Page 116 of Beat of Love
“To talk,” Rafferty returned in the same impatient voice.
“About the ranch?”
Rafferty folded his arm and lifted his brows. “No.”
“Then we have nothing to discuss.”
“Oh, for goodness’s sake, Aidan,” a woman said. “Stop acting like a petulant tween. One in our home is enough. And you’re letting in the cold air.” The door opened fully to reveal Cecelia. “Evening, Raff.”
“Cecelia,” he replied, tipping his chin in greeting.
“Aidan.” She prodded her husband’s side. “Move your cumbersome cowboy carcass out of the way and let your brother in. You can talk in the library.”
Aidan aimed an annoyed glance at his wife but duly stepped aside. “Follow me,” he growled, turning around.
Warmth rushed over Rafferty’s chilled body as he stepped across the threshold. He caught a glimpse of flames flickering behind glass panels — part of the massive double-sided stone fireplace in the center of the vast room. And the giant television was on, an animated movie paused. But before he could take in more, an impatient growl from his big brother pulled his attention to the right. The man stood in front of a set of doors, his arm extended in a clear “this way” gesture
Rafferty followed.
He looked around with interest. Floor-to-ceiling shelves lined two walls, crammed with books, framed photographs, and eclectic ornaments. Two plush sofas faced each other across a narrow coffee table, itself stacked with more books. On one side of the room, a large worktop with high-backed roller chairs hinted at a space used for both school projects and conversation.
But it was the piano that caught his eye — tucked into the corner where the shelves met. With its lid open, the keys gleaming under the soft glow of recessed lighting, polished and waiting, like someone might sit down and play at any moment.
He moved toward the baby grand, brushing his fingers lightly over the keys. Smooth, cool, achingly familiar even after all these years. “Who plays?” he asked, his voice quiet, almost reverent. “Valentino.”
He peeked at the sheet music open on the rack, the pages slightly curled at the edges.Star Wars. It was a piece he’d played as a youngster. A smile tugged at his lips, the reason for his visit momentarily forgotten as nostalgia wrapped around him like awarm blanket. His fingers itched to move, to coax sound from the keys. “What happened to our piano?” The old upright had given him many hours of joy.
“Ti used it when he and Vin first came here,” Aidan said. “But when we moved here and bought this one, Ma agreed to donate it to the senior center in town.” He shrugged. “There was no use for it anymore.”
The barb in Aidan’s tone hit its mark.
Rafferty turned away, putting his back to the memory.
“If you want to play …” his brother said, voice rough with restraint. An invitation, but also not.
Rafferty stood still for a beat, uncertain. But the itch to play — the pull of muscle memory, of something once loved — was stronger than pride.
He moved to the bench and sat, fingers hovering just above the keys, still hesitant. His gaze drifted to the sheet music, familiar notes staring back at him. Slowly, his fingers settled on the keys — tentative at first, like greeting an old friend after too long apart.
The keys were familiar, but his fingers felt stiff, awkward, and he stumbled through the first few bars, clumsy and slow.
Then something shifted.
Muscle memory stirred, nudging the notes into place. The music took hold, warming him from the inside out, and suddenly his fingers moved with purpose. The love of it rushed back in, sweeping hesitation away like a tide.
“Who’s playing?” The shout rang out, followed by the sharp slam of wood against wood.
Rafferty jolted. His hands crashed down on the keys, the sound bursting into a discordant jumble of notes. He yanked them back as if burned, the music severed mid-bar, leaving a jarring silence in its place.
Rafferty shot to his feet, like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Guilt, absurd and immediate, flushed his face.
A boy stood in the center of the room, hands planted firmly on his hips, expression stern and unblinking.
“Who saidyoucould play onmypiano?” he demanded.
Rafferty’s “I’m sorry” overlapped with Aidan’s firm “I did.”
Valentino’s eyes flicked between his dad and Rafferty, suspicion furrowing his brow. “Why?”
