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Bracing my hand on the piano, I hopped forward, the bench dragging against the stage when I bumped it.
“I’m sure it’s quite difficult to get around like that,” he observed, hands sliding into his old-man pants.
“It’s better than being dead,” I said, caught off guard by my own brashness. It was one thing to give Ben and Matt hell but another to be disrespectful to the director of the orchestra. His position here at Westbrook was one of the most prestigious. His reputation was so strong that he’d received tenure long before I even enrolled.
Knowing I should apologize, I turned, but his laughter rang out over the stage. Something about it was like nails on a chalkboard. “I suppose it is.”
Forgetting the apology, I grabbed the crutches, shoving them under my arms. My heart was thumping heavily, adrenaline coursing through my veins. The fight-or-flight response rose inside me so fast I didn’t have time to be surprised. All I really wanted was to leave. Because of that, I turned so quickly from the piano that my feet got tangled in the wooden helpers, and I pitched to the side. One of the crutches clattered onto the floor, the loud sound echoing through the large space. The one I was left holding dug into my armpit, making me wince as my fingers tightened around the handle for balance. I managed not to fall, instead just awkwardly sagging toward the floor.
Blowing out a breath, I pushed upright, brushing the hair out of my face.
“You should be more careful,” Director Fields observed, his voice low and oddly emotionless. “Another fall like the one before, and you might not be as fortunate.”
The blood running hot in my veins turned icy, the sudden drop in temperature startling. I sucked in a breath and looked at the older man, trying to read his vibe.
“It sounds like you’re implying something.” I spoke, making an observation of my own. Fear and anxiety might have been pummeling me, but I would not cower.
“Just a concerned director cautioning one of his best musicians.”
Right.
Instead of bending over to get the lost crutch, I squatted, wobbling a bit on my one good foot. Once I had both under my arms again, I started away without another glance in his direction.
I got maybe a foot away when his hand slid around my upper arm. “Miss Park.”
The rubber stoppers on the ends of the wood squeaked against the polished stage, and I stopped moving, body alert but still facing away.
“You should take my advice. Don’t think too much.”
The grip of his fingers felt like a vise around my throat, not my arm. The urge to wrench away from him was so strong, yet somehow I stood there paralyzed and impotent like an animal caught in a trap.
Down below the stage, the door burst open. The forceful way it slammed against the wall was a welcome respite from the turbulence whipping around this room.
“Final girl,” Ben bellowed like he wasn’t even worried he might disturb someone.
The sound of his voice was such a welcome sound I sagged, letting out a light whimper. His head whipped up, seeing us standing there on stage. Everything about him shifted from relaxed confidence to assertive defense.
He jogged up the stairs, taking them two at a time, his sneakers slapping onto the stage when he topped them. “Get your hand off my fiancée,” he practically snarled.
The hand around my arm but choking my throat slipped away instantly, and I sucked in a much-needed breath. “Ben,” I rasped, rotating toward him.
He came forward, and I let go of the crutches, letting them fall at our feet. His arms replaced them, winding around my waist and pulling me in so his body could buffer my weight.
My lungs shuddered as I leaned into him, my body soaking up his warmth and scent like I’d been drained. Without thinking too much, I laid my cheek on his shoulder and turned my face into his neck.
Safe.
“Hey there, baby girl,” he murmured, his voice ruffling my hair. I had to work not to purr when his palm rubbed up my back like he was brushing away everything that ailed me. “Finished up early. Thought we’d come by.”
At his we, I looked up, finding Matt standing just behind his shoulder. “Matty,” I called.
Matt smiled, but then it slipped when his eyes shifted past Ben.
“This guy giving you trouble?” Ben asked.
“Pardon, but I am the director of music here at Westbrook.” Fields began, his voice haughty and creepy.
Ben made a rude sound. “You could be the richest man in the world handing out a billion bucks, and I wouldn’t give a flying fuck because, when I walked in here, you had your hands on my fiancée. Where they do not belong.”
