until the policeman was gone. How was Jesse to know that the officer was going to hang around that long? He had work to do, for God's sake. A request list a mile long. That would take him hours to finish. And that was not counting all the legwork he had to do with the more esoteric stuff like first press jazz recordings and musicals by the original Broadway cast. And all the drop offs to his clients today. The last thing Jesse needed was a policeman at his doorstep and this stubbon, bat shit crazy girl on his sofa. He had to get rid of her fast.
"Making yourself comfortable there?" Jesse spoke up, sarcasm dripping from his tone. Her head snapped up and Jesse found her distracting blue eyes scrutinising him.
"By all means, make yourself at home," Jesse continued. He rose up to his feet and spanned his arms wide. "Put on my tshirt. Eat my food. Get yourself a pet. After all, you're my girlfriend."
All he got in response was a scoff.
"Have you ever thought how my real girlfriend would feel if she walks into this?" Jesse was ranting now. "How could I explain having a cop outside on my doorstep and a crazy little bitch sitting on my sofa? How?"
"Shut up!" Beca flared up. "YOU are the one being a little bitch here!"
She had had enough. She knew what she did was probably not the wisest thing to do. It did not take brains to work out that antagonising the only person that could help her was probably the stupidest thing she could have ever done. But Beca Mitchell was desperate.
"I don't know why you are being mean," she shouted back. "I totally saved your ass back there."
The look of surprise on his face was comical and she would have laughed if the situation was very different.
"Oh. You helped me?" Jesse was saying, towering over her now. "You. Helped. Me? Back there? When was that exactly? When you practically pushed me to the ground? When you made me sound like some S&M sicko who whips girls for fun?"
She was staring daggers at him.
"I think you are deluded. What kind of drugs are you on, huh?" Jesse's rant continued. "If anything, I was the one who helped you. Do you know how many years of jail you've just avoided?"
"You had a gun! I could feel it when I had my arms around you," Beca hollered back. "No one innocently carries a gun. How are you going to explain that to the police officer, huh?"
Jesse opened his mouth to rebutt that and then snapped his mouth shut.
That was some truth in that.
No.
Scratch that.
She was still at fault. He wouldn't have attracted that policeman's attention if Beca had not gone through all that dramatics. This girl was trouble and the earlier he get rid of her, the better.
"Just go home," Jesse barked out at her. "Whichever shitty hovel you crawl out from, just go back there, ok?"
"Yeah.. well.."
Beca looked away, her mouth in a tight, grim line. She plucked her sleeve down self consciously and Jesse noticed how frayed that sleeve was looking. She had removed her ridiculous cap, her brunette hair now bouncing down her shoulders. Beca was tugging the ends of her hair. It looked like it needed a good wash. She looked like she needed a good wash. And for the first time, he noticed how red rimmed her eyes were like she had been crying. How pale and pinched her face was; like perhaps she had not had a good, warm meal for days. She did have a home to go back to, right? She was kidding when she said she had nowhere to go to just now? Right?
His thoughts were halted because Beca stood up, rising up to her full height.
All five feet nothing of her.
"I'll get out of your hair soon, I promise," she was saying now, her hand reaching for her back pocket. "I just need your help with -"
"Fuck. Is that all you care about?" Jesse yelled out. "That dumb music you're carrying around like some fucking candy? Have you any idea how much trouble - You know what? You probably don't. Fuck it. Let me see that damn thing."
Jesse never really knew why he caved in. He just wanted to get rid of her and if what it took was for him to read some music, he'll do it in a heart beat. He was tearing at the packet as soon as she brought it out. Jesus, she was right. This stupid thing was hard to open as fuck. Jesse was impatiently ripping at the cord when Beca shouted at him.
"Hey! HEY! Be careful with that."
All she got back a derisive snort. But when she thought she heard a rip, Beca could not stand it any longer. She lunged forward, trying to snatch those papers from his hands. Jesse took a step back, raising the folder higher, just out of her reach, still rifling through the pages. Beca grunted in frustration.
"Give it back!" she bristled at the taller man.
"What? This rubbish?"
"They're not rubbish!"
"Yeah sure -" Jesse said mockingly. And he would have mocked her even more if she had not landed that left hook on his face. And that knee into his groin.
That fucking hurt.
Jesse doubled up in pain, dropping the papers. His jaw was sore and don't even talk about that throbbing in his groin. It took several minutes before the pain subsided. He was ready to yell at her. He was ready to pick her up by the scrub of her dirty hoody and throw her out of the door. He didn't care if the policeman came running. She had just kneed him in the balls, for fuck's sake. He should get her arrested.
