Player(89)

I took a shaky breath and let it out.

“That is your choice, son. Will you risk your heart or deny it?”

When I searched for the answer, it was there waiting, a fact as simple and true as it always was.

That answer lit in my heart like a brazier, the flame licking the stars.





33





Every Song, Every Note





Sam

“Come on in,” Jason said, moving a stack of papers from his desk.

The office in the theater was shared by half a dozen people, crammed with desks and shelves and chaos. It was maybe big enough for three people to stand comfortably, four if they were friends, five and things would get real familiar.

That night, it was just the two of us. I closed the door, brushing my sweaty palm on the thigh of my jeans.

“It’s good to see you, Sam. Glad you’re ready to come back. Your sub is playing with unattractive desperation for your spot. Like I’d ever can you,” he said on a laugh. “What can I do for you?”

I reached into my bag, my plan on my lips, riding every heartbeat. “Well, I have something I want to show you—”

The door burst open, and Ian filled the doorframe. His eyes were hot coals in their sockets, and when they landed on me, they flared.

“I should have fucking known I’d find you here. This is your doing, isn’t it?”

Jason glared at him. “Are you accusing me of nepotism, Jackson?”

Ian swiveled his head to laser on Jason. “What if I am?”

“Well, I wouldn’t think that’d be any way to go about getting your job back.” Ian opened his mouth to speak, but Jason headed him off. “I fired you because I found someone better.”

“You’re fucking kidding me. Branson is a reject, a can’t-hack-it wannabe from Des Moines. You’re not seriously giving him my seat, are you?”

Jason’s face hardened. “It’s already done. Part of the problem here is your bad attitude. Case in point.” He gestured to Ian. “But the bottom line is that Branson is better than you.”

“Bullshit,” he shot. “This is bullshit. This is all because of some stupid fucking bet, and now Sam’s got his panties in a twist. I can’t believe you got me fired, you son of a bitch.”

“That’s enough, Jackson. You’ve got two options—you can leave quietly, or I can call security. It’ll be real tough to find a gig once everybody hears about your exit. But grace has never been your thing, has it?”

“Fuck you,” he said, chest heaving with his rage. “Fuck both of you. I hope you’re happy, Sam.”

“Nothing about this makes me happy,” I said, the truth of it hitting me deep.

But he was already turning for the door, passing the threshold, disappearing into the hallway.

Disappearing from my life.

The rubber band around my lungs let go, and I took my first full breath since he’d walked in. “I’m sorry, Jason.”

“Don’t be. I wouldn’t have hired him in the first place if it wasn’t for you—I’ve been wanting to fire him for a year.” He took a seat. “Now, tell me how else I can help.”

And with an unbidden smile, I pulled the papers out of my bag and explained.



Val

I’d told myself I was prepared to see Sam. He’d come back to work eventually, and there I’d be, head high, back firmly to him, and feelings locked neatly in my heart.

I’d had a whole week. An entire week, which was more than triple the time we had actually been together. I mean, together-together.

So seeing him will be a piece of cake, I’d told myself. Easy-peasy. No prob, Bob. Nothing but a G thang, baby.

Lies, lies, lies.

I felt him before I saw him, the air in the room tightening, electric. I turned to look—I had no choice, the reaction autonomous. And there he was, his eyes dark with regret and hope. But he didn’t approach, didn’t speak. He only nodded once, as if to say, I’m sorry, I won’t, I miss you.

And all the bits of my broken heart that I’d collected, all the pieces I’d thought I’d put back together came apart like a house of cards in a breeze.

He moved to the back of the pit. I had to quit watching. I had to stop. I couldn’t see him, couldn’t think. So I turned to my music and flipped through it in a grand show of apathy that didn’t fool anyone, least of all myself.

“Did you hear?” one French horn player to my left said to the other. “Jason fired Ian Jackson.”

“You’re kidding me,” French horn two said.

“Nope. Jenny said she overheard the whole thing. Ian’s pissed. He said something about Sam getting him fired and something about a bet. Have you heard anything?”

Tingling awareness slipped over me.

“No, but I’d pay good money to find out. Anyway, good riddance. If I had to put up with him hitting on me much longer, I would have complained to the union.”

French horn one chuffed. “At least you didn’t make the mistake of sleeping with him. That asshole is on my short list of regrets.”

I couldn’t imagine it was possible that Sam had the power to get Ian fired.

I couldn’t believe he’d gotten Ian fired over me.