“What?” I demand.
Madison tries to hide her smile and fails. “Cathy called.”
I blink at her. Cathy Brennan is the musical director I’ve worked with for years. She schedules the concert seasons and knows exactly which soloists go with which conductors. She was the first person who called me after I started canceling my life. She left two voicemails I didn’t return.
My stomach flips. “Why did she call?”
“She saw the video,” Madison says. “Apparently, half the city saw the video.”
“Oh God.” I put my face in my hands.
“And,” Madison continues, dragging it out for the drama, “she said, and I quote, ‘Now that she’s gotten rid of that leech, tell her to call me back.’”
I snort and choke on my drink. “She did not say that.”
“Oh, she did,” Rowan says. “And she said it louder than she needed to.”
A weird mix of embarrassment and warmth settles under my skin.
Cathy? A show? Me?
Part of me feels a spark of hope I don’t trust yet.
Madison wiggles her eyebrows. “She’s directing some big thing in a couple of months. I think she wants you in it.”
I stare at my drink, unsure whether to smile or cry. “I don’t even know who I am anymore. How am I supposed to perform?”
“Becausethat’swho you are,” Rowan says simply. “You’re the only one who doesn’t see it.”
Before I can respond, the door opens again. Beckett walks in carrying a bowl of popcorn, tortilla chips, and salsa. He also has a fresh round of margaritas. He sets everything on the nightstand and lifts a hand.
“Hi, Piper.”
Despite everything, I smile. “Hi, Beckett.”
“You doing okay?” he asks. His voice is soft in the way he saves for family.
“I will be.”
He nods, seeming satisfied with that answer. Then he leans down and kisses Madison. He has his hand on her cheek like he forgot we exist.
Rowan and I exchange a long look, then we both fake gag loudly. Madison bursts into laughter and shoves Beckett’s shoulder.
“Ignore them,” she says.
“I always do.” He ruffles Rowan’s hair on the way out. “Stay with your sisters tonight,” he tells Madison. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Love you,” she calls out.
He winks and disappears.
“He’s going to grab a beer with Hudson,” Madison says, watching the door with a soft expression.
Rowan scoffs and rolls her eyes at the ceiling. “The head doctor?”
“He’s a psychiatrist, Rowan,” Madison corrects her, her voice taking on that patient tone she uses when she’s defending people she likes. “What exactly is your problem with him? He helped Mom last year.”
“I don’t have a problem with him,” Rowan says, though her jaw is tight enough to snap. “I have a problem with head doctors in general. They’re all the same. Always looking for a crack to fix.”
