Page 101 of Unlocking Melodies

“I remember Ethan finding me,” the words spilled out as more memories crystallized. “After you disappeared again. He held me while I cried, promised he'd never leave. Ironic, really.”

The full weight of my history with Ethan hit then - every stolen moment, every shared dream, every piano key that led us to each other and then apart. His letter in Practice Room C, the years of careful distance, finding each other again here in Oakwood Grove only to have my memory wiped clean.

“Your mother would be so proud,” his dad whispered. “Of who you've become. The life you've built. The way you love...”

“Don't,” I choked out. “You don't get to talk about her pride when you're the one who sold me out. When you're the reason I'm tied up in this barn instead of home with my cat and my town and...”

And Ethan. The thought of him made my chest ache with remembered love - not just the recent tentative connection we'd been rebuilding, but eight years of history. Every smile, every touch, every moment we'd shared and lost and found again.

“I know I failed you,” his dad’s voice was fading. “Failed her. But Jimmy... you never failed anyone. You just kept shining, kept loving, kept making music...”

“Like mother, like son,” I finished, the old family joke tasting like ashes now. More memories surfaced - mom teaching me harmony while dad accompanied on air guitar, the three of us making up silly songs about everyday things. Before the gambling, before the grief, before everything fell apart.

The sound of approaching footsteps broke through my memory spiral. Heavy boots on wooden floors, getting closer. Time was running out.

“Dad,” I said, the word feeling strange after everything. “I remember now. Everything. But we're not done. You don't get to check out before we figure this mess out.”

“S'okay.” His head drooped further. “Never was much of a father anyway. You should... you should go. Leave me. I deserve this.”

“Like hell.” The words came out fierce despite the tears I couldn't seem to stop. “You think you get to tap out now? After everything? No. You're going to live, and you're going to face what you've done, and you're going to explain to me why you thought any of this was okay.”

I reached for his restraints with trembling fingers, trying to focus on the knots instead of the way his breathing had gone shallow and uneven. “And then maybe, if you're really lucky, I'lllet you try to earn back the right to call yourself my father. But first we have to get out of here, so for once in your life, could you please just stay with me?”

His only response was a weak cough that painted more red across his lips. Outside, footsteps approached the barn door - heavy and purposeful. Time was up.

I gritted my teeth and hoisted Gary onto my shoulder, channeling every ounce of strength I'd developed hauling boxes at The Watering Hole. Past Jimmy might have been terrible at cooking, but at least he'd built up some decent muscle tone.

“Almost there,” I muttered, though whether I was reassuring him or myself was debatable. My body screamed in protest with each step - apparently being knocked unconscious and tied up wasn't great for overall fitness. Who knew?

The barn's shadows danced across weathered wood, moonlight streaming through cracks like nature's spotlight. Great. Because this situation definitely needed more dramatic lighting. Mrs. Henderson would probably approve of the ambiance, though the décor left something to be desired.

We'd almost reached the door when pain exploded across my stomach, sending us both sprawling. Hid dad hit the ground with a groan that made my chest tight. I clutched my ribs, trying to remember how to breathe while a guard materialized from the shadows, looking way too pleased with himself.

“Well, well.” Moretti's voice dripped with theatrical menace as he sauntered into view, flanked by more muscle. His suit probably cost more than my annual rent, the open collar revealing what looked like some kind of snake tattoo. Because apparently we were going full cliché villain tonight. “Did you really think it'd be that easy?”

“Actually,” I managed between gasps, “I was hoping for a nice dramatic exit. Maybe some witty one-liners. You're really killing the vibe here.”

His laugh was all sharp edges. “Such spirit. Almost makes me understand what Cole sees in you. Almost.”

A distant sound cut through the tension - sirens, getting closer. Moretti's perfectly practiced smile slipped slightly. He crouched in front of me, gripping my chin with manicured fingers that felt like steel.

“Sounds like your boyfriend brought reinforcements.” His breath smelled like expensive scotch and bad decisions. “Shame he won't make it in time. I did warn you about choosing sides.”

Years of dealing with drunk customers and Martha the Attack Chicken's vendetta had taught me a thing or two about quick movements. I twisted free and landed a solid hit to his jaw, probably breaking at least three of his ridiculously white teeth.

“That's for ruining my evening plans,” I snarled, grabbing Gary's arm. “I had a very nice Netflix queue lined up.”

We made it exactly three steps toward freedom when the gunshot rang out. The sound echoed off barn walls, but it was nothing compared to the way my heart stopped when I saw who was stumbling through the door.

Ethan stood there in what had probably been an immaculate suit this morning, one hand pressed to his side where red bloomed between his fingers. His perfectly styled hair was a mess, his tie hanging loose, and somehow he still looked unfairly gorgeous even while bleeding.

“Ethan!” His name tore from my throat as I lunged toward him. Because of course he'd show up at the worst possible moment. Of course he'd try to play hero. Of course he'd get himself shot trying to save me.

Another shot cracked through the air, but before I could reach Ethan, a blur of movement caught my eye. Clark - friendly neighborhood cat cafe owner and apparently part-time superhero - materialized between Ethan and Moretti like he'd been waiting for his dramatic entrance cue.

The bullet hit him square in the chest. He didn't even flinch.

“Really?” Clark looked down at the hole in his cat-themed shirt with what could only be described as mild annoyance. “I just got this one in.” He pulled up the fabric to reveal a bulletproof vest. “Though I have to say, your aim needs work.”

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