Chapter Seventeen

 

“Thanks for doing this.” Brooke circled her gaze among Zara, Brendan, Grier, Quint, Melinda, and Luke. “My audition starts Monday, and there are a dozen solos and excerpts on the list.”

She gestured to copies on the coffee table, stacked neatly next to bottles of wine. They were doing her a favor, and the least she could do was provide friendly beverages.

Zara picked up the list. “And you need us because…”

“They’ll ask me to play it differently than I rehearsed. Faster, louder, shorter, in a different order, whatever. That’s what you guys should do. Make unexpected requests to prepare me for anything.”

“Brahms, Symphony Number 2,” Zara called.

“I wasn’t ready.” Brooke laughed.

Zara shrugged. “Not my fault. You said they’d yell at you.”

“I didn’t say they’d yell at—”

“Brahms!” Zara yelled again.

“Okay, okay.” She pinched her violin between her chin and shoulder. Her dumb stomach fluttered. These were her best friends and their boyfriends, and Luke. Was there a word for what they were? He was her technical husband, secretish lover, and friend.

“Braaahms,” Zara demanded, and the others chimed in. “Brahms, Brahms, Brahms.”

She put the bow to the strings and sliced it downward. The resonant first notes shifted into a higher pitch and back again, like her violin was yodeling.

As she completed the piece, her roommates and the guys broke into applause.

“Nope.” She waved her bow at them. “Next?”

Quint called out, “Debussy, La Mer.”

She flipped to the sheets to the piece and began.

Impressionist music was weird and wonderful. Debussy’s collection of notes evoked the image of schools of fish wheeling around in the ocean, but there was little melody. The trickiest part was downbeat at the end of thirty-five, followed by the huge jump to an F-sharp and…

Nailed it!

It ended with a diminuendo, and as she plucked the last few notes, Quint raised his hand.

“Could you play it again, but expressivo? Especially on the trills? You were really serious.”

The only other musician among them, Quint was irritatingly familiar with musical terms. The worst part was he wasn’t wrong. How many times had her conductors given her the exact feedback? Technically great, but she needed to feel the music more.

She began again, allowing herself to have fun, to sway and linger on notes while maintaining the correct tempo. The pace and volume increased throughout the piece until she hit a triple forte at the end, enough to blow your hair back.

Debussy must’ve been high when he wrote this.

She finished again, chest heaving as she caught her breath.

“Perfect,” Quint said.

“Thanks. What’s next?”

“Tchaikovsky, The Nutcracker?” Luke offered.

“You got it.” She winked. Tchaikovsky was one of the composers she’d recommended to him based on his love of John Williams, as well as Holst’s Planets series, especially Venus and Mars.

She played the excerpt, and when it ended, Grier yelled another piece’s name. They continued until Brooke had crossed off every solo and excerpt, replaying them with an increasingly sillier direction from her increasingly drunken friends. Two hours later, they applauded as she bent deep in the waist, quaking with laughter.

Her body was tired in a good way, like at the end of a vigorous workout. She’d demanded effort from her muscles, and they’d responded efficiently, but now they wanted rest.

“Time to reward myself with wine,” Brooke declared. “Except you lushes drank everything already. Back in a second.”

She disappeared into the kitchen, opened a fresh bottle of red, and glugged a healthy amount into a glass printed with, “You Had Me at Merlot.”

“Psst.” Melinda entered the kitchen. “C’mere, I have secret.”

Tipsy Mel was unusual. She didn’t like to lose control.

“Yeah?” Brooked asked. “What’s that?”

Mel slumped against the archway. “Luke likes you.”

She laughed. “That’s not a secret. We’re friends.”

“With benefits? Don’t lie. Friends don’t sleep naked together.”

Brooke’s cheeks heated.

Grier entered the kitchen and swiveled her gaze between Melinda and Brooke. “Are you guys talking about how Brooke’s in love?”

“I’m not in love. Luke’s…”

Zara appeared behind Grier. “Luke’s what? Oh, and Brendan ordered pizza.”

Hooray for Brendan. She was desperate for a slice of cheesy goodness and for distraction from Luke talk. Three pairs of eyes, blue, hazel, and brown blinked, waiting.

She was about to sound a hundred years old. “He’s forbidden fruit.”

Melinda said. “You’ve gone biblical on us. Old Testament, even.”

Zara shrugged. “Why’s he forbidden? Because he’s friends with your brother?”

“At first, yes, but now…because I might be moving.” Brooke knocked back more wine. “And Luke Warren is the kind of man I’d marry, which is a big nope for me.”

“But…” Grier said, lifting her index finger like a philosophy lecturer. “If I may point out the obvious, you’re already married.”

Brooke flapped her hands. “Stop with the technicalities. I mean I’m not prepared to chuck my career to become a wife and mother.”

“First, you’re jumping way ahead of yourself,” Melinda said. “Second, that’s a ridiculous dichotomy. It’s possible to be in a good relationship and chase your dreams.”

“Because when you’re in love,” Grier said. “What’s best for both of you is what’s best for you. If your person is unhappy, you’re unhappy. If he loves you, he’d never ask you to skimp on your dreams.”

“That’s the thing.” Brooke poured more wine in her glass. Coping with this interrogation might end up with her drunk off her ass. “We’re not in love. We like each other, but this isn’t love.”

