chapter TWENTY
Gasping.
Gasping.
Breathing is too hard.
I need to count.
Beats.
One, two, three, four . . .
One, two . . .
Gasp.
One . . . Two . . . Three . . . Four.
Breathe.
Breathing.
It’s pitch black and the clock confirms it’s the middle of the night. My shirt is plastered to my back. Sweat is trickling down my chest, starting at my forehead. I wipe my hand across my head, brushing the hairs stuck to my skin away from my face.
I had a dream. We were in the car driving fast. So fast. This time, instead of asking Luke to drive fast, I was begging him to stop. My voice shouting over the radio, pleading with him to save his life.
He wouldn’t listen. His foot like a lead weight pushed down on the accelerator and all of a sudden there was a bolt of lightening.
Everything went white and then there was a fire.
Raging fire. Burning. We crashed, and we were burning.
When I stepped back to see if Luke was okay, his face had changed, morphed into someone else.
It was Asher.
I like to be the first one in the building every day.
I do a check of every room, make sure the chairs are in place and stands are at the correct height for the first class.
I assess the decorations on the walls and make sure they are relevant to the month’s theme.
In a small room on the second floor, we keep an inventory of unused instruments.
I double-check it every morning making sure nothing has been stolen.
When I have fully assessed the building, I make my way to my office. The building is mostly quiet. Classes don’t start until two and end around seven. That’s when the building is really alive.
Until then, I have to occupy my time, focusing on what needs to be done to enhance the program, move us forward, be the best.
Especially today.
After yesterday’s visit and last night’s dream I’m afraid I am losing my control.
I open the heavy stairwell door; there’s a jazz quartet playing down the hall. Last week, Frank and I started allowing people to rent the classrooms as rehearsal space. It is a great way to bring in extra revenue for the school.
We started making a schedule to start performance classes for mixed instruments on Saturdays in the spring. Next year we’ll host recitals in the performance room on the first floor. Until then, we just have to keep the school afloat and on track so we can grow.
I have applications for bands and performers who would like to utilize our space in the meantime. I have to review those this week. I open the door to Crystal’s classroom and see it is occupied.
“Hey, I didn’t know you’d be here so early.
I—” My words stop mid-sentence when I see Crystal is not alone.
She is standing in the middle of the room talking to Asher.
He’s not wearing the suit and tie he’s been sporting around here for the last month.
Today, he has on gray corduroys and a gold V-neck sweater. And those stupid loafers.
Crystal watches me enter and greets me merrily. “Good morning. Mr. Asher is here to discuss taking over more of my classes.”
My head twists in Asher’s direction. “I’m sorry, what?”
Asher places both hands in his pockets and leans back on his heels. “I have some free time, so I’d like to take over the advanced cello sessions.”
“Don’t you work?” My words startle Crystal. She doesn’t know Asher and I have a history and is visibly shocked I would talk to the head of the Asher empire this way.
“Nope,” he states simply, bouncing on his heels.
I turn to face Crystal. “You need this job to supplement your income. You can’t just give up four of your classes.”
She bites down on her forefinger and glances over at Asher like the cat that ate the canary. I volley back and forth between the two of them trying to decide what they’re not telling me.
Asher sees Crystal’s apprehension and answers for the two of them. “I’m paying her to take over her classes.”
My mouth falls open. “You can’t do that.”
With two slow strides, Asher walks toward me, sidling up next to me so our sides are touching, shoulder to bicep. He leans down and says directly into my ear, “I can and I will.”
Manipulator. He’s a liar, a coward, a taker, and now I can add manipulator to the long list of adjectives I have for Alexander Asher. I walk into my office and throw my bag on the floor. When I throw my phone on the desk, I notice a brown paper wrapped package with a twine string sitting beside it.
Tilting my head to the side, I look at it, wondering who would have left me a gift.
I roll the tote strap off my shoulder and place the bag on my desk chair.
Reaching over, I grab the package and pull the twine.
When the string is undone, the paper opens quickly.
Inside, is a brown, leather-bound journal with a leather tie and lined pages.
I lift the book up and open the front to find a handwritten note.
