Stepbrother Fallen Read Online Free PDF Page B

else is
shrouded in darkness, the only other light being the dim glow of a
cigarette that has burned down to the filter, forgotten, in an
ashtray sitting on the piano beside a tumbler of whiskey.
     
    I peer through the darkness, trying to make out the figure
sitting on the stool before the piano. That can't really be him,
right? I
pick my way carefully over a few resting bodies until I can get a
better view, and as I approach the piano the moon emerges from
behind a cloud and sends a shaft of light down from
above.
     
Rafe plays with his eyes closed, his
fingers dancing gently across the keys as if the music is flowing
from his soul. He's dressed in the same torn, scruffy jeans and
t-shirt he was wearing earlier, but his expression makes him look
like an entirely different person. As the music flows through his
fingers his face softens. Gone is the smug, dickish smirk, and his
brow is no longer furrowed in a belligerent scowl. As he plays he
looks at peace, as if the music has allowed him to step out of
himself, if only for a moment.
     
"That's the song from, ummm, Ocean's 11,
right?" Penny whispers in my ear.
     
"Yeah," I reply, still staring at Rafe's
fingers caressing the keys. "It's called Claire de Lune."
     
I'm not a huge fan of classical music. In
fact, I only know the name of this piece because I've heard it in
so many movies, but it's one of my favorites. I have a couple of
versions of the piece on iTunes, but I've never heard it played
this well.
     
I just don't know how he does it. The piano
is completely alien to me – I can't even play Chopsticks – but it's
clear Rafe isn't just a talented amateur.
     
I'm losing myself in the music, all my
anger at Rafe forgotten, at least for the moment. The way he's
playing is just too beautiful. It's impossible to hate anyone while
watching their fingers dance across the keys like that.
     
The spell that seems to have been cast over
the room lasts until the final note dies away. As it fades a
collective, contented sigh passes through the darkness as Rafe
takes a sip from his glass and taps a cigarette out of his
pack.
     
"Encore!" a voice calls out in the
darkness, quickly joined by another. "Yeah, play another!"
     
Rafe smiles, clearly enjoying the
attention, and calls out to the crowd. "Just one more then I'm
done, OK? What'll it be?"
     
A few voices call out vague requests, all
along the lines of "Umm, do you know that really good one? With
the, ummm... oh, what's it called? You know the one I mean?"
     
Rafe stubs out his just-lit cigarette,
blows a stream of smoke through the shaft of moonlight, and
stretches out his fingers. "Do you guys know Elton John?"
     
A ripple of nods passes through the
audience, and Rafe grins and turned back to the piano. "Thank God,
or I'd have to slap some sense into you." He takes a second to
prepare, grabs another gulp of Scotch, then launches into the
opening notes of Tiny Dancer.
     
    I feel a hand squeeze my arm, and turn to see Penny leaning
over to me with a huge grin on her face. " Fuck, Maddy, how do you keep your hands off
him?"
     
I take a sip from my beer to avoid
answering. The fact is that I just don't know what to say. Rafe is
an absolute asshole, there's no denying it. He's rude, and hostile,
and cruel, but... well, when he's sat in front of that piano
there's something about him that makes my heart race.
     
Blue jean baby... L.A. lady... Seamstress
for the band...
     
My breath quickens as Rafe began to sing.
Most of the people I've heard sing this song try for an Elton John
impression that just comes off as bad karaoke, but Rafe... he sings
in his own voice, rich and deep, feeling every note as it flows
from him. He sings earnestly, without a hint of embarrassment or
self consciousness.
     
Now she's in me... Always with me... Tiny
dancer, in my hand...
     
    A few of the girls start to sing along, and by the second
verse the room is filled from wall to wall with noise. I almost
expect people to start waving