I can no longer meet his gaze and look away. Too many questions are racing through my head. “I…” I’m not sure what to say.
He steps closer, pulling my body to his. I sink my face into his chest, breathing in the scent of fresh laundry, and manly smell, and vanilla. He’s solid, real. And I don’t ever want to let him go.
He knows me. He knows who I am. I allow myself a tiny smile.
“I’ve missed you,” he says into my hair, and I shiver. I can’t help it.
“I missed you too, Kyle,” I respond, hugging him tighter.
The door thumps open and Professor Jenkins walks in. He clears his throat, scrunching his salt and pepper brows. Then he clears his throat again. “I see you two have met. Excellent. Excellent. Sorry I’m late.” He pulls some music from his briefcase and hands it to each of us. “Have a seat, and let's go over the piece I’d like you to play.”
Kyle winks and sits at the piano he was playing moments before. I take the one across from him.
The piece of music is kind of a letdown. Sonata in F Major, K. 533/494: III. Rondo. Allegretto. Written by Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart. Arranged for two pianos by Grieg.
“Let’s take a look at the first page. You’ll see the title, and arrangement. Are you both familiar with this piece?” Professor Jenkins asks.
“Yes,” Kyle says.
Professor Jenkins glances at me. “I am.”
“Excellent. Want to run through it once?”
Kyle lifts a shoulder and grins. His face is easy to read. It’s saying, I’m game if you are. I can’t help but meet his grin with one of my own.
And I’m thinking, Game on.
“Absolutely,” Kyle says, and I agree.
Kyle and I run through the piece with Professor Jenkins several times. Professor Jenkins gives us lots of pointers. Advising us on the more difficult sections. The first run through Kyle plays piano one and I play piano two. Then we swap. Piano one is my favorite. The music is so fast my fingers almost have to float above the keys. But Professor Jenkins ends up giving Kyle piano one. I’m bummed, but I keep telling myself it doesn’t matter. Playing with Kyle at the Winter Gala means another year of college on a full ride. That’s the important part. Screw my pride.
“Alright, you two. That’s a good start.” Professor Jenkins nods at each of us. “Plenty of practice. Let’s meet back here. Same time. Same place. One month from now. I expect great progress.” Then he stands, grabs his briefcase, and walks to the door. “I think the two of you make a great duo.” He leaves.
I look at Kyle. He’s watching me and music fills the room. For a moment I wonder if it’s coming from my insides. Then I realize Kyle is playing. The same piece I heard him play before I entered the room.
“I wrote this…” he pauses, clears his throat, and looks away. “So, seven years? What’ve you been up to? Besides becoming an amazing pianist.” His brilliant blue eyes find mine. “Never would’ve guessed.” His eyes shift back to the piano keys. “I thought you wanted to be a doctor.”
I can’t help the laugh that leaves my throat. Nor can I help my need to be closer to him. Without realizing what I’m doing, I move over to his piano. He scoots so I can sit beside him. My hands are in my lap. My heart is in my throat. So many questions, thoughts, worries, and desires. They fill me up so I can barely think.
He glances over and smirks. “You’ve got a doctor’s hands.”
I blush.
Finally I find my voice. “I wanted to be a doctor up until I watched a video of a woman giving birth.” I can’t help the shudder that races along my spine. “After nearly passing out I realized it wasn’t my thing. Too much blood.” I shrug. “My aunt and uncle bought me a piano, and I began practicing a lot. I love it.”
He nods his agreement. “I love it, too.”
“Is music your major?” It feels so weird to be talking to him. Having a regular conversation, like the last seven years never happened. Except as soon as I think it, the past seven years rush back, and my stomach turns with grief.
He doesn’t seem to notice the sudden agony coursing through my body. He says, “No, my father always wanted me to get a business major. Music is my minor. I couldn’t give it up.”
His words send bile to my throat. His father. The same man who went into my house, shot and killed my parents, and then talked to me like I was nothing. My hands begin to shake. It’s hard to breathe. “Cool.” I swallow and blink several times. The room is tilting. Pain serrates my heart, and I want to scream. Quickly I stand. I won’t lose it in front of Kyle.
