Page 30 of The Single Dad Grump Next Door

She snorts, though there’s no real humor in it. “You think I don’t know that? It’s all I’ve been hearing for weeks. Rest, ice, more rest.”

“Maybe they’re right,” I say quietly.

She doesn’t respond, but the look she gives me is heavy with unspoken frustration. I don’t push her. I know better than to think I can change her mind about anything. Stubbornness has always been one of her defining traits, for better or worse.

The silence stretches between us, punctuated only by the soft whisper of the waves. This is the part where I’m supposed to grumble a half-hearted goodnight and go back inside. The part where I’m meant to remember that I had resolved to avoid Alina Sokolov at all costs for the rest of the summer, rather than walk boldly out into the night to confront her.

This is the part where I’m supposed to remember exactly how it felt to hate her for years.

The problem is, I don’t think I ever really hated her. It wasn’t true hate. It was spitefulness, jealousy, and annoyance tinged with reluctant admiration. If anything, the hatred came from within. I hated myself because, no matter what, I never trulymeasured up to her. Even during the rare moments when I won a position higher than hers in one of our classes, it was fleeting.

And I hated myself for what I suggested after I lost the spot at the CSO. I was angry and embarrassed, so I took it out on her. I knew it wasn’t true, but I made one comment about how Alina only aced the CSO audition because of who her father was. I knew it was a stupid remark. I knew that Vladimir Sokolov had nothing to do with the Chicago Symphony Orchestra, and that even though he was a big name in the industry, Alina wholeheartedly earned her place there.

I said it to one person in a moment of utter shame and defeat, and then the rumor spread from there. Within a couple weeks, by the time graduation came around, everyone knew that I thought Alina was nothing more than a beneficiary of nepotism. Including Alina.

A lot of people agreed with me. That was the worst part.

And instead of correcting my mistake—instead of telling people off for spreading the sentiment and apologizing directly to Alina for suggesting it in the first place—I let the wound fester and then simply walked away.

I guess it’s never too late to resolve old errors, though.

“You always were better than me,” I murmur. My voice is so quiet that, for a heartbeat, I’m worried I’m going to have to repeat myself.

But her head snaps toward me, her eyes wide with surprise. “What?”

“Don’t make me say it again,” I grumble, kicking at the sand. “You were better than me. At Juilliard. At the audition. And you’re definitely still better than me, of course.”

She stares at me, her expression unreadable. For a moment, I think she’s going to argue, or attempt to deny it out of some misplaced sense of modesty. But then she just nods, an almost imperceptible movement of her head.

“Thanks,” she says, her voice soft.

“I wanted to make sure you know that,” I add. “And that the things I said in the past weren’t true in the slightest. I was angry and immature.”

Alina purses her lips. “It’s been years, Sterling. You don’t have to apologize for calling me a nepo baby, even if most of our classmates agreed with you.”

“Well, even if I don’t have to, I wanted to. So, it’s done. You were better than me and I’m sorry I argued otherwise.”

She quirks an eyebrow at me, looking as though she’s trying to figure out if I’m playing some kind of prank on her right now.

After a moment, she turns away from me and lets out a sigh, loosening her grip on the violin.

“Alright, then. Thank you.”

I nod even though she’s not looking at me.

Good. That’s done. Conscience cleared.

I turn to head back inside before this moment gets any weirder. As I reach the door, however, her voice stops me in my tracks.

“Hey, Gabe?”

NotSterling.NotGabriel. Just Gabe.

I glance over my shoulder.

She hesitates for a handful of seconds, taking her time setting her violin down gently on the bench beside her.

“You were pretty good, too. Actually, if I’m being completely honest, part of me was grateful to have such a skilled rival. You kept me on my toes. You challenged me. I think—ugh, I hate to even say this, but… I think you made me a better musician.”

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