Page 51 of Serving the Maestro

“Your girlfriend, Avery,” Jazz said, voice hollow, eyes dull. “Yes, I met her.”

“She’s not my girlfriend.” Fuck, Avery had talked to Jazz? When the hell had that happened? “She’s...she was my sub. Years ago. We’ve been friends—just friends—for years.”

Jazz lowered her eyes, staring at the floor.

“We didn’t sleep together. We didn’t fuck—I mean, shit. I haven’t had a sexual relationship with Avery for years. I didn’t know she was coming in this weekend. I was...”

She drew in a breath that made her shoulders rise sharply, then fall. The dejected air about her hit me square in the chest.

“Jazz?”

She looked at me then, and the glitter of tears in her eyes hit me like a blow to the chest.

Moving to her, I cupped her cheek. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” She looked away from me, stepping back, so I wasn’t touching her. “It’s not your concern, okay? Whatever...this is, it’s ending, right? We’re not even friends, so it’s not like you—” Her voice hitched, then broke off in the middle of a sob.

Without thinking about it, I pulled her into my arms. She didn’t resist, her arms banding tight around me as she buried her face against my chest. Her keys jingled, one of them jabbing me in the back, but I blocked it out, the slight pain nothing compared to whatever was devastating Jazz.

“I—I’m—suh-sorry—”

“Hush,” I whispered against her temple, lifting one hand to cradle the back of her head. “Whatever it is, just let it out.”

My gut told me this had nothing to do with Avery.

She clung even tighter, shudders racking her hard. I pressed my face against her shoulder, aching to do something to fix whatever had hurt her.

Hearing the chime from the elevator, I swept her into my arms, somehow managing to get the keys.

Heading for her apartment, I got inside as voices behind us filled the hall with bright, animated chatter and laughter.

Kicking the door shut, I carried her over to the couch and sat.

Jazz curled against me, still clinging to me, each sob cutting into me like shards of broken glass.

* * *

The crying jag seemed to last a lifetime. The helplessness left me frustrated, but I didn’t press her to talk. Whatever this was, it cut too deeply, and I had no right to expect that she bare whatever was wounding her.

I kept track of the time as the shadows cast by the sun changed, the angle moving as noon crept closer, then passed.

The shadows were starting to deepen when Jazz nudged at my chest.

“I have to use the bathroom,” she said, her voice raspy, head bent.

Letting her go, I said nothing until she was on her feet. But then I caught her wrist. “Should I stay?”

She darted a look at me with red-rimmed eyes and nodded. “Please. I don’t want to be alone right now.”

After she left, I rose and started to pace my mind racing. I tried to figure out what could have upset her like this.

Water came on in the bathroom just as I realized what might have upset her. I knew one thing that might cause her to look so heartbroken.

A knot settled in my throat as I moved to the hallway. Hearing the faucet, I knocked on the door.

Jazz didn’t answer, so I pushed on the door.

It opened to reveal her standing in front of the sink, the water spilling out of the faucet while she stared at her reflection, that devastated look on her face starker under the bathroom’s bright, unforgiving lights.

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