Kyle grabs my hand. “Wait.” He must see something of what I’m suffering because he asks, “Are you okay?”
I don’t answer. I can’t. My teeth are like two sets of vises, holding back all the agony inside my body. If I open my mouth, everything—all the pain, the hate, the anger—will spill out. I pull from his grasp.
In the past, if I were feeling this kind of agony, I would run to a piano room, not away from it. But Kyle is here. And I can’t be near him any longer.
I try to be polite and wave, but I can’t even look at him, see if he noticed. If I don’t get away I’m going to pass out, and I can’t do that in front of Kyle. I’ve done plenty to embarrass myself in front of him already.
As I climb the steps I realize I forgot my music.
17
Maddie
Embarrass Myself Again
In my back pocket is my cell. I pull it out and dial a number I know by heart.
A woman answers. Her name is Carrie. “Miss Abigail Brevins' office.”
“Hi Carrie. It’s me. Maddie. Martin,” I finish, just to clarify. It suddenly dawns on me I have no idea how many people Abigail sees. People, like me, who can’t deal with the life they were dealt.
“Oh, hi Maddie. Did you want to make an appointment? We haven’t seen you in a while. How’s college?” Carrie’s voice is mellow, full of comfort. The perfect voice for someone with her job description, and she really is sweet. Interested in what’s going on with me. Right now it’s grating on my last nerve.
“This is an emergency.” I plop down on a bench and place my head between my knees. Spots are floating across my vision. “Please. I. Really. Need. To.” My breathing is coming in gasps. I can’t seem to get enough air. It’s a panic attack. I haven’t had one in a very long time, not since I started getting tattoos. All it took was for Kyle to mention his father. Talk about him like he’s a kind person, a caring parent. It’s ripping my guts out. Tearing my heart into little pieces.
It isn’t fair Kyle gets to have a dad. It isn’t right he gets to talk to his dad about college, and a major.
More spots. I’m going to faint. Embarrass myself again and pass out.
“Hang on, Maddie,” Carrie coos, extra gentle. She puts me on hold. Irritating music pummels my ears.
Seconds later, Abigail is on the phone. “Hi Maddie. How’s it going?”
Just hearing her voice calms me a little. I try to take a deep breath. “I’m freaking out,” I say.
“Deep breath. Go on. I’ll wait.”
I suck in a breath, allowing the cool air to fill my lungs. The sun in setting. I focus on the orange, purples, and pinks in the sky. I take another breath.
“Feeling better?”
“A little,” I say.
“Good. Now tell me what set you off.”
I take another cleansing breath and dive in. “My music professor asked me to play a duet for the Winter Gala. Doing so guaranteed me another full ride next year. I agreed right away. Today I met my duet partner.” I pause. My heart is racing. Even at the thought of saying his name.
“And, how did it go?” Abigail encourages.
“At first. Okay,” I say honestly. “But then it got messy. Really messy. And I’m hurting. So, so bad.” I wrap an arm around my waist and pull my knees to my chest. I try to be as small as possible because the smaller I am, the less it’ll hurt.
“What happened? Why did the pain start?�
� Abigail soothingly asks.
“It’s Kyle,” I say softly, trying not to let the words touch my body, inflict any more damage. “He’s supposed to play the duet with me.”
I hear her suck in a breath. “Awwwww, well you thought you might see him. You were conflicted about it.”
“Yes,” I nod into the phone. “I-I keep going back and forth. It’s easy to talk to him, to be around him, until I remember who his father is. Then I lose it.”
“I see. What specifically set you off?”
At the memory of Kyle at the piano, talking about his dad like he was discussing the weather, my heart buckles. “He mentioned his dad.”
“What did he say?”
I stand, no longer able to sit still. “He said his dad wanted him to major in business.” Tears well up. They won’t stop and my eyes become blurry, the yellowing landscape glassy.
“Why did that upset you?”
