The time on the clock reads 8pm. Fuck. She probably won’t be back for hours yet.
I grab my violin and distract myself by playing random notes until they’re flowing together as easily as a knife slices through melted butter.
Music has always been my safe space. While the world burned around me, I could escape into the notes that offered me protection, welcoming me like a long-lost friend. The notes never rejected me, or left me, or told me I wasn’t good enough. No, the music just lets me be. And it’s always there waiting for me whenever I need it. And right now, with my building feelings for Melody, I need it like I need air, because I realize I can never have her. Never hold her in my arms. Not as long as our parents are together at least.
My phone rings and the screen flashes my father’s name. My back straightens and I put down the violin. What the hell could he want now?
“Hello?”
“Chase. Glad I could catch you.” His voice sounds so formal, as if he were addressing a business associate and not his own son. It’s familiar, but devoid of any affection. “Stella and I decided to rent out the club and have a proper wedding to celebrate with all our family and friends. I expect you and Melody to be there.”
“When is it?” My jaw ticks in irritation.
“In about a month. I’ll have Callista send over the information, she has all the details. But Stella was wondering if you could perform her favorite song for her as she walks down the aisle.”
Like hell do I want to perform anything for that money hungry wife of his, but I know better than to argue. “What song?” I ask through gritted teeth.
“Hallelujah. You can do that, right?” I can hear the demand disguised as a question. After all, he always gets his way.
“Sure.”
“Wonderful. See you then.”
The line goes dead, and I’m left in silence, dreading having to see the man responsible for my misery.
* * *
Three YearsEarlier
“Darling,would you hurry up? We’re going to be late.” My mother’s voice calls up the stairs of our house in Florida. It’s an expansive mansion that sits right on the Gulf of Mexico. Prime real estate that cost far too much and has far too many rooms that we never use, but my dad wanted our home to make a statement. It’s his pride and joy, this place. My mom is hardly home enough to really enjoy it, and I’ll be headed to college next year. I just got accepted into Langford this week, and it seems my future is all set to become the world-renowned composer I’ve been working towards my whole life.
The muggy air from the open patio hits me as I retie my tie. It’s too warm out to be wearing a full tux, but the event at the club is black tie only, so here I am. Decked out in full penguin attire, as per my mom’s request. She’s hosting some charity gala with her company at their country club. Like we don’t frequent the place enough. The gala she’s throwing is for kids with cancer or something along those lines. She likes to give back, which I admire her for. My dad would rather we kept all our money to ourselves, but mom knows what it’s like to struggle. A lot of my friends’ parents are of the same mind as my dad, only giving back when they’re forced to. They’re always trying to skirt the system and find ways to not pay taxes.
“There you are. You look so handsome.” My mom immediately grabs my tie and adjusts it. “There. That’s better,” she beams at me. Her blonde hair is done in an elegant updo, and her dress matches the color of my dad’s tie— a deep crimson color that makes the two of them look every bit of the power couple that they are.
“Oh good, you’re ready.” My dad says, sounding bored out of his mind already.
“Really, Travis. Try to sound a little excited. It’s not every day we get to spend time as a family.”
My dad grumbles something unintelligible, before we’re out the door and on our way.
The country club comes into view after a few minutes of driving, and we wait in the valet line as flashes from cameras take pictures of everyone arriving. We pose politely on the red carpet, smiling for the cameras. First, all together as a family, and then individually. My mom is whisked away by reporters shoving their microphones in her face as they ask her a series of questions.
Once inside, I swipe a flute of champagne from one of the servers, knowing they’re paid way too little to check if I’m of legal drinking age. My friends should be sulking around here somewhere, dragged out by their parents just like me. We know this song and dance well, usually finding one of the empty rooms to congregate in while the adults have their dignified evening.
We’re several drinks in when I have to find my way back to the table for my mom’s speech. But on my way, I stumble into the wrong room and see two bodies moving together. One of them looking vaguely familiar. It takes my inebriated brain far too long to piece together what I’m seeing. One of the servers screwing my dad.
“She’ll be gone soon, I promise,” he says.
“You keep saying that you’ll leave her,” the woman’s voice answers.
“I will, because no one feels as good as you. No one can fuck me like you can, baby.”
“If you don’t take care of it soon, I will.”
My stomach roils and all the alcohol I’ve consumed threatens to make another appearance, trying to work its way up my esophagus.
“Please. Travis. Harder,” she begs, and I step back trying to exit the room without them catching me. Only I knock into a lamp, causing it to come crashing down. The noise has the two of them swinging their heads in my direction.
