Darkestnote

C13

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CADENCE

The lounge is noisy with chatter, clinking forks, and laughter, but I’m in my own world on the piano. My fingers skate over the black and white keys, wrenching
melodies from my twisted soul.
I should be enraptured right now. This week at Redwood was quiet. Mostly because the Cross brothers haven’t been gliding down the hallways, leaving havoc
and broken hearts in their wake.
Rumor has it, they went to visit their mom. In their absence, my locker hasn’t been tampered with. My keyboard’s been kept clean and the music teacher has
no more bright ideas to force me on stage.
The quiet was supposed to make me feelsafe, but it only set me more on edge.
Dutch isn’t the type to back off easily. I haven’t left Redwood Prep yet which is… obvious. And I drenched his expensive wallet too. He’s going to retaliate.
I just don’t know how.
Or when.
And that frightening wait has been messing with my head.
I inhale deeply and try to push thoughts of his gorgeous face and even hotter physique from my mind.
It doesn’t work and I end up throwing diminished chords into my piece. The music turns choppy, breathing life into my agitation. Or maybe it’s my agitation
breathing life into the melody. Either way, they feed each other.
The piece is my own now. These notes don’t belong to the original composer, but it feels right, so I keep going.
I’m in the crescendo. Eyes closed, swaying, head thrown back. The only place I feel free is here in music. Each note pours after the other. A soothing domino
effect. Rain soaking into cracked, dry soil.
I’m so glad I was able to come back to it. I’m so glad the darkness mom brought into music didn’t keep me from it.
In the middle of my piece, my skin starts tingling everywhere. I open my eyes and scan the crowd.
The lounge is busy tonight. Wealthy patrons flock to this hole-in-the-wall bar, but it’s not for its smoky interior and subtle but elegant decor.
It’s for the temperamental chef who’s made a reputation for himself.
Gorge’s is the kind of place that hands out menus for appearances sake, but they don’t expect customers to order from it. In fact, it’s always easy to tell the
noobs by the way they peruse the booklets.
Gorge is a half human and halfsupernatural creature. He takes one look at a table and knows exactly what to serve, plus the perfect wine to go with it. There’s
never been a table that’s regretted letting him choose.
Or at least, that’s what the manager told me when I started working here.
Rich people and their novelties.
I don’t care if the chef’s ‘super abilities’ are a gimmick. I’m here at Gorge’s because the pay is much higher than bussing. The chef thinks my music ‘pairs
perfectly with his meals’ and it means I get a hefty check at the end of every night plus tips.
Gorge’s is safer than being on the street too. The staff look out for me and though customers do walk up to me and try to flirt sometimes, once I start looking
uncomfortable, one of the girls steps in right away.
I press my fingers gently on the keys, the notes timid and repressed as I try to locate the reason behind the shift in the air around me.
And then I find him.
Dutch is there, in a booth with Finn and Zane. He’s in a faded T-shirt that stretches across his shoulders. His jeans are ripped at the knees. His amber eyes are
like a lion’s, fierce and golden.
My fingers miss the right key and a discordant, ugly note rings through the lounge. No one seems to recognize the fumble, but I still feel flames shooting to my
cheeks. I flunked because he was watching.
Finn and Zane leave the table, their intimidating figures blending into the shadows at the back. Dutch remains seated, his eyes locked on me. His expression is
one I’ve never seen before. It’s still intense, but it’s not as icy. It’s contemplative and a little unpleasant, like he hates the feelings the music is stirring up in him, but
he can’t turn away if he wanted to.
My heartbeat picks up speed because I don’t know what to do with that. Be proud that the god of Redwood Prep is affected by my music? Be sad that it
shows he actually possesses a soul?
I sneak another look at him. He’s got his head tilted now and his eyes are closed. The slant of his mouth hits the light and it’s allI can do to keep playing.
Long-buried restlessness clashes with new anger, like a war of opposing waves.
I’m jerked back to that moment when he trapped me against the outdoor sink, drops of water glistening on his tan skin and his body cut and chiseled to
perfection, pressing into mine.
I hate that he can make me feel this way, out-of-sorts and breathless.
Ripping my gaze from his, I finish the song with trembling fingers, closing out an abrupt ending.
The chair legs scrape the wooden platform as I push back. Ignoring the applause that breaks out from the diners, I pounce to my feet and burst through the
employee-only doors behind the bar.
I need distance. I need a getaway car. But allI can do is wilt against a wall and try to catch my breath.
“Did you see those models outside?”
“I thought I’d faint. I didn’t think people who looked like that existed outside of movies.
“I know right.”
The waitresses stop to squeal for a bit.