Page 4 of Perfect Composition
“Then you can be the one to calm Daddy when she announces she’s decided to cash out her college fund to try DJ’ing full-time.” I pause for dramatic effect. “In New York City.”
“Who gave her that cockamamie idea?” Ethan grumbles.
My eyes widen. “Why, apparently it was you, E. She saw how successful your website and business are doing and decided to mimic it on a grander scale.”
Jesse reaches over and punches him. “Great move, genius.”
“How the hell was I to know…” Ethan protests.
“Because music is all she’s breathed since she was a little girl,” I remind them. “I’m proud of Austyn for finding the way to make her dream come true. What I will not have is Daddy coming down on her like an overbearing boar. She is a strong woman now who is fully capable of making rational decisions.”
“He means well,” Ethan argues.
My heart softens. “I know. But when the two of you have children, you can decide if his persistent interference is well-meaning or stifling. Like this man you want me to meet. Who’s the one who wants me to meet him?”
Jesse’s gaze drops to his boots. I roll mine heavenward. “Precisely my point. It’s time for a Kensington to make their mark outside of Texas.”
“But do you think she can make it in music?” Ethan’s eyes cast toward the big-screen television.
I reach over and grab his chin in my hands and jerk it back hard. “Don’t. Don’t you dare compare her to him. Not ever.”
“It’s kind of hard not to…”
“Not ever, Ethan. Not in your mind, not in your heart. She doesn’t exist for him by his own choice.” I release his chin. “Now, I think I’m done celebrating our forefathers. Despite how lovely the fireworks were earlier, I’m going to head home and worry about the kind of explosions our actual father is going to have when he hears his granddaughter is leaving college.”
Setting my empty bottle down, I turn around and find myself engulfed in the arms of my oldest brother. For a moment, I let myself do something I so rarely do.
I lean on someone.
“It will work out, Paigey. No matter what, things will work out just the way they’re supposed to. And besides, Dr. Kensington,” he teases me, “you built yourself an impressive life here.”
“You’re right. I did. And I’m proud of it,” I lie aloud. I’ve done it so often, I’ve convinced myself as well as everyone around me. For just a second, my eyes bounce off the television.
But what would my life have been like if I’d hadhim? The one man who made my heart sing?
Ethan shoves Jesse aside to give me a swift hug before I manage to escape them and worm my way through the bodies packed into Rodeo Ralph’s.
But before I make my way down the street to my car, I can’t help but turn around one final time to torture my heart. Beckett is at the entrance to the movie theater now with the lovely blonde. There’s a look of pride on his face I’d have given my soul for when Austyn was eleven and she was declared a prodigy, a virtuoso by her music teacher.
Much like her father is.The thought works its way insidiously into my thoughts as I turn away from the image that won’t leave my brain like any of the others since he ran off, leaving me to face our small town at seventeen, alone and pregnant.
Instead, I replace it by pulling up an image of my daughter in my mind. She’s unmistakably ours, created from a young girl’s heart and a young man’s lust.
Shoving aside the bitterness and focusing on the miracle I’ve raised, I recall the day I asked her music instructor during a parent-teacher conference when a lovely composition soothed my ragged nerves, “Who’s the composer? This piece is lovely.”
He stood and held open the door before gesturing me through it.
The sounds of the harp became more pronounced as we moved outside his office. For some reason, I found myself wanting to hiss when his deep baritone interrupted the beauty.
But it was his words that held my tongue. “Like I said, she’s a virtuoso.”
“That’s Austyn?” My whisper trailed away with the crescendo of notes.
“Indeed, Dr. Kensington.” And through the windowed door, I saw her lost to the notes I knew were floating in her mind. It was in that moment, I realized how much of her father she has in her. The same dreamy smile tipped up her lush lips as her finger plucked away at the fine strings. Her long lashes fanned out, hiding eyes that held room for only one lover.
Music.
As I rush down the street to my car, the old wound opens enough to cause a trail of unseen blood to pour from me as I recall Beckett crawling from our bed of trampled-down grass and a saddle blanket to compose a song with just that look on his face. It wasn’t long after, he left me and never returned. He never looked back, not once. Never for the woman he claimed to love forever and certainly never to find out about the miracle he helped create.
