Page 81 of Never Enough

“Your stop, man,” the driver interrupts my brewing stormof thoughts.

“Thanks,” I mutter, and as the car idles at the curb of the counseling center, I fire off one last message, aimed like a well-thrown dart.

Alex.Whitemore:Jealously doesn’t look good on you, Celeste. I wasn’t fucking joking. I’m in love with Daphne Burton.

The phone goes dark as I pocket it, stepping out into the chill of reality. The counseling center looms ahead, nondescript and yet daunting. Like a challenge. Like a chance. I draw in a breath, trying to steady the erratic pounding in my chest, and walk towards what I hope is the first step to being better. For me, for Daphne, and for everyone tangled in this mess of mine.

The door clicks shut behind me, the sound hollow in the waiting room. I’m alone now, the therapist’s words still echoing like a new melody in my mind—one that’s soft but persistent. I rub at the spot over my heart, where the tightness always seems to gather, and nod to myself. Yeah, therapy could be good for me. Uncomfortable as hell but good.

I make my way down the front steps of the counseling center, the air biting at my exposed skin, and pull out my phone. The screen lights up with a notification from Celeste.

Celestralbeing:Whatever. Sex wasn’t even that great.

Celestralbeing:And I’ll have you know their Spring Concert is the same day as our fundraiser. Good luck getting out of it, asshole. Not even I can, and I’m in the damn orchestra. *laughing crying emoji*

“Shiiiit.” The word slips from between my lips before I can catch it. The fundraiser. The one night of the year when all eyes are on the Whitmore legacy—my family’s name etched on every invitation, spoken with reverence and envy. As a football player, bailing isn’t an option. Not when it means rubbing shoulders with the who’s who, every handshake a potential deal, every smile a pledged donation. My parents wouldn’t let me forget it, not for a second.

A stiff wind whips past, and I shiver, tucking the phone close as if it holds some warmth. My fingers hover over the keyboard, indecision clawing at my insides. Daphne’s face flashes in my mind, her concentration when she plays, the way the world seems to fall away for her. I’ll figure it out.

My phone buzzes again. I pull it out, hoping it’s Eden or Daphne.

It’s not, but I’m still happy to read my sister’s response to my ex.

VictorianotVickiBitches: @CelestralbeingYou have 30 days to move out of our suite. & If you ever talk to my brother like that again, I’ll tell your granny it was you who stole her anniversary pearls. Matter of fact, I’m going to do it anyway. *Smirking emoji* *Stabbing Knife Emoji* #notkiddingbitchmoveout

I chuckle before shoving the phone back into my pocket. The weight of my choices settles heavy on my shoulders, but I push through it. I have to. For Daphne. For the sliver of peace I’m trying to carve out of this mess. I owe her that much, at least.

“Can’t let you down, Daph,” I murmur under my breath, more vow than statement. The words hang in the air, unacknowledged by anyone but me.

The fundraiser is going to be a circus. People will wear suits and dresses worth more than most people’s cars, and there’ll be laughter that never quite reaches their eyes and the suffocating stench of greed veiled as philanthropy. I can already hear my father’s voice, sharp as the clink of crystal, reminding me of my role, myduty.

Meanwhile, on the same day, miles away, Daphne will play each note like a piece of her soul. Like music is her confession and ultimate truth. Ineedto support her.

It’s non-negotiable. Fuck the fundraiser. I choose her.

My Uber pulls up, and I get inside. The seats are cold, the fluorescent lights harsh and unforgiving. I lean against the window, watching the city slide by, a blur of lights and shadows. I’m supposed to be part of that world—the glitz, the glamor—but my heart’s snagged on a harp string, thrumming with a melody that only plays in my head.

I’d face the wrath of a thousand fundraisers, endure the scorn of my parents, if it means giving her that silent nod of encouragement from the darkness of an auditorium. Because seeing Daphne lost in her music, that’s worth any price.

Chapter thirty-three

Alex

It’s the night of the Spring Concert.

When I told my parents a few days ago that I won’t be attending the year’s biggest fundraiser for our school, they were more than just angry. They threatened to disown me. Both of them. Usually, my dad is off on some business meeting, but when Mom told him I was skirting on my “responsibilities”, he paused his activities to shout at me over the phone.

Didn’t work. I feel bad—really, I do—but I told him I have something much more important to attend. Besides, shouldn’t they be here for Victoria, anyway? I’m here for Daphne, but it’s a double bonus that I get to see my sister play too.

After all, family is what’s most important. If my parents really wanted to, they could have changed the fundraiser’s date. You know, because their daughter is playing in the spring orchestra and because they own the entire university. But they didn’t.

Okay, am I blaming my parents unfairly? A bit. At least I can admit it, but perhaps we should stop pitting our athletics department against our music department.

Feeling brave, I also told them how, in addition to skipping out on the fundraiser, I’m taking culinary courses next year. Vic and I even vow to open up a new branch of our family’s business with my upcoming skills. I’ll open a restaurant, run and manage it, while she handles the in-house music of my restaurant. It’s perfect.

Sister happy, Alex happy. Parentswillbe happy once they’ve cooled down, and hopefully, I’ll make Daphne happy someday.

For the rest of my life, I’ll pine and chase after her as she deserves. So, here I am, standing at the back of the auditorium, listening to Daphne’s solo piece while I’m in the crowd.

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