“Six weeks won’t erase years of training,” he says.
“It feels like it has.”
“Well,” he says lightly, “it sounds good so far. Something you wrote?”
“Yes. But I haven’t played it for anyone in ages.”
He shifts beside me, his tone amused. “Perhaps we should come back when the beach is less crowded.”
I glance at the deserted shoreline and laugh.
“It’s only me,” he says reassuringly.
Sure.
‘Only’ someone who used to manage some of the world’s best artists in Australia and the UK.
Only someone who worked with my dad.
Only someone who, I’m still hoping, might have the answers.
Someone whose proximity is causing ridiculous flutters to run through me.
“You’ll probably think it’s sentimental,” I warn.
“They’re the best kind.”
My posture relaxes. “Alright.”
After a moment, I start again. The melody trembles in places, but it’s real.
I’m not just playing—I’m good. A heady calm sweeps through me, and though I’ve barely begun, Iknowit’s going to go well.
Brandon turns his head towards me slightly, head cocked as he listens.
I breathe in, reposition my fingers, and transition to the next chord.Yes. Perfect.
I draw breath, poised to sing the first word of my lyrics.
Snap.
The sound cracks through the air like a firework, and I flinch back, staring in shock at the coiled, broken string, its frayed end mere inches from my face.
No, no, no…
Not here. Not now. Not when I’m on the verge of a breakthrough.
I remain frozen, unable to continue, my heart sinking fast as the silence roars in my ears.
“Ah, the high E—usual culprit,” Brandon says breezily, shifting closer to survey me. “Didn’t get you, did it?”
I touch my face, shaking my head. “No. I’m fine. I…” My voice catches. “I didn’t even press that hard. It just…broke.”
Like me.Misery claws up through my chest, hot and helpless, catching somewhere behind my ribs.
It’s just a broken string, like so many others I’ve had over the years, but this one triggers a tidal wave I’m not ready for.
A thousand I-told-you-sos flood my mind, Toby’s voice raking up old shame.
