Page 30 of Playing for Keeps

The allegations come on the heels of his daughter, Emerson Saltzer—Juilliardgraduate and accomplished violinist—abruptly leaving the classical music scene. Maestro Saltzer claimed that the young musician was addressing mental health concerns.

This publication wonders if a respite from the senior Saltzer was in itself an improvement to the younger Saltzer’s well-being.

This is a developing story.

I stare at the article, reeling. I’ve been holding my breath, waiting for something awful to come out in the news aboutme.I’ve always been led to believe I was the problem- the diva, the difficult musician basically making my parents’ lives harder.

This article is junk journalism, to be sure. But it’s not about me.

I don’t know how to feel about other people giving voice to these suspicions I’ve had that my father is a jerk. That my father is the problem. I start sweating and breathing heavily as my reality is shattered.

“Hey.” Gunnar’s hand is gentle on my thigh, squeezing. “You want to go home?”

I nod rapidly and take a final gulp of my milkshake. He sets a bunch of cash on the table, wraps his tux jacket around my shoulders, and ushers me out the door toward our apartment.

CHAPTER 20

EMERSON

I’mnumb back at the apartment, as if I can’t figure out my next moves beyond kicking off my heels.

I keep repeating the word “hostile” in my mind, jarred by seeing someone else, albeit an anonymous editorial reporter, refer to my father that way. Hostile is exactly right. My entire life has been a hostile environment. I had never encountered that phrase before seeing it on Gunnar’s phone.

I always thought I was so fortunate, getting to make music (even if it wasn’t the music I wanted) and to live in such wealth. I never lacked anything.

Although, that is not true. As my unexpected hero ushers me into my room and gently unzips my dress, his hands gentle on my back as he slides the gown down my shoulders, I realize I’ve never experienced this kind of caring physical touch.

“You are so important to me,” he says, palms skating along my skin. “I can’t believe I asked you to come to New York and act gooey for me with all this crap going on in your life.”

I lean into his touch and shake my head. “It didn’t feel gross. Not when it was for you.” My lashes are wet, and my chest tightens. “I know you aren’t expecting it…that you appreciate me.”

I stand in my fancy underthings, staring at myself in the mirror above my dresser, still motionless as Gunnar hangs up the dress and grabs my G STAG jersey from where it’s folded at the foot of my bed. I let him slide that over my head and melt into him when he pulls me into his arms, kissing the top of my head. “I definitely appreciate you. What do you need, Salty? I’m here.”

He rubs my back soothingly. Instead of feeling better, I think of the contrast of my father’s harsh words when he’d come home to hear me practicing a difficult passage—or Dad’s sneer when I was seated below second chair after an audition. Gunnar’s voice is low and strong near my ear as he says, “You’re an amazing person, Emerson. You make beautiful music and always know what to say to make people feel special.”

I pull back and look up into his handsome face. He smiles down at me from his considerable height.

“Will you stay with me tonight? In here?”

Gunnar nods, smiling even wider than before. “Of course I will.”

As I stumble back toward my bed, he kicks off his tuxedo pieces, leaving them in a heap on the floor—a stark contrast to how he took such care with my things. He climbs into bed with me, wearing only a pair of tight, black underwear. At first, I’m nervous about sleeping beside him like this, but he’s so warm, and his arms around me feel so safe and strong. It’s like hugging a hot water bottle.

I know things are supposed to be pretend with him…but this feels awfully real.

I watch my hand rise and fall on his chest as he breathes, just lying there silently, holding me.

“They’re going to come looking for me,” I tell him.

“Who is?” His fingers feel nice stroking my hair.

I shrug, as much as I’m able while cocooned in his comforting nest. “The press. My family. They’ll want me to help with damage control.”

“Hey.” Gunnar lifts my chin to meet his gaze in the darkness. I can make out enough of his expression to know that he’s serious. “I will do whatever it takes to keep you safe and comfortable, Emerson Saltzer. My family can help us with anything legal, and my teammates can help create a physical fucking wall around you if that’s what you need. Got it?”

I nod, blinking back tears. “Thank you,” I whisper. And then I fall asleep to the reassuring rhythm of his heartbeat.

I worried things would be awkward when I woke up tangled in Gunnar’s limbs, like that first morning in Vegas. But I open my eyes to his sleepy gaze, blinking and studying me as I ease into wakefulness. “Don’t you have practice?” Gunnar usually leaves the house before it’s light outside. Granted, I have no idea what time it is currently or whether it’s daytime. My room doesn’t have a window.

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