Page 20 of The Single Dad Grump Next Door

I barely make it through two octaves before the bow slips from my grasp and clatters to the cement floor.

“Shoot…”

My vision blurs as I scramble to retrieve it. The bow isn’t broken, thankfully, but it might as well be, given how little use I can make of it. I clutch it tightly in my hand, as if holding it harder might will the pain away, but it only makes my fingers scream in protest.

The violin slides from my shoulder, and I slump forward, cradling it like a lifeline.

I can’t do this.

I should’ve known better than to try this today. I woke up this morning earlier than usual, coaxed out of sleep from the agony in my wrists. I’m pretty sure I slept with them at an odd angle, worsening the inflammation that’s already there.

I can’t do anything right. Not even when I’m unconscious. My body is determined to betray me.

Hot tears spill down my cheeks, and I bury my face in my hands. Months of frustration and fear bubble to the surface, overwhelming me with an avalanche of everything that’s started piling up since I felt the first twinge in my hand.

The Chicago Symphony Orchestra feels like a distant dream, fading further out of reach with each failed attempt to play. If I can’t figure out what’s wrong with me, if I can’t fix this… I’m not going to be able to go back. Diana and Goldberg are both going to notice right away if I return in just as bad shape as I was before.

A teardrop lands on the upper bout. The darkly stained rosewood is meant to be able to withstand slight dampness, such as sweat, but I wipe the tear away quickly as if it’s going to deteriorate the instrument like acid. That would be just my luck, to destroy the most precious thing I own.

The sound of footsteps on the stairs jerks me back upright.

I wipe hastily at my tears with the backs of my hands as the door at the top of the stairs creaks open. Expecting Karina, or maybe even Andy, I open my mouth in preparation to deliver a polite argument that I’m perfectly happy to be left alone down here.

Instead, Gabe steps down onto the cement floor with a basket of laundry balanced on his hip.

Of course. It has to behim. How could I forget that the entire universe is conspiring against me? How dare I think that I might have just one day without things getting marginally worse?

“Sorry. I didn’t realize anyone was down here,” he says, pausing on his way toward the washing machine. His gaze sweeps over me, lingering on the violin in my lap and what I’m sure are some very obvious red blotches staining my cheeks.

“Go away, Sterling,” I snap, my voice trembling despite my best effort to sound composed. Automatically, I flinch. I shouldn’t have said anything at all. There’s no way to hide the fact that I was just crying now.

He hesitates, frowning slightly, though he looks more confused than anything. “Are you… okay?”

I almost laugh at that. I don’t think Gabe Sterling has ever bothered to ask me anything like that before.

“I’m fine,” I say quickly, avoiding his eyes. “Just leave, please.”

But he doesn’t move. Instead, he sets the laundry basket on the floor and steps closer. “You don’t look fine. You’re sitting alone in a basement and your eyes are all red.”

“Wow, thanks for the insight.” I glare at him, hoping the force of my anger will drive him back up the stairs.

It doesn’t. Obviously not. Gabe has never been deterred by my vitriol before.

“What happened?” he asks, his tone soft but insistent. Almost gentle, if I didn’t know him better.

“Nothing,” I snap. “None of your business.”

Gabe crosses his arms, leaning against the dryer. “You were crying.”

“No, I wasn’t.”

His eyebrows rise. “Right. So, your face is just naturally red and puffy like that?”

Gosh, I forgot how rude he can be. Especially to me. In fact, I swear Gabe reserves all of his rudest comments forme,specifically, because he always seemed to be perfectly pleasant to everyone else at Juilliard.

I bristle. “Why do you care? Do you want to gloat about how pathetic I am right now? Go ahead, Sterling. Get it out of your system.”

He blinks, clearly taken aback. “Why would I gloat?”

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