But that yell didn't materialised.
Because Jesse found her sitting back down on the sofa, her face pale with worry. She was cradling the leather folder in her arm, frantically trying to put the parchment in order. The pages had been messed up when it fell down. She was attempting to put them in back in the right order but was having difficulty doing so. She kept looking at the pages, switching them around, unsure, and her frustration was mounting. A few of the pages were crumpled with corners torn and she was desperately trying to smooth them down with her palm. It was like watching a small child in near tears, trying to fix a favourite toy.
Then she raised her eyes to meet his.
So much hate. So much anger.
And there was something else he couldn't quite make out.
Grief. Frustration. Loss. Maybe all three.
He had never seen anyone with so much feelings in their eyes.
"You -" she stuttered out angrily. "You have no right. NO fucking right to be this fucking disrespectful!" She was stuffing the papers back into her hoody, getting up to her feet. "If you don't want to help me, fine! Why do you have to - Fuck this! I don't need you."
Beca was halfway to the door when she felt his hand closing on her arm. She was about to jerk her arm free when his hold tightened.
"I'm sorry. I'm really sorry"
Beca pulled away and he let go this time.
"I... I shouldn't have done that," Jesse apologised. "I'm sorry."
She jammed her cap down lower so he couldn't see the expression on her face but it was too late. He could already make out the way her mouth quivered and how she was clamping down hard to keep herself from crying. Shit, what had he done?
"Let me look at them," he was saying now. "I promise I'll be respectful."
No answer.
"You can put them on the counter over there," Jesse suggested, pointing at the bar he had at the corner of his apartment. "I won't even touch them."
Those eyes were scrutinising him again. She had every reason to be suspicious. His behaviour was appalling. The girl might be batshit crazy but she deserved to be treated with respect. For a long moment, Jesse thought she might lashed out at him again but she appeared to change her mind. She casted one more look at him before going over to the counter.
Beca slowly took out the sheets, carefully spreading them out on the counter and Jesse waited until she raised her eyes towards him before coming over.
This fucker better not do anything funny - Beca scowled. She watched Jesse like a hawk as his eyes slowly scanned through the scribbles on the sheets. Those were the only thing of value she had of Nathan. For the umpteenth time, Beca wished she knew what those notes meant. She wouldn't have to stoop so low if she did.
Donald was right.
This guy was an asshole.
You wouldn't think he was a sick bastard, just by looking at him. He wore plaid, for fuck's sake. Converse sneakers and jeans that fit him really well. And a nice jacket which hid the gun he had stowed at his back. That was probably the only edgy thing about him. To be honest, Beca didn't know what she was expecting before she met Jesse Swanson. She definitely didn't expect someone this young with all that dark, unruly hair and those freaking brown eyes that looked like a puppy's.
Asshole.
If he thought he could do what he like, he got another thing coming. Beca Mitchell would not stop at just a knee in his groin. So far he was keeping to his words. He had his hand stuffed into his jeans but the longer he was scanning through the pages, the more thoughtful he looked. He was rubbing his chin now, scratching his stubble and when his hand rested lightly at the edge of the counter, Beca drew a sharp breath.
Jesse looked up.
"May I?" he asked, gesturing towards the papers. "I'll be gentle. I promise."
Beca's eyes skittered over the pages lying on the counter and she finally nodded. Jesse picked up a few sheets. rearranging their running order before scanning through them again. His fingers were tapping on the counter and Beca heard the way he softly hummed to himself. It brought memories of Nathan doing the same and that brought up a fresh welling of pain in her chest. She had to look away to keep her feelings in check.
His fingers had stopped tapping on the counter.
"You wrote this?" Jesse asked.
Beca scowled. Was he mocking her again?
"I can't even read these damn things," she snarled back. "What made you think I wrote them?"
"Sorry. Should've thought about that," Jesse replied. He went back to being preoccupied with the score, turning over two more pages. "If you didn't write it, where did it come from?'
"I didn't steal it, if that's what you mean!"
"I didn't say you did!" Jesse countered back, frowning. Boy, was this girl touchy. "Look, if you want me to handle this, I got to know where it came from."
Beca bit her lower lip, unsure now.
"It was my brother's," she confessed. "He wrote it."
"Your brother wrote this?" Jesse asked. At her nod, he merely grunted, turning his attention back to the music. "It's not half bad."
The score were pulling him in and Jesse couldn't help humming a little bit louder. The song was bloody brilliant actually. If he could just play it, maybe add a little bit more here and fuck, this needs to be re-arranged. He could imagine perhaps a counter melody here would work. Maybe this could be a two part harmony -
He was roused back to reality when he heard a choking sound. Jesse looked up from the sheets he was holding in his hands to find Beca staring up at him. He was confused by how shiny her eyes looked.
