“Yeah, me too,” I murmur, letting my fingers linger on the old piano keys.
Coming home’s not been as strange as I thought it would be. It’s been a couple of days, and I feel like I never left. Larry was waiting for us when we got back, eager to show us the brand-new working elevator that’s been installed, and the new locks that have been fitted to all of the apartment doors. He supervised the work crew doing ours, which I’m grateful for. I know it isn’t Sullivan doing the work himself, but he's still the reason it’s getting done in the first place.
The fewer reminders of him, the better.
“Could have given it a polish while they were here, though,” Dad grumbles, his attention sliding over the dusty, battered woodwork of the piano.
“I’m glad they didn’t. It’s the one part of this place I hope no one ever touches,” I muse, lowering the cover over the keys and stroking it tenderly.
It doesn’t matter that it needs a good tune and some TLC. Money can’t improve the memories I have of writing my songs on it.
“Have you heard anything yet?” my father asks, pulling the clean laundry from the state-of-the-art dryer that looks like it belongs in a mansion, not in our communal basement.
“Yeah. Mr. Drayton called just before you came down here.”
“And?” My father lifts a questioning brow.
“And he said I can take my time thinking about what I want to do. They aren’t going to enforce my contract and make me finish the tour. Or hold me to recording in the studio with them if I don’t want to.”
“That’s good news.”
“It is,” I agree, my smile growing tight.
I suspect Kyle Drayton knew I had doubts. He had a replacement support act filling my spot before our flight even touched down back in New York.
I was replaceable in an instant.
The feeling is all too familiar.
I made the error of looking on a local news site before I came downstairs to play. There was Sullivan, top story of the gossip column, leaving The Lanceford late one evening. The press delighted in that juicy story; after stating he hadn’t been seen there in months.
But it looks like he moved on after I left a lot faster than I’ll be able to.
I was still soaking in the feeling of betrayal when Kyle Drayton called and delivered his very ‘no-pressure’ speech. I can’t believe I was so stupid and didn’t see it. Sullivan bought Liberty Records so he could engineer a recording contract anda tour for me. He made certain I wasn’t going to be in the vicinity of him or Molly.
He wanted me gone that badly.
“What are your plans this afternoon?” my father asks, breaking me out of my self-pity.
“I’m visiting Ashley.”
“Have you decided if you’re going to go back to work for her?”
“I don’t know.”
Ashley’s offer was appreciated. In fact, it was less of an offer, and more of an assumption. But she realized her error the second I grimaced. Returning to work at Caffeine Couture means working next door to Beaufort Diamonds again. A move I’m not sure I’m ready for, even though I know I shouldn’t allow Sullivan to influence my decisions.
“I thought going there this afternoon to hang out with her might help me decide.”
“Hm, good idea. Test out how you feel being back there.” My father nods thoughtfully. He knows the words I’m not saying. He met Sullivan that night he took me to see The Masked Maestro play. He heard me talk about him and Molly.
And he wouldn’t have missed the fact that I hadn’t mentioned either of them in the days prior to accepting Kyle’s offer.
He knows his daughter had her heart broken. He’s just waiting until I’m ready to invite him to help with fixing it.
“Exactly. Test out how I feel,” I murmur, stroking the bumps and grooves in the worn wooden piano lid.
Sullivan might have brought our song to an abrupt end. But it’s time for me to write a new one now.
