Chapter 1
KABIR
SIX MONTHS LATER
He sat in the dark, back propped up against his headboard, a half full bottle of tequila on his bedside table.
Head tilted back, he strummed the guitar on his lap, a strangely discordant yet beautiful sound echoing through the silent room.
Beside him, face down on the mattress was his phone.
It kept lighting up at regular intervals, the glare leaking out from the sides the only illumination in the room.
He reached for the cigarette smouldering in an ashtray beside the bed and took a long drag.
He exhaled a plume of smoke just as the phone went dark.
He stubbed the cigarette butt out and tossed the guitar aside, grabbing the tequila bottle and moving from the bed to the large glass windows that framed one entire wall.
The skyline of New York sprawled as far as his eye could see, the large, green space of Central Park a darker blotch in the middle.
His phone started to flash again. He tensed, his skin feeling too tight for his body, fingers clenching around the neck of the tequila bottle.
Despite the air conditioner running full throttle, he could feel sweat break out on his brow.
He brought the bottle to his lips, taking a swig and letting the fiery liquid burn its way down his throat.
A soft knock sounded on his door.
“Fuck off!” he growled, not bothering to turn around.
The door creaked open. “Kabir?” Rahul’s hesitant voice reached him.
“Did you not hear me telling you to fuck off?” Kabir’s voice was deceptively calm, as he stared out into the dark, star speckled night, a million skyscrapers illuminating the world he felt so removed from.
Far below, roads wound through the concrete jungle, cars weaving their way through them, looking like a toy race track in Lego land.
“But Kabir-“
“Rahul,” Kabir said politely, his voice venomous silk. “Do not finish that sentence.”
Silence fell between them for a long moment. On the road below, a taxi rearended another car and both drivers got down to fight. Kabir watched them with detached interest. To his extreme disappointment, neither of them threw a punch.
He raised the bottle of tequila to his lips and drained it. He brought the empty bottle to eye level and frowned. What the fuck? How did that finish so quickly?
“Your parents want to know when you’re coming home.” Rahul’s words came out in a rush, like he feared he’d lose the courage to spew them out.
“I SAID FUCK OFF!” His roar of fury was a tidal wave that smashed against the very edges of his sanity.
Kabir spun on his heel, the bottle flying from his hand and crashing into the wall across the room from them. Glass shattered, splinters flying in every direction, a spray of violence.
“Kabir.” A calm voice interjected, slicing through the shocked silence that buffeted the room. “If you don’t get on a flight and come home, I’m going to come there and drag your ass back here.”
Kabir stared at the phone in Rahul’s hand. He hadn’t noticed the open call flashing on its display.
“Dad?” he asked huskily.
“Apologise to Rahul,” Ved Kashyap’s steady voice sounded through the speaker bringing with it a violent pang of homesickness. “And then take the damn phone from him so I can kick your butt, long distance.”
Rahul held the phone out to Kabir, his hand shaking. “I’ll go get someone to clean up,” he said, his gaze taking in the broken glass all over the room.
Kabir took the phone, his fury and frustration receding enough to allow shame through the cracks. “I’m sorry,” he told Rahul who nodded and disappeared as Kabir switched off speakerphone and held the phone to his ear.
“Have you booked your tickets?” Ved asked now.
“No.” Kabir took a deep breath and stepped over to where the lamp on his bedside table was. He fumbled for the switch, his palm landing on a shard of glass. He swore as pain sliced through him, blood flowing from the wound.
“What was that?” Ved’s voice sharpened. “Did you hurt yourself?”
“I’m fine, Dad.” Kabir held his hand up in a vain bid to stanch the blood flow.
“Are you?”
Kabir swallowed past the sudden lump in his throat. Even when the world had been out to ruin him, this one man had cared about him. Always. Ved Kashyap was the reason Kabir was still alive, a fact he never forgot.
Nobody had loved him before Ved had dragged him from the blood and sweat soaked ruin of his reality and into his world. Kabir had fought him every step of the way but Ved had never given up on him. Not for one single second.
Nobody had loved him before but there had been one person who’d adored him from the first day he’d set foot on to the fertile soil of Il Cuore, the vineyard owned by one of his father’s closest friends.
“That is not how you hold a teacup.” Her sweet, girlish voice made him blink. “Didn’t your parents teach you how?”
