Space (Laws of Physics #2)(21)

The closest anyone had come to ‘friendly’ was when Rolling Stone had done a profile on the exceptional children of famous musicians. The journalist mentioned something about Mona DaVinci only being animated while she discussed advances in the field of physics with an audience of high school seniors.

According to the article, Mona donated some of her free time to a foundation dedicated to advancing women in STEM fields. Mona flew around the country a few times a year, giving speeches to assemblies in rural areas and underserved schools. Apparently, she was also a philanthropist. I didn’t know why, but evidence of her good deeds aggravated me.

However, the rest of the article went on to describe her as single-mindedly focused on her research and the foundation, disinterested in questions about all other facets of life.

At one point they’d asked, “Do you think you’ll ever get married?”

To which she’d responded, “Irrelevant. Next question.”

Then they’d asked, “Anyone special in your life?”

To which she’d responded, “Yes. The Large Hadron Collider at CERN. Next question.”

And that made me laugh. It also pissed me off when her responses in interviews made me laugh.

Kaitlyn pulled me out of my thoughts by bumping my shoulder. “Hey there, Abram. What’s going on in your brain? You are behaving in odd and uncharacteristic ways.”

I lifted an eyebrow at her. “What do you mean?”

She studied me for a moment before asking, “Why are we here?”

“To write music.” And to assuage my . . . curiosity.

Curiosity was not the right word, but it was definitely a part of why we were here now.

When Leo had suggested the trip three days ago, I thought he was nuts. I didn’t see how I could drop everything for several days and go to Aspen for New Years, just two weeks before leaving for the tour. But then he mentioned we’d have to share the house with his sister. Mona.

We’d left New York for Aspen the next day.

Revenge was a construct I used to actively avoid, the idea of it both repulsive and tempting. Repulsive because my parents had raised me better, and tempting because . . . Honestly?

I’d always felt injustice on a visceral level. Fairness was a sore spot, a stumbling block, the wall I banged my head against instead of searching for a door or a window. When I was younger, I’d avoided the temptation of seeking vengeance, made better choices, been a better person, had more restraint and self-control.

Now? Not so much.

So, yeah. I was curious. Given what she’d done to me, what would revenge against Mona DaVinci look like? What could I possibly do to this generation’s Einstein that would be a just settling of accounts between us? Maybe nothing. Maybe she was too frosty and couldn’t be touched. Maybe I didn’t want revenge at all. Maybe I didn’t care.

I was on the fence, committed to nothing, not a place I spent much time.

Presently, Kaitlyn’s eyes narrowed slightly. “You haven’t written new lyrics in over a year.”

I tilted my head to the side, avoiding her searching glare. “All the more reason for me to write now.”

“You’re being quiet,” she accused.

“Am I?”

“Yep. You’ve been quiet since we left New York. And you’ve been pensive. I’m not used to pensive Abram. I’m used to salty, sarcastic Abram. What’s going on? Is your manbun too tight?”

I shrugged, forcing another smirk. “Just tired.”

“Falsehood. Untruth. Lie.” She punctuated the triple accusation with chords, singing the words in a falsetto voice like an opera singer.

My grin this time was genuine. The only thing bigger than Kaitlyn’s talent and her vocabulary was her personality.

“Let it go, Kaitlyn.”

She removed her hands from the instrument, turned at the waist, and leaned away to inspect me. “Are you nervous? Worried? About the tour?”

I shook my head, my eyes dropping to my hands. “No.”

“I would be, if I were you. It’s okay to be nervous. You’ll do great. It’ll be great. You’ve been playing live for years.”

“I’m not nervous.”

“But you’re not excited either?”

I shrugged again, movement by the big staircase drawing my attention. Leo was walking down the stairs, taking them slowly, a frown on his face.

I sat up straighter, wondering what had happened to make Mona yell and if she was truly okay, or hurt and hiding it, or what?

Stop thinking about her.

“I’m ambivalent about—” I paused, sighed, frowned “—about it,” I finally answered.

Kaitlyn made a snorting noise, and then said, “Scoff.”

I cut my eyes to her. “Did you just say, ‘Scoff’?”

“Yes. Scoff-scoffety-scoff-scoff. You are crazypants, Abram Fletcher. I know what ambivalent means. How can you be uncertain about the tour? You have the number one song in the country—”

“No. We have the number one song in the country.”

“You know what I mean, it’s your song.”

“No.” I turned to face her. “It’s our song.”

“It’s our musical composition, but they’re all your words. It’s seventy-five percent your song, at least. And the rules of scientific digits mean that it’s your song. But that’s beside the point. As I was saying, you have the number one song in the country, and two others climbing the charts. That’s a BFD.”