Page 5 of Perfect Pitch

“I couldn’t agree more,” I return.

“He comes off as this enormous teddy bear. Then there’s the part of him that pulsates with this vibe.”

Although I’ve noticed it, I still ask, “Which is?”

“I’ll break your bones if you fuck with me and mine.” Angie winks as she slides past me with some files.

I evaluate the man in question. I’ve known Charles Henderson under many different guises—adoring uncle, retired decorated US Navy SEAL, bodyguard, and... I avert my eyes even as I think, my lifesaver. When I begged him to be by my side because “I need someone I trust, will you help me?” I knew he had no idea what he was signing up for.

Neither of us did.

Charlie agreed because he knew me, knew my heart, and the night I fled from New York, he knew exactly who I was running away from. He had everything in place to ensure my protection. Too bad it wasn’t good old-fashioned immaturity that caused my tour to be delayed like the press speculated, I think sadly.

No, it was something much worse. And I hope—pray—the reason doesn’t become part of the debate.

I’ve done everything short of diving into my grave to bury it at this point.

I just need time. Maybe then, I’ll be able to show the world the real me again. Or maybe you could try loving a little less, a little voice inside me whispers.

Since the table is rounded out by my mother and father, I move to close the door.

Without glancing in my direction, Charlie stops me. “Mitch is joining us, kid.”

Just as he says that, Mitch slaps his hand on the door, wedging his way in past my rigid body. It’s he who pulls the door from my slack hands and shuts it. The fire from our interlude in the hall still sends out sparks from his eyes as they land on me.

I regulate my breathing as best as I can before I grit out, “What is this all about?”

It’s my father who extends his hand. “Come sit down, Austyn. This isn’t easy to take.”

Grateful, I wore a jacket to cover my newly inked tattoos, I make my way around the table to sit in between my parents. The minute I’m within reaching distance, my mother’s arms wrap around me, clutching me so tightly I know there will be bruises.

Uh-oh. Whatever this is, has to be awful to rattle my mother this badly. I drop my head against hers for just a moment. “Mama.”

“Austyn, where have you been?”

My eyes drift past Mitch and Charlie’s. “Around.”

“Around?” Dr. Paige Kensington’s voice becomes shrill as she enunciates each syllable.

“Yes. What’s your problem?” God, I’ve lived in this city for over a year, toured a good part of the United States in that time, endured the kind of heartbreak a person doesn’t recover from, and yet I’ve never heard my mother sound quite so frightened for me walking four blocks.

Her whole body is rigid as a board, and her trembling hand traces her fingers over my long braids. Her voice is broken—a sound I’m too used to as of late—when she whimpers, “Darling.”

That’s when my father booms, “No arguments, Austyn. Around-the-clock surveillance starting immediately.”

My head snaps in his direction. Rumor has it that my father—Beckett Miller, worldwide rockstar legend—was only convinced to seek out a security detail when Kane McCullough, then and still current head of his security detail, took him by surprise by placing him in a headlock in one of the owners of Hudson Investigations’ offices. My eyes narrow. “Don’t start with me.”

That’s when a knot of fear begins to cramp my stomach. My father’s hands—prodigious hands that have spent years playing every type of instrument they can touch—are shaking as well. He cups my chin. “No, don’t you start with us. Is there something you haven’t shared?”

My breath comes out in little pants. “No.” Because there’s no way Charlie would break my trust and tell them whose name I called out for before the ambulance arrived.

None.

My father pulls my face close to his and presses his lips against my forehead. They remain against my skin when he whispers, “Then you haven’t been home yet. Okay. Take a deep breath.”

Then he pulls back and slides a folder in my direction. I lay my hand on top of it. Almost second nature, my eyes seek out Mitch’s. His look is steady and protective.

Months ago, I’d have sold my soul for him to have looked at me like that. Now?

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