Chapter 25

Chapter Twenty-Five

Dahlia

H oly shit, this is one of the larger practice rooms, and it’s set up like an auditorium. I’ve never had to perform like this before, and I hide my shaking hands in the fabric of my wide-legged trousers as I walk across the stage.

Sullivan is standing there, trying to look relaxed, but I can see the worry knitted between his brows.

My stomach is in knots, I can taste the bile burning at the back of my throat, yet I refuse to puke. There’s nothing in my stomach, so that’s probably for the best.

God, there’s so many people in this room.

“Dee,” Sullivan hisses, walking up to me. Everyone else is chatting amongst themselves, which means they haven’t realized I’m on stage yet. “There are students finishing up classes, and Arina told them you’re performing. They’re going to be filing in?—”

The loud bang of the door opening makes me roll my eyes.

“Well that’s fucking awesome,” I grumble under my breath. “I hope her popcorn is always stale and she gets chlamydia.”

Sullivan barks out a laugh, shaking his head. “Damn, I think you’re one of my favorite people,” he says.

“You’re not one of mine today,” I mutter. “How is this going to work? I have the song memorized, but my notebook is in my bag. It’s not perfect, either. That’s what I was working on with the coach.”

“Deep breaths, neither one of us is allowed to start spiraling,” Sullivan says. “Your voice is warmed up from your lesson, so that’s one thing you don’t have to stress about. What is the song that you’re working on? We’ll just turn this into a jam session. You and me, fuck the audience.”

“Sullivan,” I groan, frustrated. “I can’t sing The Forgotten in front of these people. It’s too raw. I’ll give them nightmares.”

“Then maybe that’s what they fucking deserve,” he says with a shrug. “I’ll tell them that this is impromptu, and I’ve been wanting to work with you anyway on your songwriting. So how raw are we talking?”

“Ahh, it's the things that bump in the night and sleeping on the streets kind of raw,” I say with a wince. “These rich people are going to try to get me kicked out of the school.”

“The board already said that no matter what happens upon this stage, you’re staying enrolled as a student and remaining in our employ,” Sullivan growls. “Start the song, and I’ll follow. Go grab the notebook, I’ll harmonize to you.”

Turning, I rush out of the room, hoping he knows what he’s fucking doing.

“What’s going on?” Ciara asks, just outside of the door.

“Torture,” I grunt, leaving her to follow me.

“Do I get to stab someone?” she asks, making me burst out laughing. I think this gig may be understimulating for her.

“Unless you’re willing to stab snot-nosed kids with too much time and money, unfortunately not,” I say, opening my locker in the employee lounge.

“Explain,” Ciara says slowly.

Sighing, I do as I pull out my notebook. “One of the students here is saying that I’m not pulling my weight, and that it’s unfair that I have a place at the school when there are others that deserve it more,” I explain. “So now, I have to prove that I can hack it by baring my soul with a song that is in progress.”

“You’re in here practicing extra hours before you go home several times a week,” Ciara says. “Even outside of your work duties, lately you’re here after everyone else is gone. Who the fuck is saying that?”

She may be quiet around everyone else, and I sometimes wonder what she’s thinking about, but she’s very observant. Ciara knows what I’m about, not that I’m hiding my drive to succeed.

“Arina,” I reply, closing the locker again.

“What does Sullivan say?” Ciara asks, already on her phone, to send out a quick text. I’m sure she’s messaging Jack, which as her boss, I understand the gut instinct. She protects my body from danger, and Jack protects the rest of me.

“He’s doing this with me,” I say, heading back to the auditorium.

“This will be interesting,” she says. “I’m going to join you inside the room, since everyone else is there now. I’ll be watching the door and the perimeter. You just go make that girl drown in her jealousy.”

“On it,” I promise, opening the door with a smile. “Thanks.”

“Oh, Jack is on his way. You haven’t eaten today he said,” Ciara says, brow raised as she glances up from her phone.

“Forgot my lunch and all of my snacks,” I groan. “I’m sure he’s not pleased about that.”

“You were rushing,” she says with a shrug. She knows the way I am in the morning better than anyone. “I thought it was in your bag. I’ll start reminding you.”

“That’s not your job,” I remind her.

“Hush, go show people what you can do,” she says, shooing me before we walk into the room and her face goes back into neutral.

