Page 39 of Bonus Daddy
Then preschool-age Kit discovered the sounds it made. She lifted the cover off the keys, sat on the bench, and played. She didn’t plunk randomly, with too much force, like one would expect a four-year-old would do. She didn’t bang on it but played, stretching her fingers and experimenting with notes and rhythms, her smile growing wider by the second.
I put her in lessons soon after, and since then, nothing had made her as happy as playing. At her first recital, when she played an amazing rendition of “When the Saints Go Marching In,” I wept with pride.
Her teacher had pushed for her to be included in tonight’s showcase. Some of the best musicians in the tri-state area were here, many a lot older, but Kit belonged here.
She worked hard and practiced nonstop, even though we no longer had a piano. My mom guilt surged each time I thought about it. I’d found a hand-me-down keyboard, though, and my sweet girl hadn’t batted an eye at it. Every night, she’d plug her headphones in and practice. I’d also been able to speak with the administration at her school, and they’d agreed that instead of study hall, she would go to the music room and practice every afternoon on a real piano. It had made the transition to a new school a little less painful, and it had given her plenty of practice time.
She was naturally talented, sure, but she was also passionate. She was dedicated and she was invested, sometimes crying when she couldn’t get a part of the piece right, then beaming with joy when it clicked.
I’d spent my life searching for a passion, yet she’d figured it out before middle school. I was in awe of her.
Tonight, I was in awe, yes, but I was also on the verge of throwing up. This was a big freaking deal. Everyone who was anyone in the classical music world in our area was here to scope out future stars. And I couldn’t imagine handling that kind of pressure at only twelve.
Greta sat next to me in her ruffly blue dress, one of Kit’s hand-me-downs, smoothing the French braids I’d struggled to get right this afternoon. Lana and Max, who’d hired a babysitter for the night, sat on her other side.
“Stop twitching,” Greta scolded, like she was the parent and I was the child. “She’s gonna be amazing.”
I smiled softly at her. I admired her certainty and her faith in her sister.
“She’s practiced so many times. At this point I could play it.”
Tipping closer, I kissed her forehead.
She gave me an annoyed look, pulling back. Then, eyes widening, she tapped my shoulder. “Mom, look.”
I whipped around, and when I caught sight of the three devastatingly handsome men marching down our row with two smaller but just as handsome boys behind them, I gasped.
Brian.
“What are you doing here?” I asked as I stood, causing the cushion of my seat to fly up and bounce against its back.
He shrugged. “I mentioned that I wanted to come cheer Kit on, and they asked if they could tag along.”
“Kit’s our cousin now. We gotta cheer for her.” T. J., grinning a toothless grin, bounced on his toes.
He and Murphy wore navy suits that brought out the blue eyes they’d definitely inherited from their dads. And the four of them together? Sully and Cal looking properly British in their bespoke suits? The sight was devastating.
I swore I could hear swooning in the seats behind us.
“T. J., Murphy,” Greta said. “Come sit by me. My mom let me bring fidgets and snacks.”
“Sweet,” T. J shouted, plowing past me.
Murphy skirted around me with a quiet “excuse me,” and Lana and Max moved down so the kids could sit together.
I made introductions, and after Lana shook Brian’s hand, she turned to me, her eyes bulging. I could only imagine the unhinged texts she’d send later tonight.
Brian shuffled to my side. His beard was trimmed and his suit looked custom. God, he was so good-looking. Just having him here made me feel steadier. He looked powerful and confident as he homed in on me completely.
My stomach, already churning with nerves, flipped.
“Is this seat taken?” he asked shyly.
Sully and Cal had moved to my other side so they could sit next to the boys and were busy chatting with Max about the Metros.
“No,” I said, my cheeks heating. “You didn’t have to come.”
He paused, still standing over me, his face lowered. The intensity in his golden eyes sent a shiver down my spine. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
