Page 58 of Serving the Maestro

Usually, I’d be thrilled. The job hadn’t been the most thrilling thing I’d ever done, but there had been challenges, and I’d worked hard to stick true to the original music while putting my own stamp on it.

I wasn’t excited, though.

I kept thinking about Jazz.

Missing her was like this giant empty void inside me, and I didn’t know how to live with it, handle it.

Eying the time, I ditched the immediate option. Getting drunk before nine in the morning wasn’t much of an answer, even if it would dull my thoughts.

Tired and miserable with missing Jazz, I flung my arm over my eyes.

I’d get up and get ready. Soon.

Just not...yet.

* * *

“You look like shit.”

Since I’d seen my reflection a couple of minutes ago, I couldn’t argue. I flipped off Stephen instead after settling in the backseat next to him.

While the driver closed the door, I rested my head on the padded seat, a bone-deep weariness settling through me.

“Are you okay?”

Hearing the concern in Stephen’s voice, I made myself answer. “I’m just tired, man.”

“I’ve seen you tired before. I’ve never seen you walking around half-dead.”

“I’m fine,” I said, not bothering to hide the edge in my voice. If I ever told anyone about Jazz, it would be Stephen. But I wasn’t ready to talk about her. Not even to my best friend.

“Okay.” Stephen lapsed into silence, not saying anything else on the forty-five-minute drive.

But when the car came to a slow stop in front of a privately-owned music studio, I looked at the driver. “Can you give us a minute?”

“Of course.” He climbed out and closed the door, giving us a few minutes of privacy.

I wasn’t ready to talk about her. But I needed some space, so I had to tell Stephen something.

“I met somebody,” I said into the waiting quiet. Looking at the back of the seat in front of me, I pictured Jazz’s face. “I wasn’t looking for it, and I know she wasn’t. Nothing will come of it, either. But I just need some time to deal with it, okay?”

Without waiting for an answer, I climbed out of the car.

Stephen joined me, but he caught my arm when I started for the doors.

“Take whatever time you need, man. Just...let me know if you need to talk.”

I gave a short nod, then tugged free. “Let’s get this done, okay?”

* * *

The next hour passed in a blur of music, questions, and strained smiles that made my cheeks ache, and nods that left my head pounding.

The check in my hand was larger than I’d expected, and when I turned it over to Stephen for him to handle, he’d been momentarily speechless.

If I’d been able to summon up any genuine enthusiasm, I might have been the same.

But my mind kept drifting back to the day I’d played for Jazz and everything that followed.

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