“Are you sure?” Melinda asked. “’Cause you have hearts and puppies in your eyes for that man.”

“Brooke loves Luuuke,” Grier sang.

“Shut up.” Brooke muscled past her giggling roommates.

What’d they know, anyway? Zara and Grier were mere months into their relationships, and though Melinda and Nathan had been together since the Stone Age, none of them were romance experts. Maybe she had a crush on her husband, but love?

That theory was plain wrong.

~ * ~

With the women gone from the room, Luke, Quint, and Brendan fell silent. He should make an effort with these guys since he’d be seeing them around while he knocked out Brooke’s Honey-Do chores.

“Are you guys from here?” he asked. “Or transplants, like me?”

“From here,” Brendan said. “Balmorons, through and through.”

Quint arched an eyebrow. “Speak for yourself.”

“Like two years in New York siphons the Old Bay from your blood.” Brendan made a sweeping motion with his fingers. “Try again.”

“Don’t forget five years at Duke. That’s more than a quarter of my life in other cities. Not my fault you chose to stay local.”

“Whatever.” Brendan laughed. “You came back.”

The good-natured ribbing indicated a deep familiarity. They must be friends outside their relationships with Zara and Grier.

“How long have you guys known each other?” he asked.

“Since birth,” Quint answered. “We’re cousins.”

His satisfaction from being right conflicted with vague disappointment that he wasn’t on equal footing with these guys. He sipped his water then said, “It’s nice that you hang out.”

“Agreed,” Brendan said. “We lost touch for a while. He was busy getting his master’s and tearing up Wall Street, and I was getting married, having a kid, and getting divorced.”

“You’ve got a kid?” Luke asked.

“Yeah.” His face erupted into a goofy grin. “Emma’s five, but she’d inform you her half birthday’s next week and her bedtime should be later.”

“What about you?” Quint asked. “Kids? Exes?”

Luke shook his head. “Neither.”

“About that.” Quint leaned forward and planted his elbows on his knees. “Feel free to tell me to shut the hell up, but Grier mentioned a chapel in Vegas, a mistake, and a courthouse in Baltimore.”

“All true.” With fake nonchalance, he set his glass down.

“But you’re here.” Brendan gestured at him then pointed to the kitchen. “Helping her out, even though you’re divorcing.”

“Also true.”

“Nice that you’re friendly.” He shrugged. “When my ex and I were splitting up we barely spoke to each other. And you’re best friends with her brother, aren’t you?”

“Yeah.” These guys knew too much. Brooke’s roommates were a chatty bunch of security risks.

Quint laughed through his fist. “You tagged your best friend’s sister, and he hasn’t murdered you?”

“He doesn’t know, and we plan to keep it that way.” Luke shifted in his chair. This was more uncomfortable than the background interview. “He lives in Nevada.”

“Good thing,” Quint said. “It’d be a trick to keep something like that quiet. Though, I don’t know why it’s a secret. On the real, Brooke and I go back to middle school, and she’s never been this happy.”

The intel thrilled him, but he played it cool. “She’s excited about possibly moving and traveling.”

“There’s that.” Brendan lifted a shoulder. “But Zara said she’s been preoccupied by one thing lately, and it isn’t her job prospects in D.C.”

“What are you guys talking about in here?” Brooke strolled over to the coffee table and began packing up her violin. “FYI, the answer better be how amazed you are by my musicianship.”

“Definitely.” Quint winked at Luke.

“Not to be a killjoy, but I’m hitting the hay,” she said. “Thanks for your help tonight. I feel good about my chances.”

“Like you didn’t already,” Quint said.

“True, but now I have feedback to support my confidence. The thing about an orchestra is, I could be the best violinist to audition, but I have to fit with the overall sound.”

“Like when Les Claypool auditioned for Metallica,” Quint said. “Amazing musician, but his style didn’t mesh with their music.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” Brooke snapped her fingers. “Oh, Luke, I almost forgot. You left something here. Back in a second.”

She scurried up the stairs.

“That’s my cue.” Luke rose from his chair. “Nice meeting you.”

She bounded down the stairs and handed him his shirt from the other night.

“Thanks.”

He opened the door, and she followed him out to the stoop. As he stood there, he clutched the shirt and shifted his weight. Leaving when she was on the cusp of an important day was weird.

“Call me if you need me,” he said. “Do you have my work number?”

“I don’t want to bother you at the office.”

“It’s fine.” He searched her eyes. “Please take my number.”

“Fine. Let me get my phone.” She disappeared into the house for a moment then came back with her device. “Okay, shoot.”

He rattled off his number, and she repeated it back.

“There. Saved.” She hit a button and lowered her phone.

Good—now she could get him everywhere.

“Will I talk to you before the audition?” he asked.

“I’m not sure, but definitely after. And next week, I’ve got performances and baptism errands with my Mom. CJ, Helena, and the baby’ll be here in like, ten days, and Mom’s starting to freak out.”

The reality of CJ bursting this bubble was almost enough to cool him off.

“Then break a leg.” He curved forward to kiss her on the cheek. “You’ll do great.”

She turned her face and her lips connected with his, soft and sweet.

“There,” she murmured. “That’s a proper good night considering I might not see you for a full week. Now go before you wreck my plans for a good night’s sleep.”