Page 62 of Love Takes Home

“I would love to hear you on the Strat you own.”

“How do you know I own a Strat?”

“I found your old videos on YouTube and watched them. You gave an interview on your last tour about finally being able to get one. You still own it, right?”

“I’m going to be buried with that thing,” I promise her. “It’s the first thing I unpack anywhere I am. I’d love to show it to you.”

“Oh, that would be great. Not going to lie, I’d love to see it, too,” her mom gushes.

“Sure. We can set up a day one weekend. Bring your Eastman and we can put on a show for both our parents.” I lean in so only she can hear. “My mom would love it.”

Aubrey laughs, but it’s cut off when a voice from the hallway rings out. A voice I could go the rest of my life without hearing again, but also know I’m stuck with.

“Ms. Mills. I don’t know what kind of school you think we’re running here, but it’s completely unprofessional to invite students into your home.”

I stiffen in my chair, my hand choking the neck of the cello I’m still holding.

“Oh, Mr. Brown, we didn’t mean—”

“It doesn’t matter what you meant. It’s completely unacceptable for a teacher in our school to invite students to their private homes,” he cuts off Aubrey’s mom.

“Now, Mr. Brown, I don’t know what you’re implying—”

“I’m implying that we don’t condone the type of behavior being shown by our littlemusic teacher,” he cuts off Aubrey’s dad while practically spitting out the words ‘music teacher’ like they taste bad.

I sit in my chair, watching Aubrey’s parents defend me to the man who was supposed to have my back and support me. A man who is currently making a case that I’m doing inappropriate things with students.

“Mr. Brown,” I state, standing and placing my cello in its holder before turning to him. “I know what you’re trying to do, and I find it very unprofessional of you to spew baseless statements about my character in front of a student and their parents.”

He stares at me, his eyes blinking rapidly, like he can’t believe I just talked back to him, and I realize it’s something I’ve never done before. I let this man walk all over me for two years, and I don’t have to do that anymore. I stand even straighter and make eye contact with him, not backing down.

“This isn’t over.” He glares at me before leaving the room.

“That’s the man you were supposed to marry?” Aubrey asks, a grimace on her face probably rivaling my own.

“Can I give you some advice?” I ask her, looking over at her mom, who also looks sick to her stomach. “Never let a man beat you down with his hands or his words. If he can’t support you and help you stand tall one hundred percent of the time, he’s not the man for you. Don’t be like me. Don’t put up with it because you’re afraid to be alone. Be stronger than I was, okay?”

“I will,” she quietly replies.

“Thank you,” her mom mouths, her hand over her heart.

“If that man gives you any trouble, you let me know,” her dad says, a snarl on his lips. “Something about that guy I don’t like.”

“You, too, huh?” I chuckle, trying to lighten the mood. “And thank you. Also, you’re invited to the impromptu concert. We aren’t going to let him ruin all our fun.”

Aubrey stays to help me put away the things she dragged out, and her mom gives me a hug before they leave. I check my phone and realize everyone in the building has probably left for the night. We were only supposed to be here until eight, and it’s already eight-thirty. I check my phone, and still no calls from Joker. I hope he’s alright.

I look around the room and stick my head out in the hallway. All the other doors are closed and the lights are off. I’m alone. I sit back in the chair I use when I play and remove my cello from its stand. Placing it between my legs, I pick up the bow and run it across the strings. The sound rings out into the room, and I begin to play. A haunting melody that I wrote after the attack. All of my anguish and fear can be heard in the notes as my fingers fly across the strings.

When the song is over, I have tears running down my face and I’m breathing hard, like I’ve run a marathon. My eyes snap open when I hear the slow clap from the door.

“You might suck at most things in your life, but you can play. I’ll give you that.”

“Keith. What do you want?”

“I thought we should have a chat.”

“I don’t think we have anything to chat about.”

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