Chapter 28
TWENTY-EIGHT
My violin case felt unnaturally heavy as I trudged up the steps to the hockey house. Each step was like climbing a mountain, my legs weighed down with the anxiety that had been building for days. The Montana Philharmonic fellowship audition was tomorrow, and I was practically vibrating with nerves.
I’d been practicing my original composition for hours each day, refining and polishing until my fingers ached and my roommates threatened mutiny.
The piece had evolved from a simple melody I’d hummed to Rory into something I was cautiously proud of—a composition that blended folk-inspired motifs with contemporary techniques in a way that felt uniquely mine.
But was it good enough? That was the question that had been haunting me for weeks.
Drew answered the door before I could knock, as if he’d been waiting for me. Rory was nestled against his chest in a baby carrier, her eyes heavy with the drowsiness that preceded naptime.
Over the last three weeks, we’d fallen into a weird sort of unspoken friendship.
We’d meet to go over our project, but I never lingered when we were done.
Mostly because I was using every spare minute to practice for my audition, but there was also a part of me that was afraid to stay too long in a space with him.
Twice now there had been a moment between us where my heart had thrashed against my chest and my brain had been convinced he was going to kiss me.
I could not under any circumstances let Drew Dumontier kiss me.
“Hey,” he said, stepping aside to let me in. “Perfect timing. She’s about to crash.”
“I can come back if it’s not a good time,” I offered, though the thought of returning to my empty practice room made my stomach clench with anxiety.
At this point, I’d practiced my ass off.
Now was the time when I needed honest opinions about whether it was good or not.
I’d gotten feedback from Rachel, Ayanna, and Talia about the technical components, but I wanted to hear what Drew thought.
Maybe that made me a masochist, because I probably shouldn’t trust him with something that had the potential to shatter me, but over the past few weeks, I’d come to care about his opinion.
“No, stay.” Drew’s voice was soft but firm. “She’ll sleep through almost anything now. Well, except my attempts at singing.”
I smiled despite my nerves. “That bad, huh?”
“Let’s just say I won’t be auditioning for any singing competitions anytime soon.” He nodded toward my violin case. “Speaking of which, you ready for tomorrow?”
“Ready as I’ll ever be,” I said, trying to sound more confident than I felt.
Drew studied my face for a moment, seeing through my bravado with an ease that was still startling. When had he learned to read me so well?
“You look like you’re about to throw up or pass out. Maybe both.”
“Thanks. You really know how to make a girl feel special.”
He grinned. “I meant you look nervous. Which is totally normal, by the way. Even the best hockey players get pre-game jitters.”
“This isn’t a hockey game, Drew. This fellowship could change everything for me.” The words came out sharper than I intended, edged with the anxiety I’d been trying to suppress. But I needed this win—to prove I was good enough.
Instead of bristling, Drew just nodded. “I know.” He glanced at my violin case. “Ready to show me what you’ve been working on?”
I gripped the handle of my case tighter. Even though practicing for Drew had been my idea, now that I was here, vulnerability washed over me. Performing my original composition for him felt too intimate.
“I’m not sure this was a good idea,” I admitted. “It’s still rough.”
“Hey,” he said softly. “I promise not to boo or throw popcorn. And considering the amount of time you’ve put into this, I have no doubt it’s going to be beautiful and not the slightest bit rough.”
For some stupid reason, tears pricked at the corners of my eyes. I blinked them away, grateful that Drew had already turned toward the living room, giving me a moment to compose myself.
“Let me put her down,” he said over his shoulder. “Then I’m all yours.”
All yours.
The words echoed in my head as I followed him, trying not to read into them while hating that the moment he’d said them, my heart had skipped a beat.
Oh my God, this audition was turning me into a basket case.
Drew gently transferred Rory to her bassinet in the corner of the living room, his movements so careful and tender it made my chest ache.
He’d become a different person since she arrived—still Drew, with his quick wit and occasional cockiness, but more open and vulnerable in a way I never would’ve expected from him.
Once Rory was settled, he cleared a space in the middle of the living room, moving the coffee table to create an impromptu performance area. Then he settled on the couch, giving me his full attention.
“The stage is yours, Tinsley,” he said with a small smile that made my stomach flutter.
I took my violin from its case, going through the familiar ritual of checking the tuning, adjusting my stance, finding my center. The routine calmed me, as it always did.
“I’m going to play my original piece first,” I said, positioning the violin under my chin. “It’s called ‘Broken Patterns.’ It’s still a work in progress, so—”
“Harper,” Drew interrupted gently. “Stop apologizing for your music before you’ve even played it. Just show me what you’ve got.”
I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and began to play.
The opening notes were slow, a haunting melody that gradually built in complexity.
I’d structured the piece to begin traditionally, then slowly incorporate more contemporary techniques—a musical journey from classical foundations to modern expression.
The music flowed through me, each phrase telling a story I couldn’t put into words.
As I played, I kept my eyes closed, too afraid of what I might see on Drew’s face as he listened. I focused on the music and poured my heart into it, sliding my bow across the strings and dragging out the final note until it hung in the air between us. It slowly faded to silence.
