Page 201 of Perfect Pitch

“I love Mitch, but I never knew what it was to love with every fiber of my soul. There was always room for music.”

“That is until you knew you were having a baby,” my mother says knowingly.

“Just that, Mama.” It feels good to share this with someone else.

“It’s different for dads,” my father surprisingly states. “When I first found out about you, I was terrified for so many reasons.”

I prop my chin on my hands. “Like what?”

“Like what would you want to know about my life? Would you care I didn’t know about you? What if you hated me when the only thing I wanted to do was to give you the world?” The last is spoken in a whisper.

“When the only thing I made sure was that you weren’t going to take me to a baseball game.” I remember our first meeting—a smile flirting with my lips.

“And then you hugged me. I prayed I could make you fall in love with me since I already loved you. But then a whole new set of problems came up.”

“Like what?”

My father’s eyes don’t leave mine. “Like, how could I give you the world while protecting you from it?”

“Dad, you don’t have to—‍”

He cuts me off. “I didn’t find you and your mother only to lose you to some whack job fan. I’ll walk away from music before I let it hurt either of you.”

“No, you won’t,” I say confidently.

“Wanna bet?”

“You know how I know? Because you haven’t already.” With those words, I unveil the snake in the room waiting to strike, only it turns out it’s an anaconda waiting to swallow us all whole. Sitting up, I swing my legs off the couch and brace my elbows on my knees. “You two haven’t asked me about it.”

“You said a lot in therapy,” my father murmurs thoughtfully.

“We were told not to push you. Ultimately, what matters is you’re safe and healing,” my mother reminds me.

“That may be what matters to you.” I stand and make my way over to the windows overlooking the Manhattan skyline.

It’s my father’s deep voice that asks the question I don’t have an answer for. “What matters to you, Austyn?”

I stare at my reflection, at the woman the world believes is living her best life on top of the world when I’m so miserably unhappy, I’d gladly trade spaces with them in a flash if it meant I still had Mitch’s child nested inside of me. My hand drops to my stomach as my child’s name loops through my mind.

Columbia. Columbia. Columbia.

I tell them about what happened—all the details about Mitch that night at Redemption, about him joining me at the Ritz in Asheville. In the reflection, I capture my mother’s wince. “Both were shots to the heart I wasn’t prepared for. Now? Knowing Mitch was protecting us...”

My father’s face contorts before he strides across the room to clasp me to his chest. Less than a minute later, my mother joins us.

Surreptitiously, my hand drops down to touch my mostly flat stomach. It’d be a perfect family circle if someone wasn’t missing from it.

* * *

CHAPTER NINETY-EIGHT

Tell me about when you met your significant other’s parents. And please, don’t name names.

—Jacques Yves, Celebrity Blogger

I exit the elevator at the penthouse and experience a moment of déjà vu when Beckett greets me barefoot and with a longneck in his hands. Dropping my duffle in the hall, I eye him critically and remark, “Judging from the expression on your face, I gather it wasn’t a restful day here.”

Beckett barks out a laugh. “Leave your bag. We’ll get it in a few.”

---