Page 6 of Unlocking Melodies

Our final performance was at the winter showcase. The piece we'd been working on all semester was still unfinished. We played an older composition instead, one from happier days.

I kept my eyes on the keys, playing like a robot. I could feel Jimmy trying to draw me out, adding flourishes and variations that normally would have made me smile. I didn't respond.

The letter took me seventeen drafts to write. In the end, it was cold, formal, nothing like us:

Jimmy,

Sometimes paths that seem meant to cross are only meant to run parallel for a while. You have your dreams, and I have my responsibilities. Thank you for the music.

Ethan

I left it in Practice Room C with his favorite coffee and the books he'd loaned me. Then I walked away, telling myself it was for the best, that I was protecting him, that sometimes love means letting go.

I didn't know then how much damage running away could do. Didn't know that leaving someone “for their own good” usually just leaves them with scars that never quite heal. Didn't know that my attempt to be responsible would end up being the most irresponsible thing I could have done.

I didn't know a lot of things back then.

But I remember everything about that last night—the fluorescent lights flickering, the out-of-tune A-flat key, the way his hands shook slightly on the piano.

I remember thinking, “This is it. This is the moment I'll replay in my head for the rest of my life.”

I was right about that, at least.

Chapter 1

Stranger in My Own Life

Beeping dragged me back to consciousness. Again. This time the steady, insistent sound was familiar. Though with my head feeling like it had been stuffed with steel wool and set on fire, I wasn't entirely sure being alive was still the better option.

Opening my eyes was just as difficult as the first time. My eyelids felt like concrete, and the second attempt only earned me stabbing fluorescent lights and regret. The room swam into focus - same white walls, same generic artwork screaming “hospital,” same window looking out at nothing interesting.

Two guys occupied those uncomfortable plastic chairs hospitals seemed to buy in bulk. One had a guitar case leaning against his leg, which seemed weird for a hospital visit. The other was typing on his phone with the kind of focused intensity usually reserved for defusing bombs. They both looked up when I managed to make a noise that was supposed to be “water” but came out more like a dying cat.

“Jimmy!” Guitar Case Guy practically leapt out of his chair. “Thank god. We've been worried sick.”

Phone Guy was already reaching for a cup with a straw. “Small sips, okay? Doctor's orders.”

I took the water because my throat felt like sandpaper, but something wasn't right. These guys were acting like they knew me, but their faces triggered no recognition. I knew my own name now - Jimmy Reed - and what year it was, but these two? Nothing. Just more blank spaces where memories should have been.

“Who are you?”

The words came out clearer than I meant them to. Guitar Case Guy froze mid-smile. Phone Guy's hand tightened on the cup.

“Jimmy,” Guitar Case Guy said slowly, “it's us. Liam and Caleb? From the ranch?”

I stared at them both. Nothing. Their faces might as well have been stock photos for all the recognition they triggered.

“I don't...” My voice caught. “I don't know you.”

What followed was a blur of doctors and nurses and more tests than I knew existed. A neurologist with kind eyes explained terms like “traumatic amnesia” and “retrograde memory loss” while I tried to wrap my head around the fact that I was someone named Jimmy Reed.

“What's the last thing you remember?” Phone Guy - Caleb - asked.

I closed my eyes, trying to grab onto something concrete. “Music. I remember music.”

“That's good!” Guitar Case Guy - Liam - perked up. “Music's a huge part of your life. You're my manager, actually. Have been for about three years now.”

He pulled out his phone, starting to swipe through photos. “Look, here we are at The Watering Hole after my first big show. And this is from the ranch last summer - you were helping us break in that new mare, remember?”

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