Page 5 of Unlocking Melodies

“I could work at a tech startup,” I continued quickly. “Or maybe even start my own company. And you could pursue artist management—there's a huge music scene in Boston.”

He turned to face me, expression unreadable. “What about Cole?”

“What about it?”

“It's your family's company. Your legacy.”

“Maybe I want to build my own legacy.” I moved closer, pulling him away from the piano. “With you.”

The kiss that followed was different from our others—deeper, more desperate, like we were both trying to say things we couldn't put into words.

We threw ourselves into our music after that. The piece we were working on became everything—our past, our present, our hoped-for future woven into melody and harmony. Jimmy started talking about his dreams more openly, about discovering new artists and helping them find their voice.

“Like you did with me,” I teased, and he rolled his eyes.

“Please. You already had a voice. You just needed someone to help you use it for something other than Chopin.”

October flew by in a blur of coffee-fueled composition sessions and stolen moments between classes. I started making plans—researching music industry contacts, looking into startup incubators in Boston, drafting business plans that combined tech and music management.

Then November happened.

My father's office hadn't changed since I was a kid—all dark wood and leather, designed to intimidate. He had the company's quarterly reports spread across his desk, my name prominently featured on several succession planning documents.

“The Board meeting went well today,” he said without looking up. “They're excited about having you join full-time after graduation. Reuben was particularly impressed with your summer work.”

“Dad—“

“This isn't just about you anymore, Ethan.” His voice was steel. “We have over ten thousand employees depending on strong leadership. Your little musical rebellion was charming in college, but it's time to grow up. The company needs you focused, not distracted by some temporary infatuation.”

“Jimmy isn't a distraction?—“

“Isn't he?” He finally met my eyes. “Tell me honestly—do you really think you can run a Fortune 500 company while playing house with a wannabe musician? Do you think the Board will take you seriously? That our partners will respect you? That you can handle the responsibility of thousands of people's livelihoods while indulging in these... artistic pursuits?”

I thought I knew what heartbreak felt like. I was wrong.

The next few weeks were a slow torture. I started missing our practice sessions, making excuses about project deadlines and family obligations. Jimmy knew something was wrong—of course he did. He could read me better than anyone.

“Talk to me,” he pleaded one night, catching me after class. “Whatever it is, we can figure it out together.”

I couldn't look at him. “I have to focus on my future right now.”

“I thought I was part of your future.”

“Jimmy...”

“No, you know what? This is bullshit.” He grabbed my arm, forcing me to face him. “You don't get to just check out without an explanation. Not after everything.”

I wanted to tell him everything. About my father's threats, about the fear keeping me awake at night, about how every time I looked at him all I could think about was how much damage my world could do to his.

Instead, I said, “Maybe we want different things.”

The hurt in his eyes felt like a physical blow. “You don't mean that.”

“I have responsibilities, Jimmy. A path I have to follow.”

“Since when? The Ethan I know makes his own path.”

“Maybe you don't know me as well as you think.”

---