Page 13 of The Single Dad Grump Next Door

“Did you like school?”

I’m definitely lurking now, concealed behind the open door where neither one of them can see me even if they glanced inside my side of the house.

Alina is quiet for a moment. I realize that I don’t know what she’s about to say. I don’t know much about her childhood except that she went to a fancy prep school back in the Pacific Northwest. That, and the fact that she had access to some of the best classical musicians in the industry for private lessons from a very young age.

It would be a lot more satisfying if, despite all her privileges, Alina still wasn’t that talented. But the fact of the matter is that sheisbrilliant.

It’s infuriating.

“School was fine. It’s important that you do well. Or at least try your best.”

“Yeah, I know.” Wren sighs again. “Are you sure you’re okay? Do you want help? Those ice packs look heavy.”

Ice packs?

“I’m okay, sweetie.”

“Last year, when I was playing basketball with my friends, I fell and twisted my ankle and I had to put ice on it. But I really hated it because the ice was so cold that it felt like it was burning me. Doesn’t that hurt?”

“I’m used to it.”

Now I’m way too curious to stop myself from sneaking a glance outside. Careful not to disturb the curtains too obviously, I peer through the window by the door.

Wren is still curled up in her chair, and Alina is once again seated at the table on the other side of the patio with a book open in front of her. Except this time, she does, indeed, have ice packs wrapped around her wrists and hands. They’re resting awkwardly on the tabletop, bulky and definitely uncomfortable. I recognize them. Just like she was explaining to Wren, they’re designed to be secured around entire joints like knees, wrists, and elbows.

In high school, when I was preparing for my Juilliard audition, I practiced so hard that I caused some minor and temporary inflammation in my hands. I had to use ice packs just like that. The ailment only lasted a week or so, but ever since then, I was careful not to overdo it. Even when Alina and I were at our most viciously competitive.

“Do you have to ice them every day?” Wren asks Alina.

“Yes. More than once a day.”

“Wow. They must hurt really bad.”

“I’ll be fine.” Even as she says it, Alina’s voice is stiff.

I move away from the door, confusion creasing my brow as I start to put the pieces together.

Alina is not in Chicago right now. She’s not performing. Instead, she’s on vacation, icing her hands multiple times a day. In fact, she’s been doing it so often that she’sused to it.

I may not have touched the violin in years, but I’ve played plenty of other instruments to understand what’s going on.

Alina Sokolov is injured. So injured, in fact, that she’s been forced to take an extended break.

I wander back into the kitchen, feeling a bit numb with shock.

I should feel satisfied by this new development. Alina represents everything that I never achieved. For years, she was the main thing blocking my way. Then after that, her stunning success mocked me from afar. It should feel good to know that she’s finally been knocked down a few pegs.

And yet, despite how I feel about that woman, the idea of being thrilled by someone else’s downfall leaves a sour taste in my mouth.

Chapter Five: Alina

“So, tell me about this insane rivalry between you and our neighbor,” Andy says with an easy smile on his face. He leans back in the booth across from me and Karina, needing all that space to himself to accommodate his broad shoulders and muscular bulk.

I shoot Karina a sharp glance. “You told him?”

My cousin snorts. “Of course I told him. Not everything. But how could I not mention the crazy coincidence?”

I sink down lower in my seat, flexing my hands under the table. They aren’t aching right now, thanks to some ibuprofen and plenty of ice. Also, as much as it pains me to acknowledge it, the pain has also subsided slightly due to the fact that I haven’t touched my violin in almost four days.

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