It’s like talking to someone with a split personality, I swear.

Forcing myself not to rush, I walk up onto the stage again, and Sullivan grins at me. Speaking of masks and personas, the head of Melton School of Music is officially ‘on’.

“Can I have your attention please,” Sullivan says into the microphone, and I smile tightly at him. There are two chairs on the stage, along with a place for my notebook and two guitars.

Thankfully, the instrument I usually practice on is here, so I won’t have to adjust to playing on something different from normal.

“A few very interesting comments have reached my ears,” he continues. “I created this school, so that people who love music could learn in an environment that both pushed them to reach new heights and would respect their privacy. You may have noticed the high levels of security, and the fact that we took all of your devices when you came in.”

I had noticed that security took longer than usual to process our visitors, but was too busy today to realize why. I guess this is why.

“My father recognized my love for music, and made sure I took lessons for them, which is why his name is on the school,” Sullivan says. “What we are not going to do is shame people who have every right to be here, as are your own children. Today, Dee is going to play a work in progress. It is not intended to be perfect, but instead to show you how this school works.”

“Why are there two guitars up there?” Arina yells, and I almost want to tell Ciara she can go ahead and kill the bitch. She wouldn’t, but a girl can dream.

“As one of our students has so helpfully noticed, there are two guitars up here, because I’m also playing with her,” Sullivan explains. “This is an exercise to show you how students are supported at Melton, not thrown to the wolves. Dee has also expressed her concern, since the song she’s currently writing isn’t finished. The words are raw and honest, and I’m in no way responsible for how it makes you feel. Neither is she. Dee and I are going to have some fun together up here, to showcase how gifted she is.”

It’s a big ole ‘fuck you’ to those who are pushing for this to happen, and some of the parents and guardians look uncomfortable as Sullivan turns to me.

“That should make them think about some things,” he mutters, his face away from the mic. Smirking, I sit in the chair nearest to the microphone, and pick up a guitar.

Sullivan follows, making sure that the mic is still off.

“Play me the melody for this,” he says.

Making sure the guitar is well tuned, I play the first few notes of the song, and Sullivan nods. He harmonizes easily, and when I glance at him in surprise, he smirks at me. He’s a natural, which is why he took a chance on me.

He also reminds me that music is supposed to be fun, a way to give my words another layer of meaning. It’s as therapeutic as it is challenging, but I also picked up learning things quickly.

I’ve gotten a lot of sidelong glances as I moved from the class filled with fourteen-year-olds to a more advanced level.

Taking a deep breath, I start to sing, ignoring when Sullivan reaches over and turns on the microphone. My voice gets stronger and more steady as I sing about how no one notices the girl huddling for warmth in the alley, or the person who is simply struggling to get through the day. The soul has many points where it can shatter, so how do you put yourself back together again?

Sullivan’s deeper voice makes me grin wildly despite the solemnity of the words. He picks up the song as if he’s always known the words, flipping the page effortlessly as we sing. I’ve never just played like this before, and it’s kind of addicting.

Now I can see why his eyes sparkled when he suggested it.

You pass by as if I’m not worthy to notice.

As if my filth is contagious.

You don’t know my story.

You haven’t felt my pain.

We need to do better. Be better.

Blindness is a choice.

Kindness is the solution.

But that's a dream for a different me.

I’m forgotten on these streets.

Drowning in the madness.

Can’t you see I’m reaching out…?

Can’t you see me…?

Or am I no longer visible…

As the words fade, I quickly brush away the tears I didn’t realize had escaped, my lips twisting in embarrassment. God, I hate crying in general, doing it in front of my peers just feels weak.

Sullivan tugs me to stand as the audience remains silent before exploding into applause. There are a few people who are crying, but I did warn them it was raw and emotional.

“I trust this will be the last time anyone suggests that I’m going soft,” Sullivan growls. “This will conclude the Open House. Please leave in an orderly fashion, and don’t forget to pick up your belongings with the guard.”

Turning off the microphone, Sullivan blows out a breath. “I’m sorry I made you do this,” he grunts. “You were incredible for the record. Ah, and there’s your boyfriend now. I’m sure he’s going to kick my ass for this.”

“He would not,” I gasp, grabbing my notebook and turning to find Jack. If thunderclouds could be shrunk down, that’s what you’d find in his mismatched gaze right now.

Shit.

