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I hear the start of a string of curses forming under Connor’s breath, but he inhales and exhales slowly before asking quietly, “He forced you, Raven? He raped you?”
I shake my head. “Not really. I mean, I agreed to it. I let him. But I didn’t want to. He went too fast. It hurtsomuch.” I clench every muscle in my body and curl tighter into Connor’s body. “I hated it. I didn’t want to see him again, but he said he loved me. He said he was the one who got me in, and he could take me out if I didn’t agree to continue to see him — sleep with him. He has a real ego, that man. No one has ever said no to him in his entire life, and he wasn’t about to let me be the first.”
“What happened, Raven?”
“We dated off and on for the next couple of years. Almost every date ended with required sex, but eventually I fell into this sort of comfort zone with him. In some ways, he was nice to me. Took me places, got me gifts, spoiled me on my birthday and at Christmas. He convinced me this was love. And I was beginning to convince myself that it was love, too. What did I know?”
Connor sits and continues to rub my back, holding me close while I work up the courage to share the rest of the story with him.
“The whole cello section got a night off and all of us girls — there were three of us — went out for a night on the town — dinner and drinks and people-watching in Times Square. We were having so much fun. And then I saw him. He was kissing another woman. His hand was up her shirt. There was no confusion about what was happening. I confronted him right there. He laughed at me and said that I was fun, but I wasn’t someone he could ever be serious about. By the time I could even gather the courage to leave, they were all laughing at me. All of them.”
I hear another sharp intake of breath. I know this hurts him to hear the same way it hurt me to hear about Shana.
“When my third season started, the conductor asked to see me after rehearsal. He said Jemmy had expressed concerns over my dedication to the Philharmonic. Two performances later, I was put on suspension. I was going to have to audition for my spot again. Jemmy told me that I shouldn’t bother. I wouldn’t be picked this time. He was going to make damn sure the name Raven Flynn was on every national orchestra’s black list. My professional days were over.
“I auditioned for the Boston Pops and the Florida Orchestra, but was told they couldn’t use an inexperienced cello player, no matter how well I played. I was ‘too young — too naive in the ways of the world’ to be participating at this level,” I snort with disappointment.
“What did you do?” Connor asks. I sink down and rest my head in his lap, feeling the hard muscles of his thighs against my cheek. His fingers continue to stroke through my hair, soothing me as I slowly release every drop of pain from my heart into his veins.
“I went home with my tail tucked between my legs. My mother never approved of my playing professionally. She said music was a nice hobby, but nobody ever made a living at it. She was adamant Willow and I have lucrative careers. She said we should never be dependent on a man to support us. I heard ‘I told you so’ for two straight years.”
“But you told me your father supported you all, didn’t he?” Connor asks. His finger curls a lock of my hair and then releases it over and over.
I nod. “He did. But, according to my sister, Daddy had lots of women outside of his marriage. It’s why we moved to Chicago. Mom said she didn’t want him seeing his women anymore and insisted we move. So, Daddy got the firm he worked for to transfer us to the Chicago office. He cared about Mom, he wouldn’t divorce her. But he couldn’t be faithful. Free love and all that. She felt trapped. She had no education, no job experience and two little girls to raise. She stayed with him for the money. They have always had a loveless marriage, a marriage of convenience.
“She hated my cello playing. I suppose that’s one of the reasons Mrs. Dean took such a shine to helping me. She knew I wasn’t getting support at home. She invited a friend of hers who taught at Juilliard to come to one of our concerts. I had a solo piece, and when Mr. Emerson heard me play, words like ‘prodigy’ and ‘scholarship’ were thrown around. When they offered it to me, I took it. I loved nothing more than music. It was the only thing I had.
“When I got to Juilliard, I really thought I’d find like-hearted musicians. I’d finally find my people and have friends and mentors to teach me. What I found instead was a group of bloodthirsty cutthroats who would do anything to be the best. They were ruthlessly competitive and cruel. I finished school a year early just to get away. I got an audition with the New York Philharmonic, and that’s when I met … Jemmy.” My voice trembles as the words tumble out.
Connor pulls me close and hugs me tight. His muscles strain under my hold.
“God, Raven. Your poor heart’s been beaten up for so long. I’m so sorry, baby. What happened isn’t right or fair. You’re an amazing musician. I wish you could have kept going.”
“Me, too. But I went to college online, got a degree in business and that is that. I became Elaine Flynn of Pittman and Wright and …”
“… and stopped going on vacation?” Connor finishes my sentence.
“Yes. For so long, Connor. All I heard were the voices of these people telling me to stop being who I was. To be quiet and be afraid. For so long, I wondered if I’d ever hear my own voice again. A couple of times, on this trip, I feel like I have. That day in the shower at the spa, the first time we made love, and sitting there in that chair getting this tattoo, I heard it then. But sometimes, I’m just not sure if I’m still in here anymore, Connor.”
There it is. I gulp for air. My soul feels as though it’s bleeding to death. I’ve stripped all the scars away, and the wounds underneath now run red with all of the shame and sorrow over my life I’ve carried for so long. I know what he’s going to say. I should have stood up for myself. I should have fought back. I should have fought for myself. But I was too battle weary to try. Too beaten down to muster the strength for another fight. I simply gave up. I’m weak. I’m pathetic and unworthy.
“I’m so proud of you, Raven,” Connor says, kissing my face. His cheeks are damp with his own tears. He kisses my forehead and my temple and my closed, swollen eyes.
“What? You’re not serious. You can’t be.” I lean back and look into his face twisted with understanding and compassion. “Not after everything I just told you. I’m humiliated at who I am. The way I let myself be used and walked on. They crushed me. They crushed me because I’m weak, and I’m a coward.”
“Are you kidding me? Raven, you’ve got to be the strongest, most courageous person I’ve ever met.” His hands cup my cheeks and he holds my face, forcing my eyes to meet his gaze. “Look at everything you’ve been through, Lainey Bird. Your mom clipped your wings, and you flew to Juilliard. Fucking Juilliard, Lainey! Do you know what a fucking big deal that is? And they put you in a cage of solitude and fear, but you flew on to be a professional with the New York Philharmonic. I don’t care what that asshole told you — you did that all on your own. And then after that sorry son of a bitch hurt you, you had the courage to go back into the lion’s den to regroup. You had the courage to start your whole life over again.”
I let his words, his voice — steeped in emotion and filled with love — wash over me. I let them soak in between the broken places of my heart and repair the tattered strings of my soul’s tapestry. I wasn’t brave. I was flying, I was running away — the leg-shackled bird with the clipped wings.
“Really? That’s how you see me?”
“Yes, baby, really. I’m so proud of you, Raven. Baby, we have to go tomorrow. I know you’re scared, but you have to. You have to show those assholes that they can’t cage a raven.”
“I’m a bird, not a lion, Connor.” He kisses me full and deep.
“You are wonderful, Raven. I’ll be your lion.”
