Page 18

Chapter

Eighteen

I strode down the sidewalk, my violin case clutched in one hand and my backpack slung over the opposite shoulder. A gust of wind cut right into my coat. Should’ve grabbed a scarf, but that would’ve ruined my dramatic exit.

I heard his footsteps before he called out.

"Shar, wait up!"

So Logan wasn’t a total idiot.

I didn't slow my pace. He caught up to me, his blond hair ruffled from running, cheeks flushed. "Babe, I’m sorry.”

I pursed my lips, walking faster.

“Hey.” He clamped a hand down on my shoulder and pulled me to a stop. “I said I’m sorry.”

I jutted out my chin, my eyes flashing. “For what?”

He wet his lips. “For . . . forgetting that you had a routine?—”

"It's not a routine. It's my life! Music is important to me. Doing well in my classes is important to me. Could you imagine if I called your hockey practices a ‘routine?’” I used air quotes.

Logan blanched. “I'm sorry, I didn't think?—"

"Exactly, you didn't think." The words came out harsher than I intended. Guilt stabbed at me but weeks—probably months— of frustration and hurt were bubbling over inside of me like toxic waste.

Logan put his arm around my shoulder, and we walked in tense silence for a minute, our breath puffing out in white clouds. Another gust of icy wind swept over us and I couldn't suppress a violent shudder. Goosebumps prickled my arms.

Logan pulled me closer, trying to shield me.

"I'm fine," I said through chattering teeth.

He ignored my protest, pulling a toque from his pocket and stretching it over my head.

"Thanks,” I murmured.

He walked me to the arts centre, and by the time we passed the bookstore, the anger had drained out of me. I stopped in front of the steps. "I can do a condensed practice. Then we can grab lunch, and maybe we’ll have time to hit the market.” I pointed to the glass windows of the atrium. “There are couches in there, or you could go back to the house.”

“Why don’t I just come with you?”

I raised an eyebrow. “To the practice room? They’re small.”

“If you don’t want me to?—”

“No, that’s fine.” I nodded, my heart picking up speed. Logan wanted to listen to me practice? Or was he just doing this to hammer home his apology? Because he thought it was the right thing to do?

I couldn’t tell how I felt about it as we claimed an empty practice room and I unpacked my violin. Logan sat in a chair, long legs stretched out as he leaned back, watching me.

As I tightened my bow and applied rosin, a sense of déjà vu washed over me. On stage. With Rob hiding in the curtains.

I glanced over at Logan and pulled out the sheet music Franck had given me, then started tuning my strings.

My blood wasn’t rushing in my ears. My hands weren’t trembling. Playing for him felt as natural as breathing. Zero butterflies. I wasn't sure what that said about us.

I launched into my warm-up, scales and arpeggios flowing from my fingers. Logan watched raptly at first, but fifteen minutes in, his leg started bouncing. He fiddled with the zipper on his coat. Restless energy rolled off him in waves.

Usually I got lost in the music, the outside world fading away. But Logan's presence nagged at me like an itch I couldn't scratch. Each sigh and shift in his chair snagged my focus, made my bow wobble.

I gritted my teeth and repeated the second line, then stopped and went over it again, annoyed that the bracelet was slipping down my wrist.

"Everything okay?" he asked when I took a longer pause.

"Fine.” I blew out a breath. "Just need to drill this one part."

"Oh. Okay, cool." Logan pasted on a smile, determined to be supportive. But I could practically hear him screaming internally, desperate to be anywhere else.

I played a few distracted measures, the notes mechanical and soulless to my ears. Logan grinned. "It sounds great."

Frustration rippled through me. He meant well, but Logan didn’t know the first thing about music. In general. That was why the mix tape he gave me was so meaningful. He’d gone way out of his comfort zone to make something that I loved even when it didn’t connect with him the same way.

I glanced at the clock, my stomach sinking when I saw how much time had passed and how little I’d accomplished. I ran the middle section of the song a few more times, then played through the whole thing at half speed so I could nail the sixteenth notes.

Blowing out a harsh breath, I lowered my violin. "I think that's enough for today."

Logan practically leaped out of his chair. "You sure? I don't mind waiting longer if you need to keep going."

"I'm sure." I managed a smile as I packed up.

"Yes!" Logan pumped his fist. "I'm starving. I heard about this new place . . . "

And just like that, he was back to his energetic self. He chattered on as we left the practice room behind. We walked back to the house, I dropped off my stuff and changed my clothes, then got into the passenger seat of his truck.

We ended up at a cozy Italian place just off campus, the kind with fabric tablecloths and garlic-infused wood moulding.

“So. Tell me more about your team.” That was all I had to say to get him talking. He told me about Coop, the guy who biffed it when we were talking on the phone that first time. About a kid who was barely fifteen and so fast, he was giving all of them a run for their money.

By the time I finished my pasta Logan had barely gotten through half of his. I waited and listened, and then we went to the market. We tasted the wine, Logan bought two bottles, and then we hurried home for him to grab his things so he could head to the airport.

The house seemed empty, but Rob’s door was shut. He never closed it unless he was home.

At the door, Logan turned to face me, hands jammed in his pockets. "I don’t want to miss everything. The invitational, the holidays.”

“Yeah. Kind of crappy timing.” I rocked on my heels.

