Page 19 of The Breakaway

“Mm. Yep, I’ll be back at?—”

The line went dead.

I held the phone for a minute, listening to the dial tone before peeling myself off the floor and exiting the room to unstretch the cord. I wanted to ask about his flight. To tell him about the washroom disaster. Probably not about what happened last night . . .

The realization that I hadn’t intended to tell Logan about that gave me pause. I replaced the receiver on its cradle.Nothing had happened.Rob was helping me calm down. In the light of day, I could see it for what it was. A trauma response. I had been startled at night, and since that reflected what had happened when I was a teenager, I was sucked right back to those nights.

It wasn’t my fault that I freaked out.

It wasn’t Rob’s fault that the washroom was unusable.

It was nobody’s fault. Logan would understand that.

I started hot water for tea, then began getting ready for orchestra. Logan's carefree attitude grated on my nerves like a bow against unrosined strings. At least Tchaikovsky never flaked on me. Dating Logan sometimes felt as dramatic as the 1812 Overture—all sound and fury. Intense emotion, and that was an understatement.

That was why I loved him, though, wasn’t it? He was always balls deep in whatever moment presented itself. The problem was,Iwasn’t in his moments currently. For two months he was living a plethora of moments that were decidedly Sharla free, and the fact that he wasn’t thinking about me or missing our life here burrowed into me like a tick.

I exhaled and rubbed my temple. It was fine. This was his first day with new teammates. I wanted him to dive in, to fully embrace this experience. I was just sad, and the night before had been a total trash fire. This was probably a me issue.

I threw on a clean pair of dark jeans and a cozy burgundy sweater, not even bothering with makeup. Grabbing my violin case, I rushed out of the dorm room, careful not to slam the door.

Once outside, I took my first full breath of the morning. Even though Rob was in his room, his existence filled the house like air freshener. Especially after last night. What if he just showedup again? Walked in when I wasn’t expecting it? Put his arms around me. Pulled me against his chest . . .

I ignored the heat lifting to my cheeks and worked to shake the memory of him in my bed as I hurried through the winding tunnels connecting the Douglas buildings. Still, my mind raced faster than my feet.

I should’ve been relieved to discover that there was a beating heart under the layers of asshole Rob usually presented. He could see I was upset, and he knew he’d caused it. He wasn’t a complete narcissist, so it made sense that he’d want to help. To apologize.

But those rationalizations didn’t strangle the brand new thoughts—emotions? Possibilities?—that had bloomed in my mind after that moment. I’dlikedhis touch. And then I felt annoyed with Logan, which never happened.

I was so lost in thought, I nearly collided with a group of students heading in the opposite direction. I mumbled an apology and quickened my pace. I surfaced in the arts centre and entered the rehearsal room early.

I took my time tuning up, listening to the creak of the wood, the hiss of my rosin against my bow.

“Since when do you beat me here?” Caleb slid into his seat.

I grinned. “Since my boyfriend calls me on Winnipeg time.”

Caleb laughed and Ms. Franck started in with instructions. I listened fully, grateful to have a respite from my own thoughts. We started with warmups, and when we began our first piece, I took a deep breath and let the music wash over me—Vivaldi's "Winter" fromThe Four Seasons. The frenzied sixteenth notes flurried from my fingers, each note dragging me further outside of myself.

As my bow danced across the strings, I floated, lilting with the resonance. The world faded away—no more worries aboutLogan, the washroom, or bad memories. In that moment, it was just me, my violin, and the music.

As we reached the end of the first movement, Lily stood for her solo. Her slender fingers caressed the fingerboard, coaxing out the plaintive melody with effortless grace. She was so damn good, I couldn’t even muster envy.

I would get there. She had a year and a half on me, and I knew I was on the short list for that spot once she moved on. I had to hope Franck would notice what I had to offer. Maybe Logan’s call this morning would turn out to provide a boost. Getting there early couldn’t be a bad thing.

At the end of rehearsal, chairs scraped as everyone in the orchestra packed up their instruments. I carefully loosened my bow and nestled my violin into its case. I stood and walked toward the back exit. Just as I pushed through the door, Lily bounded over to me, ponytail swishing.

Caleb loped along behind her. "Want to grab a coffee and knock out that music history essay?"

I hesitated. Part of me longed to rush back to the house, to see if Rob was there. To have him break my rules and call me a shithead so the universe could start spinning on its correct axis again. Another part dreaded a second awkward encounter after last night.What if he was nice? Again?"Sure, sounds good."

The three of us claimed a table in the arts lounge and spread out our notebooks and textbooks. I stared at my notes, but the words wouldn't come. I doodled for a bit, read a little more on Mendehlson since he was the composer I’d chosen to research. After an hour, it was obvious I wasn’t going to make much headway.

I closed my textbook. “I’m going to head for lunch.” I already knew both their classes were in this building in another forty-five minutes, so I didn’t bother inviting them along. “See you tomorrow?”

"Sure, see you then." Lily smiled. Caleb put out a hand for a fist bump.

Slinging my violin case over my shoulder, I headed for the bookstore. They had pre-made salads and cookies there—the lunch of champions.

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