I stare at the signature. He knows I’m listening in on the class. I feel like my territory has been invaded. Now, not only do I have Crystal’s cello mocking me from the corner of my office, but I have a six-foot-tall cello-wielding god sharing a room with me.
What should I do?
Just keep on keepin’ on.
Oh, fuck you, McConaughey.
I know Leah said I have to “play on the same playing field” and all that nonsense, but right now I need space from Asher.
I sit in on all of Lisa’s violin classes, offering my services.
At first, she’s surprised and a tiny bit apprehensive, wondering why the sudden change.
But then she welcomes the help, especially with the little ones.
In between one of the classes, I head up to my office, planning to grab my bag before Asher arrives to teach his class.
Walking into the room, I notice the notebook he bought me, sitting on my desk.
It has been moved, sitting on top of a stack of files.
It has also been tampered with. I step closer and notice there is a blue flower tucked into the book.
When I pick up the notebook, it falls open; I take up the flower, holding the petals to my nose. It’s a blue rose, manmade and impure.
Knowing Asher, the flower has a specific meaning. I lift my phone out of my pocket and type “Blue rose meaning” into the search engine.
Blue: The unattainable; the impossible.
I roll my eyes and place the flower on the desk. With the notebook still in my hand I look down at the opened page.
There’s a loud thud in the adjoining classroom, and I realize the students are all walking in. I’m about to leave when I hear one of them greet Asher. It’s too late to make my escape and, in all honesty, my interest is piqued, so I take a seat at my office desk and listen in on the lesson.
Asher begins the class, not by playing a song from his iPod, but by playing a song on the cello by himself. It takes me a second to recognize the song. He’s playing “Stay” by Rihanna. I look down at the words on the page in front of me. He proceeded to write out the words to the song.
The lyrics telling the story of a girl who falls for a man, so disillusioned by falling she ignores the signs that are telling her he’s all wrong. She’s asking for something real, and all he can do is take her away to his fantasy world.
At least that’s the way I interpret them.
When he gave me this notebook, he told me to take notes. Looks like he’s the one taking them for me. When Asher is done playing, he gives his lesson and, like always, it’s fascinating. I am so transfixed by his words, the sixty minutes pass by quickly.
Sitting in my office, I listen as one by one the students pack up and head out the door, thanking Asher for an awesome class. It was their first with him and, thanks to Crystal, not his last. He bids them farewell and says he’ll see them next week.
When they are all out of the room, I listen to see if he has left too when I hear his footsteps walking across the room. I don’t know if he’s walking back here or waiting to see if I’ll come out.
Whatever it is he has in mind, I have my own agenda. I lean my foot over and slam the door shut.
Using my very wobbly left hand, I flip to a clean page in the notebook and scribble the words to a song by the Veronicas.
When I’m done writing, my hand has a cramp, but I’m satisfied with the message.
Thud, thud, thud.
The telltale sign of wheels rolling can be heard. I lean over and see Asher pushing a piano into the classroom. When I got to work this morning, the notebook was still on my desk, closed, with another rose.
Light pink: Sympathy.
I refused to open the notebook all day. I don’t need to know what ridiculous message he has in store for me.
But, what the hell does he plan to do with the piano?
I sit back, my ears perched high like a canine on the defense.
I listen as Asher says he wants to play a little something for the class.
My stomach flops down when I hear the chords of “You Ruin Me” by the Veronicas.
His deft fingers hit the keys perfectly.
The ivory hums with the push and touch of every note of the song I dedicated to him.
My eyes close and the hairs of my spine stand up straight as the haunting melody resonates in the air. It hits my heart and touches my soul. My eyes well up from behind, the water threatening to fall—but I bite it back. My lips tremble, fighting emotion.
He is, literally, playing me like a symphony.
When the song is complete, I take deep cleansing breaths, bringing myself back to the moment. I lean over and grab the notebook. Inside, I see Asher has written back the lyrics to the song I wrote to him, matching me word for word.
The class is still in session when I lean my foot over and slam the door.
I know, I’m a glutton for punishment. I should be somewhere else right now instead of in my office waiting for another class to start.