Chapter 21
Picking up the Pieces
And they all fall down
I throw my phone on the table with far too much force and watch it skid off the table and clatter to the floor. Grabbing a pillow, I slam my face into it, muffling my screams until my throat turns hoarse.
I’ve lost my best friend!
The tears won’t stop. I failed my best friend when she needed me the most, and there’s nothing I can do.
I decide there’s something fundamentally wrong with me as a person. Marquis Gray’s words come howling back: “You put yourself and those closest to you at risk.”
I hurt Gwen tonight, even though it’s the last thing on Earth I wanted to do.
But the fact is, she’s likely better off without me…
Still, who is she going to turn to now? Like me, she’s all alone in the world.
And the one person she trusted just let her down…
“I’m sorry!” I scream at the top of my lungs, and my neighbors on both sides bang on the wall, yelling at me to shut the hell up.
I stumble to my bedroom and flop down on the bed, wishing it would swallow me up. I spend the rest of the night dreaming nonsensical things, but the one constant throughout each dream is the resonating sound of Anton’s passionate rendition of “O Fortuna.”
I wake up more exhausted than when I fell asleep, but I drag myself out of bed anyway. The melody stays with me, playing in the background as I ready myself for the miserable day ahead.
I may have blown my personal life out of the water, but I still have my students to think of. Aspiring pianists like Clara, who have a future in music. I won’t let them down like I have my best friend.
It’s the one thing I can hold onto.
Grateful that I don’t have a long hike to reach my car, I think maybe I’ll make it through today, then feel sick when I see it.
Both of my tires on the driver’s side are flat.
My heart starts to race as I check them, only to find a deep slash in each one.
Still, I find it interesting that only the driver’s side has been damaged.
It makes me wonder if the perpetrator was hiding from the constant traffic when they did it.
There’s only one person who comes to mind.
“Nash!” I screech at the top of my lungs, dropping my purse and punching at the air like a lunatic. Oh, how I wish I could take out my rage on his smug face.
Unsure how he found where I live, I start searching every crevice of my car until I find an AirTag under the front wheel well. I toss it into a small pocket in my purse for evidence.
I’m not going to let that asshole get away with this!
Glancing at my watch, I realize there is no possible way I am going to make it to any of my morning lessons. Growling in frustration, I start making calls to reschedule, keeping my voice calm even though I’m seething with anger.
I’m determined not to miss Clara’s lesson since this is her first day back.
So I use “O Fortuna” as my battle cry as I search on my phone for a nearby tow service that will take my car to the only affordable tire shop in the city.
Thankfully, because I’ve been saving Mr. Branson’s generous payments for Clara’s biweekly lessons, I have enough to weather this unwanted setback.
Once I have everything squared away, I get online to file a police report. I’m disgusted to learn that it will take five days just to get a case number, but faced with no other choice, I fill out every question.
I don’t want Nash to think for one second that he can get away with this!
After fighting the government website that keeps crashing, I’m finally back behind the wheel of my car. Five hours have passed, and my car is now sporting new tires. I add them to the long list of reasons why I hate Nash.
On the drive to Clara’s lesson, I notice my hands shaking slightly as I clutch the steering wheel.
Having forgotten to eat all day, I grab a water bottle and suck it down, then snag a peppermint candy out of my glove box to help with the shakes.
When I pull up to the townhouse, I give myself a few minutes to clear my head of the unpleasant events of the day.
I want to be fully focused on Clara and give her the patience and encouragement she deserves after what she’s been through.
I still don’t know what’s wrong with her, but I want to be the reason she smiles today.
Once I’ve properly compartmentalized everything that is currently going wrong in my life, I get out of my car and walk up to the door. But before I even reach for the doorbell, Mr. Branson opens it and smiles. “Please come in, Miss Lane.”
“Thank you.” I grin, appreciating his gallantry. I’m relieved to see that he’s looking much more like himself than the last time I saw him. “I hope Clara is feeling better.”
He nods. “Knowing that you were coming today certainly improved her spirits.”
I frown with concern. “If this feels too personal, please don’t feel a need to answer, but…was she given some kind of diagnosis?”
“No!” he growls.
I immediately step back and apologize for asking.
“It’s not you,” he hurries to assure me.
“It’s just incredibly frustrating when she has been through round after round of intrusive tests, and they still don’t know what’s causing her illness.
It makes me want to tear my hair out! With all the advances in medicine, why can’t they pinpoint exactly what’s wrong? ”
I place my hand on his shoulder, filled with sympathy. “I’m truly sorry to hear that. Poor Clara…”
He nods, clenching his jaw and biting back the tears. Still, I see them in his eyes. It takes a moment before he relaxes and clears his throat. “That’s why your lesson is so important to my little girl. The piano is the only thing that brings her joy right now.”
I smile with relief. “I’ve missed our lessons, too, Mr. Branson.”
“That’s Jake to you,” he reminds me. It looks as if he wants to say something more, but then turns and escorts me to the foot of the stairs.
Before I start up, he stops me. “Miss Lane. I told you how much it means to Clara that you kept her lessons open in your schedule. But to be honest, it meant a great deal to me as well.”
I look up at him with compassion. “I care—”
He suddenly leans in, and I feel his lips press against mine. I stiffen in shock, freezing for a moment.
At the same time, Clara comes running out of her room, crying happily, “Miss Lane!”
We both turn to look up at her, and I quickly pull away.
Clara stares at us with a confused look on her face. “Daddy…?”
Horrified, I stammer, “I—I have go.”
“Please don’t,” Mr. Branson implores. “I apologize. It was totally inappropriate.”
But I race to the door, the blood pounding loudly in my ears.
This can’t be happening!
I hear Mr. Branson call out, “Miss Lane!” as I slam the door behind me. Too upset to drive, I hurry past my car and keep running.
How did this happen? I’ve always been professional!
Tears stream down my face as I angrily wipe my lips, trying to outrun the violation I feel. The pounding in my ears grows stronger, and I start to wobble on my feet—just before everything goes black.