Page 27 of Wicked Ends (Hellions of Hade Harbor #4)
Arianna
The school concert hall was impressive. A school like HHU had a big budget to play with, and it showed. It also boasted some powerful and rich alumni and current students. Today, the dean was holding this assembly to thank some donor for renovating the recording studios in the music department.
Some star students were set to perform, and he also wanted me to play.
It made sense, since I was the youngest adjunct professor they’d ever taken on at HHU, and even though I was only covering another professor’s leave, the dean wanted to show everyone why he’d given me a chance.
He wanted to trot out the music prodigy who’d decided to teach before my music career had ever taken off.
Music students gathered in the seats while I sat onstage beside the other faculty members in the music department. The dean entered with the donor, who was given the best seat in the house, right at the front. Nerves writhed in the pit of my belly. Why had I agreed? Why?
There was a tech guy fiddling with the different instruments set up to perform. The piano was easy to mic up; he just placed two stands with tilted microphones on either side of it.
I glanced at the crowd talking and moving around in the seats and felt eyes on me, as intense and intimate as a finger tracing down my bare spine.
My eyes were drawn to the far end of the concert hall, to a guy dressed all in black, leaning against the back wall. It was too far away for me to make out from here, but I knew who it was.
I could feel Marcus’ eyes like a physical caress. It was him, without a doubt. For some reason, his sturdy gaze helped calm my nerves a little and gave me something else to focus on.
The concert began, and I tried to concentrate on what the dean was saying.
A student got up to play the violin, and the beautiful music eased my anxiety for a brief, shining moment.
Her song was dark green, like the pine trees around the school.
Synesthesia, a distraction and a gift. I’d been a teenager when I’d realized that other people didn’t experience sound through color.
A few more students played, and then the dean called a surprising name.
“Marcus Bailey, a talent on the ice and off. He’s playing guitar for us.”
Marcus strode down the aisle and climbed the stairs, walking over to the guitar stand set up beside a seat.
He was in sports gear again. It looked like the one nonnegotiable in his life was hockey.
He sank down and picked up the guitar. It was a classical one.
His fingers flexed around the neck, and he settled himself, then he started to play.
His blunt fingers moved nimbly over the strings, fingerpicking a beautiful Spanish song. He played with confidence and style, and if I hadn’t already had a problem staying away from the troublemaking young man, then this would have done it.
He was incredible. Gifted. I could have listened to him play all day.
And his music? Blue, like deep water, clear and translucent, shimmering in the sun, with a hint of dark and dangerous depths.
The last note faded from the air, and I clapped harder than anyone.
Marcus look up, right at me, and I couldn’t help the smile plastered across my face.
Beautiful music, no matter what else was happening in my life, had always been a cause to celebrate.
His lips twitched in a ghost of a smirk before smoothing out.
He stood, put the guitar back on the stand, and sauntered to the side of the room. He leaned against the window, much closer than he had been before.
“Now, following department tradition, we will hear our newest recruit.” Dean Eastwood was beaming. He stared at me expectantly.
I stood, nerves making me awkward, and stumbled a step toward the piano.
Since Marcus hadn’t returned to the back of the room, I could see him now resting against the window, gazing up at the stage, only a few yards from the piano.
My eyes fixed on his. He’d straightened up when I’d stumbled, and I had the strangest feeling right then that he was the kind of man who wouldn’t stand around and watch me fall.
I had no idea why that felt so certain, considering the short amount of time I’d actually known this man.
Something in his steady gaze helped me find the focus I needed to walk across the stage and sit at the piano.
As soon as I sat, it happened.
The trigger was the seat, hard and unbending beneath me, and the smell of the piano this close. It was clear it was kept in a damp, rarely used room, and that intensified the smell of felt and glue; a distinctive, earthy scent.
And the memory hit me.
“Oh, my goodness! You were wonderful!” my sister-in-law, Claire, enthused. She unlocked her front door and went into the house ahead of me.
My hands were full of flowers. My best performance yet had just taken place, and I was over the moon. Lulu, my niece, was at my side.
“Can you teach me to play, Auntie A?”
“Sure I can.” I smiled at the youngest member of the family. She was so adorable. Since my grandparents had died, the only people who could make me smile at home were Claire and Lulu.
