Page 71 of Serving the Maestro

“That’s love right there.” The words came out a little hoarse.

Cam levered herself up from her corner of the couch and came to sit next to me. The tears threatened again as she leaned into me.

“It’s okay to cry, Jazzie,” she said. “I’d be crying and kicking and throwing things.”

“I’m too tired for that.” Literally too tired.

Cam straightened and looked at me, her hand folding over mine. “Then sleep. If that’s what you need, you sleep. There’s no right or wrong way to feel right now, honey.”

She grabbed the remote and turned on the TV.

I half-laughed, half-sobbed when she went to one of my streaming apps and found a popular painter’s series. “The guaranteed method to help us both relax and snooze. Of course, I won’t sleep until I eat, but you can.”

“You’re a menace.” I smiled as I said it.

“You know you love me.” She pulled at the decorative throw I always kept on the couch and draped it over us. “Now, let’s see if we can learn how to paint happy little trees.”

TWENTY-FIVE

TRENT

The phone rang for the third time in ten minutes. The first two times, I hadn’t bothered to see who was calling. This time, annoyed to be jerked out of the groove while working, I grabbed it and barely glanced at the screen, ready to snarl at the caller.

Then I lost my breath at the impact of seeing Jazz’s number.

“Jazz,” I answered, finally, right before it would have gone to voicemail.

“No. Try again.”

The woman’s voice, throaty and vaguely familiar, but most definitely not Jazz’s, had me scowling. Turning away from my piano, I walked to the window and stared out of the beach. “Hi, Cam. Why are you calling me from Jazz’s phone?”

“Because I don’t have your number on mine, and I need to talk to you,” she answered, her tone breezy and light as if we talked every day of the week. “Listen...hold on, I need to check...okay, we’re good. I think there’s something you should know, but before I get into that...tell me. Do you have feelings for Jazz?”

Heat suddenly blistered my cheeks. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me. It’s a simple enough question. Why is it so difficult for you to answer? I mean, considering how kinky you like to get, answering a question about a recently-ended relationship should be child’s play.”

“I’m...I’m...well, I can give an answer,” I said, although the words came out strangled, proving Cam’s point. “Is there a reason you’re poking around in my private business?”

“Because it’s not just your business. It involves Jazz, too. Since she’s my best friend and I love her to death, her being happy means everything to me. And if you have feelings for her, I need to know so I can make a decision about something.” Cam hesitated, then, voice going soft and quietly somber, she added, “Something sort of serious. But if you don’t care—”

“I do,” I said, cutting her off. The way her voice dropped and roughened, my concern blatant had a knot forming in my gut. “What’s going on?”

“Something might have happened over the weekend.” Cam sucked in a breath, then, in a rush, said, “We were all out on a double date Friday. Jazz met up with somebody she briefly dated in high school, and it could maybe be kinda my fault—I’m always on her to give the guys asking her out a chance. Her mom and dad...well, she’s not big on trusting people and this is going to make all that worse.”

She paused for air.

I jumped in. “What happened?”

“He might have slipped her a roofie.”

A second passed. Another. I was in my studio, and the soundproofing was so solid, that not even the cars speeding down the highway penetrated the silence.

The sound of my hard breaths seemed unnaturally loud.

Blood roared in my ears, thundering like a freight train.

A primal, red-hot rage pounded in my head, and I had to fight not to throw my phone. “Did he hurt her?”

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