Page 123 of The Wrong Heart

—TWENTY-NINE—

The violinin the downtown store window catches my eye.

Faltering, I can’t help but slow my feet, coming to a complete stop as my sister rams into me from behind, her nose in her cell phone.

“Shit, Parker.” Bree follows my thoughtful stare, her acorn eyes thinning. Long, thick eyelashes flutter, fanning freckled cheekbones. “It’s a music store. You don’t like music.”

She’s right, in a way. I never really cared for music because its purpose never aligned with my own. Evocative, emotion-laced, riddled with feeling and lyrical prose.

I’m a deadened ice block. A glacier.

Well… I was.

Now there’s music filtering through my blood, pumping anthems and lullabies straight to my heart, causing the calloused organ to dance and sing.

Melodies.

Pursing my lips, I blink at the instrument, an idea unraveling as Bree slurps a berry-infused smoothie through a wide straw. I shrug. “Violins are kind of fucking cool, right?”

“Cool?”

“Yeah. The music they make… I mean, I get the appeal. Like vibrating ocean waves.” Braving a glance in her direction, I clear my throat and add, “Or some shit.”

She gawks at me, rising to her tiptoes and placing the underside of her palm against my forehead. “Do you have a fever?”

Fuck yes, I have a fever.

I’m sweating, burning up, possibly hallucinating. I have been for months.

I swat her hand away and turn from the glass window display. “Never mind.”

“No, Parker. Notnever mind.” Bree races to catch up to my long strides when I storm down the sidewalk. “What’s gotten into you?”

Her. She’s all over me, infecting my blood.

And I’m addicted.

My gait quickens, a feeble attempt to outrun her questions and probing. It’s been years since my sister has gotten me out of the house to do aimless sibling shit, like take an afternoon walk and drink pretentious smoothies together.

My smoothie tastes like asparagus, so I toss the plastic cup of green sludge into an approaching garbage can as Bree strolls up beside me. Stuffing my hands into my worn out jeans, I arch an eyebrow, pretending to have no idea what she’s talking about. “I’m fine.”

“That’s my point. Is this about the woman you’re not sleeping with?”

I waver. “Things may have changed since we last spoke about it.”

“What?”

Her eyes bug out as she snatches my wrist, dragging me over to a bench we’ve conveniently stumbled across. “It’s not…” My words evaporate into the midday August haze, and the ensuing draft steals the lie from my tongue.

It’s not a big deal.

Yeah-fucking-right.

Bree pulls me down to the bench, her knees twisting towards me as she lassos my attention with her wide, questioning pools of light brown. “Parker.”

“Bree.”

Her eyes shimmer beneath the sunless sky, a dainty hand clasping my knee with a tender squeeze. “Are you in love, little brother?”

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