I ground my teeth together. I don’t want to say the words she wants to hear. But I’ve learned from experience she’ll spin the questions until I tell her exactly what’s bothering me. “Because.” My voice cracks, and I stop.
“Because,” she coaxes.
“Kyle’s father is still walking around. Living. Breathing. Having conversations with his kid while my parents are dead. Gone. And it’s all his father’s fault!” I shout the last part into the phone. A couple holding hands moves off the sidewalk, giving me some much needed space. I feel myself losing it with each rise and fall of my chest. A frantic fear is mounting. I don’t know how to reel it in. The anguish spreads like a wildfire through my body. It needs to stop, disappear.
“I get that, Maddie. I do. And you have every right to feel the way you do.”
Her words do little to comfort me. “I-it hurts so much.” I fall to my knees. The phone tumbles from my hands, and I don’t care. I barely notice. I’m being eaten alive. The grief gets bigger and bigger, so overpowering I barely notice I’ve been lifted into a set of strong arms. Carried. And I hope wherever I’m being taken will make the pain stop.
My world crashes, my heart shatters. I am nothing.
Kyle
As Maddie collapses to her knees, I begin to run. Panic shoots through my heart. And I realize I can’t lose her. I won’t.
She drops her phone. “Maddie.” I slide next to her, lift her head onto my thighs. “Maddie. Maddie, what’s wrong?”
“I can’t. I can’t. It hurts too much.” Her words come out soft. I have to lean down to catch what she’s saying.
“What hurts? Where?”
“My heart. It’s—I’m ruined.”
“No. No, you’re going to be fine. I’m here.”
There’s a noise coming from her phone, and I pick it up. “Hello?”
“Hello? Who is this? Put Maddie back on the phone,” a woman shouts.
“Uh, this is Kyle. Hadley. Who is this?”
There’s a sigh. “This is Abigail Brevins. I’m Maddie’s doctor.”
“Doctor? Is she sick?”
“Kind of.” She sighs again. “I’m her therapist.”
“Oh.” What more can I say?
“Is Maddie alright? Can she talk?”
“She’s, uh, fainted. I think. Her eyes are closed.” I know I sound like a complete putz, but I need Abigail to tell me what to do because I’m freaking out.
“Check her pulse.”
I do. It’s thumping steadily. “I feel it.”
“Good. She’s fine. Just take her someplace safe. Let her rest.”
“Okay.”
“If I may be so bold…” she trails off, and I gather she’s waiting for me to agree.
“Sure. Say what you want to say.”
“You and Maddie have unfinished business. She doesn’t know your father died. Her aunt and uncle kept her way too in the dark. Work it out.”
“I-Really?” I feel the shock on my face. What’s her point? So my father died. Does she think I’ll be more sympathetic?
“If you care at all for her, you’ll really talk to her. Got it?”
“Yeah, I guess,” I respond. But I seriously have no damn idea what she means. Unless it has to do with our seven year separation. But that had nothing to do with me, and everything to do with Maddie. I tried many, many times to talk to her, and she never responded.
“Good-bye, Kyle Hadley.” I swear I hear her smile. “I think you’ll be good for her.”
“Thanks. Bye.” I hang up and tuck Maddie’s phone in my pocket. Then pick her up and spin in a circle.
“Need some help, man?” some guy asks. I notice a group of students have gathered and are talking quietly.
“Nah, I’m good.” I start walking to my Jeep. “I’m taking her home,” I say to no one in particular.
18
Maddie
Like a Date
The smell of buttered toast infiltrates my oblivion. I roll over, groggy. Rub my eyes. Clear my throat. It’s parched, like I haven’t had water in a very long time. My eyes blink open and reality sets in. I’m not in my room. This comforter isn’t mine. This bed isn’t mine, and I lift the light blue comforter. There’s a t-shirt wrapped around my waist. It’s not mine.
“What the hell?” I sit up and search the room. The bedroom is small. Only a bed, a desk, and a chest of drawers. There’s a bathroom to the left of a doorway, which is wide open. Something about the room is familiar. I realize with a frightened start that the room is Kyle’s. I was here a few nights ago, saw it briefly before he escorted me out.