Heading in his direction, I walk down the stairs, taking his hand when he offers it.

“You sing beautifully,” he murmurs. “I hardly ever get to catch you practicing.”

I don’t do it on purpose, but my mistakes feel glaring and ugly to me, especially when I sing. So while I’ll practice the guitar at home, I’ll only sing when I’m alone.

“Thank you,” I rasp. “This was very impromptu.”

“I heard,” Jack says, glaring at his friend as he follows behind me.

“Let me clear the school, and then you can punch me if you want,” Sullivan grunts. “I kind of want to kick my own ass. Dee was fucking impressive, though.”

“Please tell me you’re not going to hit him,” I sigh. Jack raises a sub sandwich bag, head motioning for me to follow him.

“How shaky are you from not eating all day?” he asks instead, his hand on the small of my back as we walk.

People stare at us as we move past, and Arina is speaking to what appears to be her father. He’s a bit taller than me, wearing a dark double-breasted suit and nice shoes, and I can see the tattoos peeking out along his neck and knuckles.

The man leans forward as I begin to walk past them, as if trying to memorize my face.

A shiver races down my spine at his closeness, and Jack moves me, so I’ll walk along his other side.

“Do you have a problem, Sir?” Jack asks. It’s surprising that he’s so polite, but I can see why. This is Sullivan’s school, and Jack’s security company is on retainer.

“Why is she so good?” Mr. Adamson asks. “Isn’t this a new student with no previous education? What kind of trick is this?”

“Some people have music in their soul,” Jack says, shrugging. “Dee is one of those people. She’s moved very quickly in her education, as you just saw. There’s no trickery to it, just raw gifts. Everyone who walks into this school has to audition in some form or fashion. You know this.”

“Yes, I do. My daughter told me she didn’t deserve a place here,” Mr. Adamson says. “I will be sure she curbs her tongue. Jealousy is an ugly thing. Let’s go home, Arina. I’m ashamed of you.”

“But, Papa…” She sighs. Arina shuts her mouth when he glares at her, and as they leave, so do the other people who were watching the exchange of words.

“I should be helping Sullivan,” I tell Jack as we walk into the lounge and I sit down. I’m starving, my hands shaking as the adrenaline begins to fade.

“Nah, he’ll be alright,” Jack grunts, getting a plastic plate and a bottle of water from the fridge. “Eat, baby girl. I can see your hands shaking from here.”

Waving the white flag, I open up the paper wrapping my food, and Ciara pops her head into the room.

“What was that about with Mr. Adamson?” she asks. Ciara has specs of everyone who will walk into the school, including students and parents. Today was a nightmare for security because of all the new people.

Everyone on the team has been a little on edge.

“I think Arina pushed her father into that little stunt,” Jack grunts. “I need the team to dig deeper into him. I think he showed too much interest in Dee.”

“Yeah?” Ciara frowns. “I saw a skull tattoo that makes me think that may be a good idea.”

“Like a gang tattoo?” I ask softly, taking a bite of my late lunch. It’s an Italian sub and delicious.

Jack describes a tattoo that Bronwyn saw when that gang member attacked her, and Ciara nods. “Well, there went my very boring babysitting job,” she teases, smirking. “I’ll be outside the door if you need me. Glad you’re eating, Dee.”

Watching her slip out, I focus on eating, really hoping that he’s not connected to Gareth. The Boxley gang could believe anything my stepfather tells them, thinking I’m a runaway that needs to be returned. I’d rather just get to live my life, thank you.

Jack sits next to me, quickly updating his team as I rest and just process everything. I can’t believe I sang that song in front of so many people! While the tears have dried on my cheeks, the remembered emotions I felt as I sang it, still wait for me to acknowledge them.

Sullivan opens the door to the lounge, looking tired as he walks inside.

“I did know Adamson was a Boxley member, by the way,” he says, sitting next to me. “I don’t know why that’s important. Ciara just interrogated me.”

“Ugh, I don't want to get into it,” I groan, taking a sip of water. “My life is imploding, that’s all.”

“Dramatic much?” Sullivan grunts. Jack and I simply gaze impassively at him, and he blinks slowly. “You’re not being dramatic.”

“Nope,” I respond. “You heard the words I sang, do you think I’m someone who freaks out easily?”

