Page 42 of Extended Bridge

I take a step backward. Now’s not the time for recriminations. I’ve made peace with nearly all this with the help of my therapist. It was his life’s path, not my responsibility. I advance to the keyboard again and my fingers lay atop the keys. “I owe you for introducing me to the vibrant colors of your world. I loved you, but I know it’s time for me to let someone else into my heart. You’ll be a part of me forever.”

I gently press down and a light sound is produced. Tears flowing, Darren surrounds me in the place he adored. His fingers envelop mine, skimming over the ivory and black keys. I whisper, “I want to let Bennett into my life. Give me a sign. Please.”

My heart jolts as if it were squeezed from within.

As if Darren kissed it.

He gave me his blessing.

“Thank you.” My eyes continue to leak.

Behind me, someone says, “Jenna.”

Half expecting Darren to have materialized behind me, I turn and am greeted by another tall guy, this time with the beginnings of a five o’clock shadow even though it’s not even two. I swipe my cheeks. “Hi, Tristan.”

He joins me at the keyboard. “The guys all went to visit Darren’s family. I thought you went with them.”

“Nah.” I can’t let my answer hang out to dry, so I add, “It would be way too weird.” At his nod, I say, “Didn’t you want to meet them?”

He mimics my response. “Nah. It would be way too weird.” He shoves his hands into his back pockets, friendship bracelet pushing up his arm. “Do you play?”

“Huh?” I press one final key and shake my head. “No. It was Darren’s thing. And now, the keyboard is yours.” I allow Darren’s approval to permeate my being and change places with the new keyboardist, who plays a melody I’ve never heard.

“Something I’m messing around with,” he says, his neck tinged a light red.

“I like it.” The band did well with their choice. Tristan’s very talented.

After listening to him practice a couple of UC songs, ones I can hear Darren play with him, we leave the stage. As we enter the parking lot, I ask, “How do you like playing with Untamed Coaster?”

“They’re great. I love performing on such a big stage with fans screaming our lyrics back to us. That’s amazing. And UC’s letting me test out my chops with writing. I appreciate everything they’ve done for me.”

Seems to me there’s a lot more behind his answer. “Is this your first stadium tour?”

“Hell, yes.” He turns his head toward me. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to curse.”

“I appreciate it, but it’s not like I’ve never heard the word ‘hell’ before.” I elbow his stomach. Which is quite hard. Must be a requirement that all the members of the band be shredded. “Kidding. Feel free to speak as you normally would around me.”

“Thanks. Momma would have my scalp if she heard me curse around a lady.”

I stop walking and do a full turn around the parking lot. “I don’t see any ladies here, so your secret’s safe with me.” It’s hard to believe such a polite, well-bred guy has joined up with the rowdier men I know in UC.

“’Preciate it. So, you and Bennett, huh?”

“Go right to the heart of it, why don’t you, Mr. Polite?”

Tristan’s hands return to his back pockets. “Sorry. Last night’s story’s been plastered all over the internet, adding to the others from a week or so ago.” He stares at the pavement. “It’s none of my business.”

He’s right. It isn’t. But talking it out with someone who never knew me with Darren is inviting. “It’s fine. Hard to avoid.” We walk in an oversized figure eight among four empty parking spots. “I met, rather examined, Bennett when he hurt himself at the end of the movie premiere. His doctor prescribed physical therapy and since I was a known quantity to the band, he came to my clinic. We’re not together.” Did I add this last part for him or me?

“How’s our lead singer healing?”

“Good. He should basically be good to go in another week. The doctor wants him to continue therapy for three months, until he’s fully healed.” I lean closer to his frame. “Probably for liability reasons more than medical.”

“Your secret’s safe with me.”

We both grin at the fact he’s reusing my phrase. Tristan bends down and picks up a rock, tossing it across the lot. “So you two aren’t dating? Or is it a fake relationship for the media’s benefit?”

My protest rises without thought. “We’re not dating. I’m his physical therapist.” I continue walking and realize he stopped. When he catches up with me, I add, “It’s unethical for a therapist to date her patient.”

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