Last I remember I was talking to Abigail on the phone.
I’m not sure what to do. Alert Kyle I’m awake. Say nothing. Run from his apartment like a maniac.
Where are my clothes? I immediately notice them folded and sitting on top of his dresser. I’ve just about decided to climb out from beneath the covers when Kyle turns the corner carrying a plate and a glass of something. As soon as he sees me his face lights up.
“You’re awake,” he says, walking into his room. He’s in faded jeans and nothing else. The button is undone, like he quickly pulled them on. They are sitting low. So low, I can see his hipbones, and a little patch of hair leading down to… places I’ve never been. His hair is perfectly messy. His eyes are dancing with mischief. “Are you hungry?”
I am, in fact, starved. But I can’t tell him that. I seem to have lost the capacity to speak.
“There’s blueberries. You used to love blueberries.” He sits beside me, flashing the contents of the plate, which consists of blueberries, cantaloupe, and toast. His features soften. “Feeling better?”
“I-uh, how long have I been here?” My words catch on my scratchy throat.
He hands me orange juice and I take a drink. It tastes so good I can’t help but drink it all. I try to focus on his face, but his oh-so-almost-naked body is in view, begging to be noticed. There isn’t an ounce of fat anywhere. It’s almost disgusting how beautiful he is.
He offers me the plate and I take it. Buttered toast is my favorite food on the planet. There’s something about the smell of toast and sweet cream butter combined. The taste when the crispiness of the bread and melted butter hit my tongue. But my stomach is sick, and fettered, and twisted up in so many knots I doubt I’ll ever be able to unravel them all.
“At least take a bite,” he pleads kindly, lifting a berry to my lips.
I open my mouth, and he plops it inside. The juice explodes between my teeth when I bite down. “Mmmmm.” I smile, encouraged. He picks up another, and we repeat the process until they’re gone.
“Toast?” he asks, picking it up, and touching the edge to my bottom lip.
I search his features, curious about why he’s playing nursemaid. Feeding me. I’m enjoying it though. I sink my teeth into the buttery warmth. It’s so good. I take the toast from him and have another bite. When I’ve finished chewing I ask, “How long?”
“Since yesterday. You missed all of your classes today, including English. The irritating Ms. Spears was no
ne too happy. But I sent her an email, calming her down, as well as your other teachers. Hope that wasn’t too forward of me. Most have responded, giving the assignments that are due next class.”
“How did you know my schedule?”
“I’m a TA. It was easy.” He shrugs.
“Gina!” I whisper-shout. She’s probably a wreck.
He places a hand on my shoulder. When I flinch, he pulls away. “Don’t worry. I texted her with your phone. She knows where you are.”
I can’t help my sigh of relief.
Kyle chuckles lightly. “You two have developed a bond, I take it.”
“We’re friends. Yes.” I nibble another bite of toast. It’s delicious. The bread is multigrain. My favorite kind.
“So are you going to tell me what happened? Your therapist, Abigail, explained that you and I have some stuff we need to discuss.”
At his words my face flushes. My therapist? I can’t believe Abigail told him. I’m sure that’s breaking the rules. “Oh?” It’s all I can say.
“What is it? Why didn’t you return any of my calls after your parents died? My letters. Did I do something?” Pain, a look I can recognize anywhere, shoots across his face. “I felt so bad when I heard your parents were killed. I wanted to be there for you, but you were suddenly gone.” His intense eyes find mine. “Tell me what I did that was so awful.”
He’s leaning into me, his lips inches from mine. His breath smells of orange juice. I’m floored. He must not know. His dad didn’t tell him about my accusations at the police station.
Kyle grabs me by the arms, his large hands completely circling my nonexistent biceps. “Please, Maddie. Tell me.” He shakes me slightly. His eyes search my face and I can see he’s desperate for answers. But I’m not sure how to begin, what to tell him. How can I explain all of the heartache I’m suffering because of what his father did?
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