Page 10 of Reluctantly His

“Just to warn you, Ian is having an absolute shit fit over the piece today.”

I groaned. We were practicing Dmitri Shostakovich’s String Quartet No. 8, a notoriously complicated piece.

As she held the door open, she mimicked Ian’s nasal voice. “Ladies, we must have a cohesive musical narrative! You are not maintaining clarity and unity through the melody. Tut. Tut. Tut.”

Although I was not looking forward to Ian’s scolding, the brooding yet frenetic piece suited my mood.

As we made our way into the auditorium, I repeatedly glanced over my shoulder.

Ginnie followed my gaze. “Are you expecting someone?”

I grimaced. “Ask me that in a few minutes.”

So far, I had seen no sign of Reid. And since this wasn’t our usual rehearsal space, there was no reason to believe he could track me here.

After about five minutes, I finally let myself relax, my eyes sliding closed as I took a relieved breath. I kept my eyes closed and started the breathing exercises that I did before every rehearsal or performance, focusing on the feeling of my own breath filling my lungs and then holding one, two, three, then slowly letting the breath out through my nose.

I took another deep breath in through my mouth, holding one, two, three, then slowly released. I had already memorized the piece that we were working on today. I wasn’t sure if the others really cared about being off book, but I preferred it. Not having to focus on the printed sheet music allowed me to feel the music, to experience it the way it was meant to be experienced.

After one final glance over the empty seats, searching for an angry, over six-foot-tall ex-Marine, I decided to focus and start warming up.

The others were busy in the green room grabbing coffees and chatting as they gossiped about this and that.

Taking advantage of being alone on the stage, on a whim I decided to play something I had composed myself. A simple melody that I hadn’t played for anyone. I hadn’t even given it a name. I wouldn’t even say it was my first attempt at composition since I’d never written it down.

It was never intended to be played for anything. It was just the melody that I felt in my soul. Sometimes it was uplifting. It was even hopeful, but more often than not, the sound was melancholic, slow, deep, and lonely.

Whenever I played this piece, it just made me feel in control when so much of my world was utterly devoid of life and choice.

As my bow slid across the final note and I let it drop to my side, barely hanging from my fingertips, a slow clap started around the auditorium.

I opened my eyes to find the other three members of my quartet giving me a standing ovation. I hadn’t even heard them come in. A blush colored my cheeks as I waved them off. “Stop. It was nothing. Just something silly I like to play sometimes.”

Ginnie took her seat as she picked up her cello. Using her bow to gesture to me, she said, “Knock it off, silver spoon, and take the praise. It was good.”

The others agreed as they took their seats. “You should play that for Ian.”

I shrugged. “Maybe. One day.”

This was what I loved: being surrounded by people who were as passionate as I was about music and who felt it the same way I did as we practiced a difficult piece over and over, getting not just the technical perfection of the notes but the truth behind them.

It was no wonder I lost track of time and the world around me.

It wasn’t until a discordant screech of a false note pierced through the auditorium that I looked up.

Reid was there in the center of the aisle among the plush, red velvet audience seats… watching me.

His face was in shadow, but from the way his arms were crossed in front of him, I knew he was mad.

How had he found me so easily?

Ginnie stood. “Hey, buddy, this is a closed rehearsal.”

Reid didn’t respond.

He just kept his fierce gaze solely on me as he marched down the middle aisle toward the stage.

“Sir,” Ian objected far more forcefully than Ginnie as he stepped to the edge of the stage, hands on hips. “I must ask that you depart. You are interrupting our creative process.”

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