Page 70 of Of Heartbreak and Harmony
“Fine, fine! You can cut in. All you had to do was as?—”
“I told you to stay away from her,” I growl, snarling at his hard, wet dick before whipping my glare onto Callie. “What the fu?—”
My words die on my tongue.
It’s not Callie.
Instead of angry green eyes, I see excited brown. She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand and then eagerly reaches for the band of my sweats.
“I’m ready for you, Torren. I already signed the papers.”
I step back. Relief floods me as I shake my head. “Not interested,” I tell her before returning my attention to Jo. “What are you on?”
His smile turns into a scowl immediately. “Nothing I can’t handle.”
“What is it?”
“Weed, asshole. Vodka. That okay with you,Dad? I’m not a fucking idiot.”
I sigh, shaking my head again. “Handle your shit, Jonah. Sav will call off the whole tour and send your ass back to Tranquil Waters the moment you fuck up.”
He grabs the woman’s head and shoves himself so far down her throat that she gags, but he doesn’t take his furious eyes off me.
“Tranquil Waters can get in line to suck my fucking dick, and so can Savannah.”
I scoff. I don’t argue with him. I send one last disinterested glance to the groupie on her knees, and then I leave the suite. I’m barefoot and shirtless in just a pair of sweats, but I don’t let that stop me from going to the terrace. It’s reserved just for the band while we’re here, and right now, I need some fucking peace.
20
CALLIE
As much asI can’t stand Sav Loveless, I can’t deny that the gift she’s given me has softened me up a bit.
The portable digital piano she got me is state of the art. Even after not having played for over a year, the keys are familiar and welcome under my fingertips. They remind me of the baby grand I played at Barnum Hall.
I was expecting my playing to be awkward. Rusty. But it’s not. It’s like breathing, and I realized that for over a year, I’ve been deprived of oxygen. Closing my eyes, I get lost in the notes. Beethoven’s “Für Elise” pours out of me from muscle memory. Three minutes of pure therapy, removing stress and anxiety for the length of the piece from the first bar to the one-hundred and third.
I don’t bother trying to hide my smile. I let it out, unbidden, for the first time in a long time, and I let myself play.
When “Für Elise” ends, I move right into “Moonlight Sonata.” I don’t even let the final notes fade. I can’t see the stars due to the light pollution, but the breeze is soothing, and the cover of night makes the song choice feel perfect.
I play the first movement seamlessly—not a single missed note, not a single fumble—and then I attempt the second movement. Once again, it comes as naturally as breathing. The second movement is faster with large jumps and a subtlety in places that took me almost a year to learn, but I get through it without error.
I pause before starting the third movement. I take several breaths and mentally run over the music in my mind. My fingers itch to begin, but I keep them suspended two inches above the keys, building my confidence. Preparing.
Just before I lower my hands to the piano, a clapping rings out from the corner of the terrace near the door, and my eyes fly open, whipping in the direction of the sound. Every ounce of air I inhaled escapes me in a violent whoosh.
“Torren,” I gasp, folding my hands in my lap.
Suddenly, all I can think about is the club and how he touched me. How Ilethim touch me. Heat floods my body, and I force a swallow to wet my now parched throat.
God, why is he here? And shirtless. And gorgeous.
I had Craig haul this up here for me specifically so I wouldn’t have an audience. Of all the people I’d want to watch me play for the first time in over a year, Torren King is at the bottom of the list.
Thank fuck I didn’t attempt the third movement in front of him.
“You’re really good. Don’t stop on my account. I’d love to hear you play some more.”
