Sighing, I sat next to War as Jack took up the other seat, flanking me.
Voices sounded, more like protests.
“Our boy’s on!” War grinned.
Max strode out onto the stage, and the spotlight hit him, highlighting the determined set of his jaw. While the others had been dressed in formal or semi-formal attire, not my guy. Max wore jeans, a faded Black Sabbath t-shirt, and biker boots. He still sported the plaited leather bracelet with my initial from the fair. I hadn’t taken off the tiger-eye earrings, either.
A thin, tall man with a receding hairline scurried after him. “You are not on the list.”
“Uh-oh, asshole director’s asking for it.” Jack chuckled.
Max stopped. Slowly, he faced the skinny man. “Unless you plan to physically throw me out,” he said, tone cool, calm, “I suggest you get out of my way.”
The director sputtered. Then he straightened his posture. “You are still on probation after your willful destruction of school property—”
“For which, I believe the Meade-Sinclair Foundation has generously contributed twice over in reparation.”
The man’s narrow features reddened. He turned to the people in the front row. “He did not make the cut. Unfortunately, some will never aspire to much, no matter how talented one’s parent was. So if you need to take a break, you can do so now.”
A soft cacophony of voices reached me from the people seated in front. Fighting the urge to knock the supercilious man’s teeth down his throat, I ground my molars. Max’s entire posture went rigid. Even from a distance, I could feel his anger radiating out.
Oh, no. Max, focus. Please, don’t lose it now.
“Oh, man, that’s not good,” War muttered, then yelled, “Knock his lights out, boyo.”
I sat forward, nails digging into my palms. Then Max walked right past the horrid man and sat down at the baby grand. He didn’t even seem to care that some of the men in front rose. Undeterred, he ran his fingers over the keys and started to play the slow build-up to a piece I’d never heard before.
I went motionless in my seat, as did the handful of people walking out. They sat again.
More spotlights came on and focused on Max, highlighting his pale hair and chiseled features, and as his music drew him in, an intensity invaded his every movement, the sounds rolling out into the audience. The dark notes he let loose rushed over the stage and poured into the auditorium, grabbing me with their potency. His fingers moved fast, swift, and with absolute precision. Suddenly, the tone changed. Softer, melodious notes drifted from the piano and swept over the arena as if chasing away the dark.
Goosebumps skittered over my skin, and my heart pounded hard against my ribs. Somehow, I felt it was his life he was expressing in his music. Was I the light, then? My eyes burned. He performed like an angel—hell, he looked nothing like that with his tatts on display and grim features, but the music. God, his music…
By the time the last strains of the music drifted away, tears rolled down my face at the beauty of what I’d heard and was still wrapped in.
“Bravo—bravo!” I jumped up and clapped. Loudly.
Jack and War whistled.
Startled, Max looked up, his gaze darted about then settled on us at the back. He smiled. And the grin that always made my heart trip took form. I swiped at my tears with my long sleeve.
Max’s focus shifted to the front row. “That little rendition is an ode to my mother.”
With that, he gave a mocking and flourishing bow, then slid his hands into the torn back pockets of his jeans and sauntered off the stage, ignoring the calls of, “Wait—wait!” from several of the people in the front row.
Hurriedly, I followed Jack and War outside into the street. In the cool, overcast afternoon, I waited near Max’s Jeep, anxious to see him. Both the guys leaned against the SUV, their gazes on the doorway.
Five minutes turned to ten and then fifteen, still no sign of Max. My worry grew. “I’m going to find him.”
“Nah, here’s our boy,” War said.
Max finally stepped out of the door, and I sprinted over, hugging him hard. “That was the most heart-moving concerto I’ve ever heard. You’re amazing.”
His arms tightened around me. “Thanks, baby.”
Easing back, I searched his face. At the flush on his tan features, unease took hold. “What happened?”
“Nothing. I got delayed speaking to some people.”
