Page 20 of Shattered Chords

With time, he’d gotten over it, but his bitterness over my failed best laid plans was there. Hidden, buried beneath the joy of Ally’s first giggles, words, and steps.

On the floor, Harper and Renn took care of the clients, and their frequent laughs that carried over into my tiny work space warmed my heart. Dream Bride wasn’t just a store. Employees didn’t come here to simply punch in, punch out, and collect paychecks. Our team was small, but we treated everyone, including customers, as family. My mother was very vocal about her ideas and concepts when she started this business over thirty years ago. There had been bad times and there had been good ones. The boutique hadn’t made us millionaires, but it’d put me through college and it’d helped me to get back on my feet after Ally’s birth.

During lunch, I called Ally to tell her Harper was stopping by tonight.

“Pauline is about to pick me up,” she said. The clamor of music hit my ears. “We’re going to rehearse.”

“Well, as long as you’re home by seven.”

“I won’t be home by seven, Mom.”

My frustration grew. Something unspoken swelled between us. For a moment, I wanted to scream and bang my head against the table, but my voice of reason won. “What time should I expect you back then?”

“By ten.”

“Isn’t that a little late?”

“It’s summer, Mom! The show is in five days!” Her words sounded a lot like accusations. “We need to practice.”

“What do you want me to tell Harper?”

“To come to the show, duh.”

“Are you rehearsing at Pauline's?”

“Yes.”

“Are her parents going to be home?”

“Yes, Mom. Why do you keep asking?”

It was a simple question that prompted my brain to freeze. “Because I worry,” I finally said. Grim silence followed my words.

It was the honest truth. Pauline Ryan wasn’t the best role model. Her parents were way more liberal. The girl had started dating in middle school, but musically, she was just as driven as my daughter. They clicked. Separating them would mean war.

“Don’t,” Ally finally said. “I’m not stupid. I know to stay away from alcohol, drugs, and men.” Her voice was a soft whisper and I could barely hear it over the pounding of the song.

“Okay. Have fun and be safe.”

“Bye.” The line went dead.

There you go. You did it again. You let her have her way, Camille.

3 Dante

My alarm went off at six sharp. I snapped my eyes open and stared at the dim stretch of empty space between me and the wood trim ceiling. Waking up completely sober and without a woman’s body in my bed still felt strange, but I didn’t hate it. On the contrary, the calm was refreshing.

When I finally moved in here after completing my ninety days at Passages, the solitude of the house terrified me at first. I’d never lived in a place so secluded and quiet. My past life had been a string of hotel rooms, bars, and venues. People had always crammed my penthouse.

It’d taken me a few weeks to get used to the sound of silence that cocooned me every time I went to sleep and woke up in my new home. Years spent on the road had taught me how to tune out the noise. Now I was learning how to hear noise again. Just a different kind.

Instead of a drunk backstage brawl that always followed a show, it was the rustle of trees outside my windows. Instead of a woman whose name I never cared to remember screaming beneath me, it was the stir of the wind up in the hills.

It almost seemed as if I was learning how to live another life.

Malik’s Jeep pulled into my driveway at six thirty. I was packing my water when I heard the grind of tires over the gravel, followed by the Prince classic “U Got The Look.” My house sat on the edge of a half-acre yard overlooking endless shrubs and a cascade of mountains. The far side of the property met the steep slope of the canyon. I had no idea who my neighbors were and I doubted they could hear the music blasting from Malik’s car at this hour.

He wore his usual—a baseball cap, a red jersey, black shorts, and sneakers. Ray Bans covered his eyes.

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