“Not at all,” he says slowly. “How the hell do I help protect you from something I don’t understand, Dee?”

I gaze at the wall stonily, mad at the world. I want to keep my secrets, because I don’t want anyone to pity me or look at me differently. I’m a fucking survivor, not a tragic tale.

“Okay, let’s do this,” Jack says softly. “Somehow, a person from Dee’s past found her over the weekend. He sent her an email he shouldn’t have been able to find, threatening her. This is connected to Bowen getting the shit beaten out of her by a Boxley gang member.”

“You’re not running from the Boxleys though, are you?” Sullivan asks. “This is too cloak and dagger for it to be about that.”

“No, my stepfather,” I rasp, swallowing hard as I look back at him. “I think he’s working for them. There’s more to it, but Mr. Adamson was really interested in me. I’m unsure if it’s because of my performance, or if he somehow recognized me. Based on the email that my stepfather sent me, it makes me think that he knows I work for you.”

“Which means, he’s going to try to break her down by taking the things she loves,” Jack rumbles. “Dee loves this job and going to school here. It would hurt for her to lose that.”

“Well, we just solidified your position here,” Sullivan says. “The only reason we’d have an issue is if you broke the code of conduct.”

My eyes shift to Jack and he shakes his head sharply. Gareth may threaten to send that photo, but it’s proof of raping a minor and child pornographic material. He wouldn’t risk it, even if it would do the job.

“Jedi mind fucking?” Sullivan asks sullenly. “I don’t need to know, but I feel really left out.”

My lips twitch despite the darkness of our conversation. “I thought of something that could possibly be an issue, but Jack said it’s not,” I explain. “Yes, I know I’m being cryptic.”

“Okay, okay. Jack, I really was thrown when Adamson and Arina loudly complained that I was playing favorites to anyone who would listen. He was on the tour, because his son is attending in the spring. Personally, I think he didn’t need to be here,” Sullivan says.

“Yeah, I’m starting to think that was all a set up to embarrass Dee,” Jack says begrudgingly.

“Well, I can reduce the access that parents have to the school beginning immediately,” Sullivan says. “They’ll need to schedule an appointment if they want to come by. This will reduce whatever fuckery Adamson has going on.”

“I’ll update the security team as well,” Jack says, firing off a text to Rivek. “Thanks for that.”

“What do you mean!” Sullivan yells, finally losing his patience. “I would be fucking lost without Dee here. She’s usually the first person here and the last one to leave. I don’t want my employees, or my students hurt, Jack. Stop keeping me in the goddamn dark!”

Ciara steps into the room, silently watching as Sullivan screams at us. I think she might let him throw a punch at Jack. It’s impossible to know with her.

Blowing out a breath, Jack drops his phone on the table, leaning in. I think that’s a bad call, because it puts him even closer to Sullivan’s fists, but they’re both big boys. They’ll figure it out.

“I have a lot of irons in the fire with my team, and it didn’t occur to any of us to also look into the students’ parents for gang activity,” he says. “I spend about ninety percent of my day, worried someone is going to take the women I love away from me. I already lost Dee once. Bowen and I wouldn’t survive that a second time. I’ll cut you a little slack if you do the same for me.”

Sullivan’s jaw grinds together as he gazes at Jack before nodding. “It’s been a long fucking day, I’m about ready to go home,” he mutters.

Glancing at the clock on the wall, I sigh. It’s already five. Where the hell did the time go?

I guess I got enough real world practice today, I’ll start working on scoring that song. Chewing my lip, I think about Sullivan’s harmony.

“Hey, do you mind if I write The Forgotten as a duet?” I ask Sullivan. “I didn’t think it would work, but I really love it.”

“Of course,” Sullivan says, some of the anger draining from his gaze. “Go for it. If you hit a snag, give me a shout. As much as it sucked having to blindside you with this, I had fun jamming with you.”

“It did look like you just happened to decide to play together instead of what it was,” Jack admits.

The tension dissipates, and I decide testosterone ridden friendships are very odd. They’re complicated, yet not. I feel exhausted just watching them.

“I need a nap,” I announce, yawning. “Is everyone gone?”

“I’ll check the cameras, but you’re good to head home,” Sullivan says with a nod.

Smiling, I grab my stuff, ready for a nap, ice cream, and then dinner in that order. If you can’t have a little fun as an adult, then I want no part in it.