Page 55 of Wicked Ends
“I can’t wait. I’m going to video it; my mom would love to see.”
I nodded and stared out the side mirror at the bike behind us. We had pulled onto campus grounds, and the parking lot for students branched off the left, while the staff lot was straight ahead. It seemed like the bike wasn’t going to turn. Marcus was going to follow me to the lot, and we’d have our showdown even earlier than planned, in front of the entire faculty. But at the last second, he turned. The bike growled and sped to the left toward the student parking lot, and I slumped back in my seat with relief.
Arianna
The school concerthall was impressive. A school like HHU had a big budget to play with, and it showed. It also boasted some powerful and rich alumni and current students. Today, the dean was holding this assembly to thank some donor for renovating the recording studios in the music department.
Some star students were set to perform, and he also wanted me to play. It made sense, since I was the youngest adjunct professor they’d ever taken on at HHU, and even though I was only covering another professor’s leave, the dean wanted to show everyone why he’d given me a chance. He wanted to trot out the music prodigy who’d decided to teach before my music career had ever taken off.
Music students gathered in the seats while I sat onstage beside the other faculty members in the music department. The dean entered with the donor, who was given the best seat in the house, right at the front. Nerves writhed in the pit of my belly. Why had I agreed? Why?
There was a tech guy fiddling with the different instruments set up to perform. The piano was easy to mic up; he just placed two stands with tilted microphones on either side of it.
I glanced at the crowd talking and moving around in the seats and felt eyes on me, as intense and intimate as a finger tracing down my bare spine.
My eyes were drawn to the far end of the concert hall, to a guy dressed all in black, leaning against the back wall. It was too far away for me to make out from here, but I knew who it was.
I could feel Marcus’ eyes like a physical caress. It was him, without a doubt. For some reason, his sturdy gaze helped calm my nerves a little and gave me something else to focus on.
The concert began, and I tried to concentrate on what the dean was saying. A student got up to play the violin, and the beautiful music eased my anxiety for a brief, shining moment. Her song was dark green, like the pine trees around the school. Synesthesia, a distraction and a gift. I’d been a teenager when I’d realized that other people didn’t experience sound through color.
A few more students played, and then the dean called a surprising name.
“Marcus Bailey, a talent on the ice and off. He’s playing guitar for us.”
Marcus strode down the aisle and climbed the stairs, walking over to the guitar stand set up beside a seat. He was in sports gear again. It looked like the one nonnegotiable in his life was hockey. He sank down and picked up the guitar. It was a classical one. His fingers flexed around the neck, and he settled himself, then he started to play.
His blunt fingers moved nimbly over the strings, fingerpicking a beautiful Spanish song. He played with confidence and style, and if I hadn’t already had a problem staying away from the troublemaking young man, then this would have done it.
He was incredible. Gifted. I could have listened to him play all day.
And his music? Blue, like deep water, clear and translucent, shimmering in the sun, with a hint of dark and dangerous depths.
The last note faded from the air, and I clapped harder than anyone. Marcus look up, right at me, and I couldn’t help the smile plastered across my face. Beautiful music, no matter what else was happening in my life, had always been a cause to celebrate. His lips twitched in a ghost of a smirk before smoothing out.
He stood, put the guitar back on the stand, and sauntered to the side of the room. He leaned against the window, much closer than he had been before.
“Now, following department tradition, we will hear our newest recruit.” Dean Eastwood was beaming. He stared at me expectantly.
I stood, nerves making me awkward, and stumbled a step toward the piano. Since Marcus hadn’t returned to the back of the room, I could see him now resting against the window, gazing up at the stage, only a few yards from the piano. My eyes fixed on his. He’d straightened up when I’d stumbled, and I had the strangest feeling right then that he was the kind of man who wouldn’t stand around and watch me fall. I had no idea why that felt so certain, considering the short amount of time I’d actually knownthis man. Something in his steady gaze helped me find the focus I needed to walk across the stage and sit at the piano.
As soon as I sat, it happened.
The trigger was the seat, hard and unbending beneath me, and the smell of the piano this close. It was clear it was kept in a damp, rarely used room, and that intensified the smell of felt and glue; a distinctive, earthy scent.
And the memory hit me.
“Oh, my goodness! You were wonderful!” my sister-in-law, Claire, enthused. She unlocked her front door and went into the house ahead of me.
My hands were full of flowers. My best performance yet had just taken place, and I was over the moon. Lulu, my niece, was at my side.
“Can you teach me to play, Auntie A?”
“Sure I can.” I smiled at the youngest member of the family. She was so adorable. Since my grandparents had died, the only people who could make me smile at home were Claire and Lulu.
And then, just like that, the sound of male voices booming through the wall spoiled my mood.
Claire froze and gaped at me. I shook my head. I hadn’t expected my brother and his friends to be here either.