No, Kabir’s parents hadn’t taught him anything. They were dead, long since turned to ash. And his only living relative had tried to kill him tonight. How to hold a teacup? His chawl hadn’t even had teacups.
“You stick your little finger out like this,” she said prissily, forcing his bent out of shape little finger out and frowning when it wouldn’t straighten fully.
He’d explained to her that he’d broken it, neglecting to tell her how. This little doll with the big eyes and the pretty curls and the softest, unmarked skin would never hear of the horrors he’d grown up with.
And then she’d leant over and planted the tiniest kiss on his mangled finger. The first gentle touch he’d ever received in his short, violence fuelled lifetime.
He hadn’t known it then but his heart would never recover from it.
“Kabir.” Ved’s insistent voice dragged him out of the past. “The wedding is a few weeks away. You should have already been here.”
“I’m not coming,” he said abruptly, forcing the words out.
Silence, laden with disappointment, lay heavy between them. Rahul hurried back into the room with a helper, turning on the light so they didn’t step on any glass. An aborted scream from the helper had Kabir glancing down at himself, phone still held to his ear.
Oh shit. The blood had charted an ugly trail down his hand, soaking through the side of his shirt and on to his tracks.
He put a bloody finger to his lips so Rahul and the helper didn’t say anything to worry Ved.
Rahul nodded, getting the helper started on cleaning at the other end of the large room.
“Are you sure?” Ved asked now. “Aayushi and Kim were really looking forward to having you home.”
“Dad.” Kabir sat down on the bed heavily, his head spinning a little from blood loss. “I can’t.”
“Okay.” Ved sighed. “If you won’t come to me, then I’ll come to you.”
Kabir started. “No, you can’t do that!” he protested. “You can’t miss a wedding in the family to come and sit with me. That’s more important.”
And it was. His father and Tanisha’s father, along with their two other friends, Maya and Kanak, were not just best friends but family to each other. More family than their actual family. And nobody knew better than he did what family meant to his father.
“You’re more important to me,” Ved said gently. “We haven’t seen you in the last six months, Kabir. You haven’t come home, not once. Your sister tells me you haven’t written any new music in this time or agreed to any performances. We’re worried about you.”
“But the wedding-“
“Tani has everyone with her,” Ved said briskly. “You have no one.”
Kabir closed his eyes on a groan. “Dad, I’m thirty five years old. I can take care of myself. I can nurse a –“ Kabir broke off.
“A hangover? A grievance? Whatever the hell is going on with you?” Ved finished for him. “I know you can. I’m still coming,” Ved continued. “We’ll hang out together, hit the bars…I’ll be your wingman,” he finished cheerfully much to Kabir’s horror.
Was this what his life had come to? His father as his wingman?
“Mom will kill me and Kim will string me up by my intestines if you fly out here for me, leaving them behind.” His sister was a vicious, feral animal when crossed as Kabir knew from previous experience.
“Probably.” Ved laughed. “But that’s your problem, not mine. I’ll send you my flight details once it’s booked.”
“DAD!” Kabir exhaled, defeatedly. “Don’t…Don’t book your tickets. I’ll come home.”
“You will?” Ved sounded gleeful.
“Don’t act like you didn’t know this would be the end result of all your emotional blackmail,” Kabir said glumly.
“Well, a man’s got to do what a man’s got to do. So, will you send me your flight details once it’s booked?”
Kabir rolled his eyes at the laughter in his father’s voice. “Yeah,” he grumbled. “I’ll get Rahul to do it.”
“Great. We’ll see you soon then,” Ved said warmly. “We’ve missed you, Kabir.”
Emotion slammed through him at the words. “I’ve missed you guys too, Dad,” he said huskily.
He disconnected the call, and stayed sitting on the side of the bed, blood dripping from his hand on to the white carpet below.
He was going home. He was going home to attend the wedding of the love of his miserable, fucking life. He was going to stand there, watch her marry someone else, and force his fucked up heart to be happy for her.
Something ruptured in his hand and blood started to flow more heavily, almost like his heart shattering had caused it pump more blood out.
He took a deep breath and stared out at the majestic sprawl of New York.
He was going back to Il Cuore.
Fuck his life. Well, at least this time around he knew how to hold a teacup.