Logan stepped closer, reaching for me. I folded into his arms. “I’ll see you in the new year.”

I pulled back, tilting my head up to look at him. “I can drive you. If?—”

“No, I already called a cab.”

I tried not to look too relieved. I was already planning rehearsal number two the second he left the house.

“Love you, Shar.” He pressed a kiss to my forehead.

“Love you, too.” I meant it. I did love him. But hearing those words come out of my mouth when my insides felt like minced meat left me hollowed out.

And then he was striding down the steps to his truck. I waited until he drove off, blew him a kiss, then closed the door and slumped against it. I hated this. I hated that a couple of weeks ago, I would’ve chewed off my own arm to have Logan next to me, and now? I couldn’t suck it up and be happy for twenty-four hours?

Shaking my head, I pushed off the door and headed for my room. I needed to practice, to lose myself in the music until everything else faded away. So I could pretend my life wasn't quietly unravelling at the seams.

The phone rang just as I reached the hall, and I jumped. I retraced my steps into the kitchen and picked it up. “Hello?”

“Hi, it’s Mom.”

She always announced herself. Did she not trust I could tell who she was by her voice? “Hey, how are you?”

"Oh, you know, a little behind. Baking, cleaning, getting ready for the holidays." She chattered on about her famous gingerbread recipe and the new vacuum she'd purchased from the son of a friend of hers. I made appropriate hums and haws, only half-listening.

"So, what about you? Are you finished with your Christmas shopping?"

"Yeah, mostly. Just a few last-minute things." Like . . . for all my friends except Logan. His present I’d found months ago.

"Well, don't leave it too late. The mall's a zoo this time of year." She paused, and I heard the faint clatter of dishes in the background. "Listen, honey, there's something I need to tell you."

“Okay.” I leaned against the counter, not sure if I was about to hear about a house renovation or a cancerous mole.

"It's about your dad."

My heart stopped. “What about Dad?”

She took a deep breath. "He had a little thing happen with his heart, so we ran some tests."

"What?" My legs were suddenly wobbly. "Is he okay? Why didn't you phone me?"

"He's fine, he's fine. They caught it early. But he needs a procedure—they're going to place a stent." Her voice wavered slightly. "It's scheduled for the twenty-first."

The twenty-first. Why did that date ring a bell? I couldn’t think past the oh and by the way, your dad’s having heart surgery this week .

Mom continued, "This was the earliest appointment available. You know how backed up the cardiac unit gets around the holidays."

No. No, I did not know.

She sighed. "I'm so sorry. I know how much it meant to you to have us at your concert."

Ah. The concert. Tears pricked at my eyes, but not because they’d miss a little Christmas music. "This is more important than the concert, Mom. I'm just glad Dad's okay."

"He will be. It's a routine procedure, very low-risk. He'll be home in time for Christmas dinner." She made a valiant attempt at a laugh. "You know nothing keeps your father from my pumpkin pie."

"Yeah." The word emerged as a croak. I cleared my throat.

"Okay, well. We’ll talk soon." She hesitated. "Love you."

"Love you too." I hung up before the first tear could fall, the phone sliding from my numb fingers.

A routine procedure. Low-risk. The words rang in my ears. Was it though? All I could think of was Dad lying pale and still in a hospital bed, wires snaking from his chest.

I pressed a hand to my mouth, holding back a sob. That phone call was the match to my fuse. Breaking me wide open. The night before with Rob quickly followed by everything with Logan crashed over me like a wave.

I was not going to cry. This was not cry-worthy. My dad was going in for a routine procedure, and everyone had tiffs with their boyfriends. Just because I’d never had one before didn’t mean it wasn’t normal.

I needed to pull myself together and stop being so damn fragile. I turned to fill up the glass I kept next to the sink and stilled.

Rob stood on the other side of the island, hands in his pockets. “Hey.”

I nodded, trying to swallow the lump in my throat while now also shoving down the surge of adrenaline hitting my system. “Hey.”

“Logan’s gone?”

I filled up my glass. “Yeah. He took a taxi to the airport.”

“I could’ve taken him.”

I took a drink of my water. “I offered. He said Hockey Canada was paying for it.”

“So that’s what my club fees are going toward.”

I laughed. “All for a good cause.”

Rob glanced behind me at the phone on the counter. “What was that all about?”

I exhaled. “Not the plumber.”

The corner of his mouth lifted. “Well, if the plumber was planning to come to your concert, I want your secrets.”

My grin turned into a full smile. “You couldn’t handle my secrets.”

His eyes dropped to my mouth, then to the counter. He dragged a hand through his dark hair. “Do you want to talk about it?”

The room seemed to go dead silent. Like I’d stepped inside a recording booth with sound treatments. I did want to talk about it. I wanted to open my mouth and let every last thought in my head spill out like ink dumping on a page.

But it couldn’t be Rob. Not with Logan's goodbye kiss still lingering on my lips. Not with my head spinning or my nerves sparking like a downed power line.

Because I wanted to do something reckless.

I wanted to give in to whatever tugged at my centre anytime Rob was close.

And I wouldn’t be that person.

“I’m okay right now. Thanks.” I gave a tight smile and curled my arms around myself, fingers digging into my skin so I knew they weren’t reaching out and touching him.

I waited, half-hoping he would push. He didn’t. He exhaled, his breath slow and deep, then gave a short nod and returned to his room.