And then, just like that, the sound of male voices booming through the wall spoiled my mood.
Claire froze and gaped at me. I shook my head. I hadn’t expected my brother and his friends to be here either.
“You home? How’d it go?” my brother shouted. There was no creeping out before he heard us. He heard everything.
With a sigh, I headed through the house to the sitting room. My brother and his friend were sitting and watching a hockey game. There were about fifteen empty beer bottles on the table in front of them.
“It went well,” I muttered and carried the flowers into the kitchen.
“Auntie A is going to teach me,” Lulu announced, following me into the open-plan space.
“Yeah, right. Don’t waste your time with that, honey,” my brother called to his daughter dismissively. “The rest of us have more important things to do than go around playing little songs at night, for free, might I add.”
“It was a great honor for Arianna to be featured tonight,” Claire protested.
I shot her a quick look, shaking my head again. I didn’t want her to get involved.
I put the flowers on the table and turned, smacking right into Dale. He’d come up behind me. His beer-soaked breath sprayed across my face, and I flinched.
“I’m not sure I like men giving my sister flowers,” he muttered.
“They were a present from the conservatory.”
“Still. Don’t go getting ideas above your station. I’m not sure you need a bigger head about music than you already have.”
I put the stems in a vase.
“Can you play for me now?” Lulu asked. “Can we have a first lesson?”
“Sure.” I set the beautiful flowers back on the table and went to the piano with Lulu.
It was my most prized possession, gifted to me by my former college.
After Dale had sold my grandmother’s antique piano, I’d had to practice at the music school until late every night. Now, finally, I had my own again.
“You play first.” Lulu eyed the piano like it was a monster who might bite her hand off.
I smiled and nodded, sitting and bringing my hands to C position and talking Lulu through my finger placement.
“Don’t you think I can see how much better you think you are than everyone else? So, what — now you deign to teach my daughter, like I can’t afford lessons for her?” Dale sneered, appearing at my side.
I tensed, but I knew better than to show fear.
I continued to play for Lulu.
Dale kicked my stool, moving it an inch. “I’m talking to you, Arianna.”
“I’m busy, Dale,” I muttered.
“Hmm, always busy, aren’t you, superstar? Let’s see how busy you’ll be now.”
I saw his hand move, but I had no idea of what he was about to do.
I stared up at him in time to see his malicious smirk… and then he slammed the fallboard shut on my hands.
“Ms. Moore?” Dean Eastwood’s voice sank through my daydream. I stared at the music rack in front of me and the unopened sheet music booklet, unseeing.
I was aware of people watching, and waiting, but I couldn’t seem to move my hands. The memory of pain had frozen them stiff.
The sound of footsteps climbing the stage stairs sounded, and then, a tall, broad presence loomed over me.
“Allow me to turn pages for you, Professor.” Marcus’ deep voice wound around me.
It carried out over the microphone and gave me an excuse for acting strangely.
He leaned over me to open the sheet music, bringing his mouth close to my ear.
“I showed you mine… now show me yours.”
I turned to him, bringing my face close to his. Thank God the open lid of the grand piano hid us both from view. His eyes were clear hazel this close, gold and green in places. But even more mesmerizing than his beautiful eyes was the look in them.
I took a deep breath, the stiffness in my fingers receding as Marcus did what he did best. Distracted me.
“You don’t need to be scared of anything, birthday girl, not when I’m here.”
He straightened up and stepped back. I took a deep breath, and the tremble in my fingers vanished. I raised them over the keys. A deeper memory surfaced… all the long hours that I’d spent learning and practicing at the piano, all the happy times.
I studied the music, recognizing the classical piece immediately.
I didn’t need the sheet music. I closed my eyes and began.
I lost track of time while I played, my fingers flying over the keys, the stiffness in the joints seeming to fade away.
For a moment, I forgot. I forgot what had happened in California and the desperate drive across the country.
I forgot the fear and pain and certainty that if I didn’t do something, someone would die.
Colors swirled around my head, bright and exciting.
Yellows and reds, the music thrilling, and performing for the first time in so long in front of others was only sending my heightened senses higher and higher.