Page 159 of Perfect Pitch

Sure enough, it was a simple arrangement. What wasn’t so cut and dried was Trevor’s job. I fervently explained had it not been for his tireless efforts, I wouldn’t be where I was. Wildcard took that under advisement and offered him a new position with equal pay. When we manage to talk, he keeps telling me he’s super busy—just not assigned to work with me.

Bracing my hand high against the door jamb between my en suite and bedroom, I wait for the room to stop spinning before I take another step. In the distance, I hear my phone ringing, but I can’t force myself to move fast enough to answer it. I’m desperately trying not to sink into a spiraling darkness that’s eagerly waiting to pull me to the ground.

Pressing a hand to my perspiring forehead, I lower my head against the frame. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

Long moments pass while I get my bearings. I focus on breathing, on rubbing my thumb over my signet ring, on the circulation of air washing over my skin. Incrementally, the clamminess of my skin begins to ease, the churning of my stomach settles.

The pounding of my heart eases.

I shuffle toward my bed at a snail’s pace so I don’t wind up curled up in the middle of my bedroom floor. First sitting, then gently easing back against my pillows, I recline without incident.

For the first time, I’m certain the most glorious sound I’ve ever heard is silence.

Then, as if conjured by the Devil himself, my phone rings again. I yelp in agony before reaching for it, uncertain if I’m answering it to see who it is or just to shut the damn thing off. When I spy who the caller is, whatever illness has been cast upon me dissipates. I press the button to accept the call. “Mama!”

After a month of not speaking, the very first thing she does is apologize. “Baby, I’m so sorry.”

I can’t help myself. I start laughing.

“This wasn’t how I was predicting this call would go at all,” my mother declares wryly.

“Oh, Mama, you so should have. How many times growing up did I act like a total bitch when I was having guy troubles?”

“Do you want me to start back in middle school or when they started becoming serious?”

At her words, everything settles down inside me. Certain my symptoms were merely anxiety, I rest back and close my eyes at resolving this upheaval between us. I murmur, “I just wanted to be there for you, chocolate and tears.”

Then she shocks me by admitting she’s been working through her insecurity over my dad with a therapist. “It’s truly helped.”

“That’s... amazing.” My voice is cagey as I immediately put together why I’ve been feeling like crap. It’s because I’ve been on the outs with my mother. My father has been in a depression so deep, he hasn’t left his place in weeks. And Mitch? Like me, he’s caught in between.

Just thinking about Mitch causes my stomach to twist, so I immediately shove that to the back of my mind.

“What is it?” I’m not surprised she catches the small nuance in my voice immediately.

“Nothing. It’s nothing. I haven’t been feeling well.”

Immediately, I feel wrapped in her warmth. “Are you all right? Do you need anything?”

I’m about to tell her I need her when a better idea pops up. “Say, how would you feel about a visit this weekend? I feel the need to wrap my arms around you.”

We make plans and soon after disconnect. Lying back, I let the warmth of my mother’s love seep in before I start putting my plans into action.

First, I send a message to my father.

Austyn:

How are you doing?

Beckett:

The same, kid. The absolute same.

Austyn:

Everything’s going to be fine.

For just a moment, a flash of the dynamic Beckett Miller comes through when he replies.

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