Chapter Twenty-Two
By the time Tuesday rolled around, I was already dreading the tutoring session. I had managed to avoid Paxon until then, but I still had more work that needed to be done, and I really didn’t want to talk with Principal Calgary again.
I was already at Seth’s, in his kitchen, staring at the clear electric kettle. The bottom was lit up blue while the water worked to boil. I let it pull me in and keep me distracted so I didn’t have to think so hard about being in the same space as Paxon for the rest of the evening.
The moment I heard the front door open and the sound of Bebe giving the new person his enthusiastic greeting, all of me went tight.
Paxon came in, still looking down at Bebe, giving him a bunch of attention.
He looked up briefly, managing a small nod before glancing back down at the dog.
His hair was a little messy and there were dark circles under his eyes.
“Tea?” I asked softly.
For a moment, I didn’t think he heard me, but then he replied, “Yeah, that sounds good. Thank you.”
“Yeah.” I turned back to the counter. There were already two mugs there in case he had wanted one too.
As soon as the water finished, I filled the mug and dropped tea bags in them.
I wasn’t even sure which flavors they were.
Seth had a cupboard full of them. I just hoped it was something with calming effects.
Once we were ready, we settled in the living room. Seth was still out, helping his aunt with something, so he was going to be back late. It was just the two of us as we sat across from each other and spread out our books. The silence that followed was heavy enough to drown the whole room.
We went through the motions, reviewing the formulas, diagrams, and examples. None of it landed with me though. My brain kept tripping over his voice, over how careful he was being with every word, like one wrong beat would set me off.
“Okay,” he said, flipping a page. “Let’s try this one. You just need to find the final velocity—”
“I know what I need to do,” I cut in, sharper than I meant to.
He blinked, startled. “Right. Sorry. I was just—”
“Helping,” I said, my voice brittle. “I know.”
The seconds dragged on. He looked like he wanted to say something else but thought better of it. I could feel the air shifting, thick and unsteady.
After another few minutes of pretending to study, I couldn’t take it anymore.
“This isn’t working,” I said, pushing the book away. “You aren’t actually helping me.”
Paxon’s eyebrows pulled together. “What are you talking about? We’ve barely started—”
“That’s not what I mean.” My hands were shaking, so I folded them together to hide it. “You don’t even want to be here. You’re just doing this because you were guilted into it.”
“That’s not true.” His voice was low, rough.
“Isn’t it?”
He flinched, like the words hit harder than I expected. “I do want to help,” he said. “I just...I don’t know how to be around you anymore.”
That cracked something open in me. “Then stop acting like I’m the one who changed everything.”
He froze. The silence between us stretched thin enough to snap. He opened his mouth, maybe to argue, maybe to apologize, but then his jaw clenched.
“Okay,” he said quietly.
And then he stood up, gathered his books, and walked out. Exactly like he had been for a while now.
The front door shut with a dull click that echoed through the house.
I sat there, staring at the empty space where he’d been, telling myself I was fine with it, that this was exactly what I wanted. That it was easier this way.
But the chasm that opened up in my chest said otherwise.
Seth came through the front door shortly after, glancing behind him toward the driveway with a deep frown. Finally, he looked at me. “What was that about?”
“Nothing,” I said quickly.
“I didn’t know nothing looked like Paxon looking like he was ready to drive his car through a wall.”
I snapped before I could stop myself. “Maybe he should then.”
Seth’s eyebrows drew together. “Cadence—”
“Forget it,” I said sharply, grabbing my bag. “I’m going to go work.”
He didn’t try to stop me. Just watched as I brushed past him, out the front door, across the yard, and to my house.
Once I was safely inside, I locked the door, kicked off my shoes, and went straight to my studio.
The air smelled faintly like coffee. There was some familiarity to my house now that it actually felt comfortable.
I practically ran upstairs to my piano, sinking onto the bench.
I pressed the first key I could reach. The sound rang out too loud in the quiet room, but I didn’t stop.
I played until my fingers hurt.
Until the ache in my chest dulled enough to feel like silence again.
It wasn’t anything structured at first. Simply a jumble of angry chords, heavy and dissonant. My hands struck too hard, the vibrations echoing in my bones. The sound filled the room, wild and uneven, and I didn’t care that it wasn’t beautiful.
It was loud. Ugly. It was all me and everything that I was at the moment.
Every hit of a key felt like throwing something. Every crash of sound, another thing I couldn’t say to Paxon, another thing I couldn’t stop feeling. My hair fell over my face, my breathing uneven. The piano rattled under my hands, but I didn’t stop.
Somewhere in the chaos, something shifted.
The fury bled into something quieter, more fragile. The next notes came slower, unsteady. I softened my touch, coaxing an actual melody from the wreckage I’d made.
It wasn’t a song I knew. It was something forming itself, tender and sad, the kind of tune that trembled between apology and goodbye. By the time I realized I was crying, the notes had already turned into a whisper, a humming lullaby trying to comfort.
I kept playing until my arms ached and my vision blurred.
Until my hands burned and slipped over the keys like they no longer remembered where to go.
The music slowed, faltered, and then finally faded altogether once my hands cramped so hard I had to curl them into fists.
When silence finally settled back into the room, it felt heavy but clean, like the air after a storm.
I leaned forward, resting my forehead against the cool wood of the piano. My pulse was still uneven, but I could breathe again. The ache was still there, deep and familiar, but the music had drawn the sharpness out of it, leaving something tired and small. For tonight, that was enough.