Touching Melody (A Forever First Novel) (13 page)

It’s midnight, and she’s lying next to me on my bed. Kyle’s called two more times, but I keep pressing ignore. Gina hasn’t given me any crap about it. Just keeps raising her eyebrows and giving me questioning looks. I should text him. Ask him to stop. Probably even give back the phone.

But I’m too tired.

And I love the phone.

Another first. Thanks to Kyle. That hasn’t gone unnoticed. 

“Why are you blaming Kyle for something his father did?” Gina blurts, giving me a sideways glance.

It’s a solid question. Even Abigail asked it when I first began seeing her. I know I shouldn’t. He didn’t pull the trigger. Make my parents bleed and die. He didn’t
take them from me, leave me orphaned.  My mom and dad actually liked Kyle. My mom teased me about him all the time. But he’s his father’s son. Who’s to say Kyle won’t become like him? Who’s to say he isn’t already like him?

My aunt and uncle used to argue constantly about Chief Hadley
, about how he wanted to come after me. But Kyle’s dad never did. And two words always came up in their disputes: blackmail, revenge. I could never understand what they meant. Was someone blackmailing them? Did Chief Hadley want revenge? On me?

It seemed likely. I’d seen him with a gun in his hand, leaving my parents
' house. 

When I was fifteen, my aunt and uncle’s arguments abruptly stopped. Or they realized I could hear them, and kept their quarreling to times when I wasn’t around.

I didn’t want revenge. I wanted justice. To see Chief Hadley rotting away in a prison cell forever.

At some point I know he stepped down as the chief. A new man took his place. I asked my aunt what happened. All she said was, “He got what he deserved.” I asked what she meant, and she shushed me. Told me not to worry about it.

Now that I’m going to school with his son, I can’t help but worry, and wonder if I should research his dad on the
internet. Something I’ve done a handful of times, and under the supervision of my aunt.

“Maddie?” Gina touches my arm.

“I don’t blame Kyle. I don’t.” I shake my head, realizing I mean it. “But when I see him, or I’m near him, I remember what his father did to my parents. And if his father is evil, well then…” I don’t finish the sentence. My body has rebelled against my mind. My aunt’s words,
bad men raise bad kids
, fling themselves through my thoughts. My body doesn’t believe it.

“You think Kyle is evil too.” She takes a deep breath, crossing her arms. “I get that. I do. Obviously my mom chose not to deal with her problems, and I’m the same way.” She sniffs. “But you should give Kyle a chance, especially if you feel so strongly about him.” She rolls on her side, faces me. Her eyes are the color of dark chocolate, and they’re staring at me intently.

I gasp, wishing I could let it all go. Close my eyes and forget. But I can’t. I’m not made that way. “I-I don’t know if that’s possible. Alcohol helps.” I snort, feeling ashamed for stating so bluntly my immediate weakness for the burning liquid.

Gina busts out laughing. “Yeah, it does. If only it didn’t have those nasty morning after side effect
s.”

“We should come up with something. We’d be world heroes.” I laugh with her.

Gina leans over and kisses my cheek. “Thanks for the chat.” She climbs off my bed and falls onto hers. “I’m sleeping straight through tomorrow. Wake me for class on Monday.”

“Night, Gina.”

Minutes later her breathing has evened out and I know she’s asleep. It doesn’t come as easily for me. I can’t help thinking about Kyle and my reasons for shutting him out. Without debating the consequences, I pick up my new phone and text Kyle.

Sorry. Roommate and I were
talking. Thanks for the phone.

I stare at the screen for several minutes, waiting for him to respond. He doesn’t, and I roll on my side, pull my comforter up to my neck, and close my eyes.

I’ve been asleep either thirty seconds or three hours when the phone pings.

You’re welcome.

16

Maddie

My Heart is in My Throat

I’m nervous about meeting the other half of my duet. Professor Jenkins told me to meet my partner in Piano Room 3. I’ve been to the room several times already. Professor Jenkins teaches his private lessons in there. That’s fine.

What isn’t fine is that I have no idea who my partner is
. What if she’s bad? What if she’s hard to work with? What if she hates me?

I enter the Fine Arts b
uilding, walk down stairs, and open the heavy door to the practice room. I can’t help the intense sigh of relief that enters and exits my lungs. I imagine this is what religious people get from prayer. Calming. Fortifying.

There’s still five minutes until our meeting time, so I walk slowly, enjoying the muffled sounds filling the hallway. As I get closer to the designated room, a strain of music rises above the others. It’s heartbreaking, full of longing, sadness, and hope. I stop, unable to move. It’s beyond beautiful. Finally I have to see who’s playing. My heart demands it.

I run to the door and peer through the small rectangular window. My body registers who it is before my mind does, and my mouth falls open. New sets of butterflies have hatched inside my stomach and are fluttering around wildly. Never in my wildest dreams did I think he played the piano, or even liked classical music.

But he’s always like poetry
, I think, and push open the door.

The music stops
and he looks up. Surprise creases his brow, turns his lips into a smirk.

“It’s you,” I say, unable to stop the grin that blooms across my face.

He steps away from the piano and comes toward me. It looks like he hasn’t shaved in a while. His face is scruffy. It’s sexy, I think.

He’s w
earing faded jeans, and a black button up shirt, the sleeves rolled to his biceps. I drink him in. He takes my breath away.

“It’s me.” He picks up one of my hands and caresses my palm with the other. The butterflies are frantic, and my heart is racing, racing, racing.

“I didn’t know you played.” The words stumble out of my mouth like drunken old men.

“So you’re
my other half?” His fingers are caressing my inner wrist, and my heart stops. Slams to a standstill.

“The duet?” I
ask, clearing my throat.

He chuckles. “Maddie Martin.
Freckles.” His eyes roam my face as though he’s searching for memories. Trying to see the girl I was when we were younger. When we made our pact.

I was eleven. Short
. Shadowy curls. Chunky. Full of wonder and ideas. Always quick to laugh. Always quick to share.

I’m no longer that girl. My face and body have become lean. My hair is long, and I don’t laugh nearly so often as I used to.

“It’s been a long time.” His eyes are searching my face, whether for truth or lies I’m not sure.

I rock
back, surprised he’s gotten right to the point.

Does he know why I left? Why I wasn’t able to say good-bye? Does he know that I believe his father killed my parents? Does he know what I saw? The gun in his father’s hand, the words he said. How could he?
Unless his father told him. Told him about the silly, mixed up Martin girl. And what if his father asked him to watch out for me? Kill me?

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 wond
er 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.