"What?" Jesse frowned.
Beca worked her jaw once, twice before taking a deep breath. "Is that what it sounds like?"
"What? These?" Jesse replied, still confused.
"You..you were singing," Beca said. "These things? Is that what they sound like?"
Jesse glanced down at the score before returning his gaze to Beca.
"You really can't read these, huh?"
"No." She shook her head. "Nathan's the one knows this kind of stuff. I asked him to teach me, like a million times, but he always said no."
"Wait, isn't your surname Mitchell?" Jesse asked, remembering how she introduced herself during the phone call. "And your brother's Nathan? Nathan Mitchell's your brother?"
"You know my brother?"
"Yeah, sure. Big Nate Mitchell," Jesse replied.
Now that the realisation hit him, Jesse saw the resemblance. Why didn't he see it before? Same dark hair, same pale skin but she was much smaller and grumpier the her older brother. Same blue eyes. No, her eyes were prettier. Much, much prettier.
Big Nate Mitchell.
Small time dealer, very passionate about music. Who knew he wrote music? And who knew he had such a hot sister? Jesse cleared his throat when that thought crossed his mind.
"I bumped into him from time to time," he casually said. "Haven't seen him in ages. How's the big man?"
That was the precise moment Jesse knew he put his foot in his mouth. Because he could see how Beca's eyes just went dull. Like a light had been snuffed out.
"Nathan's dead. He died two weeks ago."
Fuck.
He really did it this time.
Jesse sometimes thought he never really think things through and this was a prime example. Of course, something must have happened to her brother. Of course. If she had to practically begged for help to decipher these notes, there must be something really wrong. Her over protectiveness on these scraps of paper made perfect sense now.
"I'm sorry," Jesse apologised. "He was really nice. I liked him."
That sounded fucking hollow. He hated the way those words sounded coming out of his mouth. There was only stony silence from Beca. She didn't elaborate further how Nathan died and Jesse didn't want to pry. His fingers traced a row of notes on the sheets in front of him. The song was really beautiful and damn, not that he was being a softie, but Jesse felt he had to help her somehow.
"How much you want for this?" Jesse asked.
That seemed to snapped Beca out of her trance "Excuse me?"
"This music. How much?" Jesse repeated. "That's why you wanted to meet up, wasn't it? I don't usually handle this stuff but I'll make you a fair offer."
"No. It's not for sale," Beca said. She began to panic, hastily gathering the sheets together. She can never sell this. It belonged to Nathan. It was probably the last thing that he wrote. Why would this evil bastard think she was going to sell something as precious as this? He must be crazy -
"Stop."
Beca looked down at the counter, at Jesse's hands which were now on top of hers.
"Calm down for a sec." he was saying as gently as possible. "Please explain to me why you're doing this. What happened to Nathan? Why is this so important? If you don't want to sell, what do you want to do with this?"
He heard that wretched sigh first before she pulled her hands free from underneath his.
"Nathan.. He..." Beca said slowly. She stopped for a minute. "The house... It burned to the ground with everything and everyone in it. I only have this because I took this hoody, Nathan's hoody, before I left the house for work. These papers were in the pocket."
She thrust her fists into the too big hoody.
"We didn't have a proper funeral. There was nothing left to bury," she mumbled in a near whipser. "But I'm doing a memorial service for Nathan in a week. Just a few close friends. I was hoping I can have his music playing, you know, as a tribute."
Jesse stared as Beca bowed her head over the sheets.
"You said you don't know music," he spoke. "How are you going to play this?"
"I can't read the notes but I have a good memory," she replied. "And I can sing. I just need someone to play these for me. I can do the rest."
As if to demonstrate what she saying was true, Beca lifted her head began to sing back a few snatches of what he had sung earlier. It was note perfect.
He was staring.
He knew that.
It was hard not to. Sure she looked like a scrappy little nobody in her scruffy get up, but when she lifted her head and opened her mouth, and that beautiful, soulful voice poured out, she looked...different. He could not look away even if he wanted to. And what she was willing to chance, what she was willing to go through, just for her brother -
An urgent buzz on his phone reminded Jesse of the time. He cursed under his breath, taking out his phone from his pocket and reading the incoming messages. Jesse typed a reply before slipping the phone back. Hisi hand closed around Beca's wrist, more firmly this time.
"Come with me."
AN : I know. I know... Why the hell am I starting a new story? This one's gonna be short, I promised, and not fluffy. I have to write it because plot bunnies are savage little things.