Page 191 of Perfect Pitch

His face flushes with fury because he knows what I’m thinking, what was the catalyst for my leaving early.

“How? How can you go back to Seven Virtues and save my baby?” Before anyone speaks, I continue. “There’s no way. I left a chunk of my heart on Columbia Street I’ll never get back.”

My mother’s head falls forward.

“You’re all wanting me to go home when I’m just asking for a few days to cry where I don’t fear being recognized because the minute I get off the plane in New York, I’m no longer Austyn, I’m DJ Kensington.” My eyes meet my father’s. “You know what that feels like.”

“Down to my bones.” He gives in first, rubbing his forehead with a sigh. Then his voice turns foreboding. “You’ll keep Charlie with you and the members of my security team I handpick to stay.”

“Dad! The idea is for me to be alone.”

“And we still don’t know whether you’re a target. That’s the deal. Take it or leave with us.”

I begrudgingly accept.

He nods before storming from the room.

My mother sits next to me. “He’s not angry, darling. He’s terrified. So am I. If you went to such lengths...”

I struggle to get into a sitting position. “Mama, I’m here. I’m working with Sonia.”

She reaches out and strokes my face. “And every second since the moment you started, I’ve been grateful for that. Now, I won’t let anything interfere in your recovery.”

Just as I drift off, I think I hear her say, “Nothing and no one.”

* * *

The next morning. Charlie and I have just closed the door on my parents when he gathers me into his arms. “If I could have been hurt in your place, I would have.”

I rest my back against the door. “I know.”

He gestures to the living room. “Austyn, I need to tell you something. Something about Mitch.”

I curl up into a protective ball.

He winces. “You called out his name that night on the street.”

“I... I don’t remember that.”

He holds out his meaty paw. “I’m not surprised you don’t. You were dying, kid.”

We’re silent for a moment, each of us lost in our pain from that night two months ago. Finally, I ask, “Has he tried to get in touch with me?”

Charlie reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone. He hands it to me as he says, “Every damn day.”

I open the app which allowed Charlie to monitor my incoming and outbound activity in the event of threats. There are hundreds of texts and dozens of voicemails. I feel faint. “What did you tell him?”

“Most of the truth.”

My heart pounds furiously. “What does that mean?”

“I promised you I wouldn’t tell him about the baby, and I didn’t.” He waits a second before he gives me his opinion. “You should. He was that baby’s father.”

“Not... yet.”

“If not now, then when?”

My heart feels heavy with memories and possibilities. “When I think I can tell him without him going off half-cocked in agony.”

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