Page 163 of Devious Obsession
The theater swells with the music she’s creating. The notes seem to almost tumble over each other, each one clear and precise and melting into the rest. I lean forward in my seat, unable to take my eyes off her.
But then I do, because I need to remember this. I start recording only a minute or two into Aspen’s performance. I zoom in on her slight smile, and the way she’s not even looking at the keys. Her chin stays lifted, her gaze lost in some memory—or just focus as she recalls the piece. There’s no sheet music in front of her, nothing except the great expanse of the piano.
I angle my camera toward her hands and resist the urge to creep closer.
Pride swells in my chest when, after several more minutes of soul-rocking playing, her fingers linger on the keys and the sound fades off into silence. I wipe a tear away. Her pain and loss was so very powerful.
She did that.
Aspen pulls her hands back into her lap and looks down for a moment, her throat working. I end the recording and research where to buy a piano.
I mean, it should probably wait until we have a house… but do Ireallywant her to spend time in a cramped little practice room when she could be playing inourplace?
No, no I don’t.
Besides, I’ve been working on getting us an apartment. Knox and Miles know I plan on moving us out. Aspen has been a good sport about sharing a house with two other guys. Thalia moved in with one of the dance girls. Neither one wanted to linger in that apartment.
No one blamed them.
Aspen’s been having nightmares, though. She wakes up terrified. Sometimes she moans and jerks in her sleep before she snaps out of it. But they’re easing. Every night, I’m there to coax her out of her fear. And I never want to be anywhere else.
“Ready?”
I jump to my feet, closing my browser and stuffing my phone in my pocket. Aspen gives me an odd look, but I just shake my head and hold out my hand to her.
Next stop… my mom’s.
Aspen holds my hand on the drive there, chattering about the piece, the judges, the rush she felt. “I really felt like the passion was there this time. It was agoodaudition, don’t you think?”
“It was brilliant.”
“Well.” She pauses, her face turning red. “Thank you.”
I bring her hand up to my lips, angling for her fourth finger.
The drive is about an hour, out of Crown Point and south on the closest highway. We pass the exit for my hometown, which is no doubt familiar to Aspen, and then drive another thirty minutes.
Mom is in a smaller town, tucked out of the way, in a gorgeous mansion that’s been converted into apartments.
We pull into the parking lot, and I see the confusion that crosses Aspen’s face. I shrug it off and park, then go around and open her door. I wrap my arm around her waist and cinch her to my side, hurrying her into the building.
After signing in, we go down a hallway and into a huge, airy common room. There are plush chairs set around low tables, a few couches. The ceiling is two stories above our heads, with the second story banister open and allowing that floor to overlook the common room. The windows go all the way up, too, letting in a ton of light.
“Steele…”
I glance at Aspen and bite my tongue. We continue toward one of the far corners, where there’s always a chessboard set up.
My mother’s favorite spot.
She’s seated right where I would expect her to be. There’s a glass of water in front of her, near the board but off to the side. All the pieces are set up for a game to begin. Her hair is in a braid, dark brown with streaks of silver in it. Her glasses are perched on her nose, the decorated chain looped behind her neck. And she seems to be focused on the pieces, although she hasn’t reached out to move any.
Perhaps she’s waiting for an opponent.
“Hi, Mom.” I touch her arm.
She smiles up at me. “Oh! Hi, darling.”
“Care to play?”