I lowered my violin, simultaneously taking a deep breath and bracing myself for his reaction. When I opened my eyes, the intensity in Drew’s gaze made my breath catch.
He was leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees as he stared at me in what could only be described as awe mixed with something even more dangerous—heat.
“That was…” He paused, searching for words. “Harper, that was incredible.”
“You don’t have to—”
“Stop.” He stood up, crossing the small space between us. “Don’t downplay it. That piece was beautiful. It was you—complex and unexpected and completely captivating.”
The sincerity in his voice made my throat tight. “Thank you,” I managed, looking down at my violin to hide the emotion I knew was written all over my face.
“Your parents are idiots if they can’t see how talented you are,” he said, his voice suddenly fierce.
I looked up, startled by the anger in his tone. “Drew—”
“No, I mean it.” He ran a hand through his hair, frustration evident in every line of his body.
“How could anyone listen to you play and not be moved? How could they not support something you’re so obviously meant to do?
The fact you created that piece out of thin air is insane, Harper.
Never underestimate how talented you are. ”
The indignation in his voice broke something loose inside me—a dam I’d built years ago to hold back the hurt and disappointment. No one had ever been so vehemently on my side and supportive of my music.
I looked down at the floor, unable to meet his gaze any longer or else I might actually cry in front of him.
Drew was quiet for a moment, then said softly, “You know, you’ve always been this amazing, even in sixth grade.
I remember how you’d hum under your breath when you were nervous.
How you’d twist that one curl around your finger when you were concentrating.
How your face would light up when you nailed a difficult part in a song. ”
I hated—hated—how his words made my stupid heart stutter. “I didn’t think you paid that much attention.”
“I paid attention to everything about you, Harper.” His voice was low, almost a confession. “Even back then.”
The air between us seemed to thicken, charged with a longing I was terrified to acknowledge.
“I thought I was just a joke to you,” I said, the words slipping out before I could stop them. “After what I overheard—”
“What are you talking about?” Drew’s brow furrowed in confusion.
“In sixth grade. At the winter concert.” I swallowed, the memory still painful after all these years. “I heard you talking to your friends. You said I sounded like a dying cat.”
Drew’s face blanched. “What?”
“I heard you, Drew. Outside the gym after the concert. You were laughing with Brad and Michael, and you said—”
“Don’t say it again,” he begged, his voice ragged.
He ran his hands through his hair, distress practically pouring off him in waves.
“I can’t believe you heard that. The guys had been teasing me about how much time I was spending with you, and I snapped at them just to shut them up.
” He shook his head. “Fuck, that’s why you called me a loser to your friends, wasn’t it? ”
Now it was my turn to pale.
We stared at each other, the weight of nearly a decade’s worth of misunderstandings hanging between us.
“So we’ve been enemies all this time because we both said awful things we didn’t mean?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
Drew let out a laugh that sounded more like pain than humor. “Sounds about right for a Dumontier and a Tinsley, doesn’t it? Too stubborn to talk it out, too quick to assume the worst.”
“We were kids,” I said, shaking my head at the absurdity of it all. “Stupid kids who had no idea how to handle our feelings.”
“I never stopped thinking about you,” Drew admitted quietly. “Even when I convinced myself I hated you.”
My breath caught. “Drew—”
He took a step closer, close enough that I could see the gold flecks in his hazel eyes, count each of his eyelashes, notice the slight stubble along his jaw.
“Harper,” he said, my name almost a sigh on his lips.
He slowly curled a strand of my hair around his finger, his gaze locked on the action. “Just as soft as I always thought it would be,” he whispered.
My breath caught in my lungs when his gaze met mine. His breath was hot against my lips as he said low and ragged, “Tell me I’m not the only one feeling this. Please.”
How was I supposed to say anything when I’d completely forgotten how to speak?
He cupped my cheek with his other hand and his thumb caressed my bottom lip with a touch so tender and yet so explosive that I felt it in my entire body.
I wasn’t sure if I was leaning toward him or if he was drawing me closer, but the space between us was shrinking, his eyes dropping to my lips in a way that made my heart race out of control.
From the corner of the room, Rory let out a wail that shattered the moment like glass. Drew dropped his forehead to mine and let out a ragged breath before pulling away.
“Perfect timing, kid,” he muttered, crossing to the bassinet. “Sorry. She’s probably hungry again. I think she’s going through a growth spurt.”
I nodded, trying to gather my scattered thoughts. My heart was still pounding, my skin humming with awareness where he’d touched me.
“I need to go,” I said, my voice hoarse. “I need to practice more before tomorrow.”
Drew picked up Rory, cradling her against his chest. “You’re going to be amazing tomorrow,” he said, his eyes meeting mine. “They’d be crazy not to give you that fellowship.”
“Thanks.” I carefully packed up my violin. “See ya later,” I said as I walked out the door without looking back at him.
What the hell had just happened?
What would have happened if Rory hadn’t woken up?
And most terrifying of all—why did a part of me wish she hadn’t?