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A knot twisted in his belly as the shame that had been with him from the moment he realized he was different gathered around him like an invisible cloud, thick and weighty with fear and loathing. Like a boulder chained to his ankle, this emotion had the power to drag him into the depths of anguish and leave him gasping for air in a sea of self-loathing.
Do learning disabilities run in your family, Mr. Paige?
He could hear Aria’s former principal asking the question.
And what had he done?
He’d lied.
He told himself he’d done it for Aria. But that wasn’t the whole truth.
“You and Aria are similar, aren’t you?” Harper pressed, yanking him from his spiraling thoughts. The venom in her tone had dissipated, and he wasn’t sure what angered him more, her kindness or her boldness. When she was dishing out barbs, it was because she knew he could take it. This softening in her demeanor reeked of pity. And he sure as hell wasn’t about to stand for that.
“Aria and I can play anything we hear by ear. If that’s what you’re asking about, then yeah, we’re very much alike. My sister had the same gift.”
His wife watched him like a hawk. “Did your sister have trouble reading, writing, or composing music?”
His pulse kicked up. “What does that matter?”
“My guess is that she didn’t. I think she helped you get through school. And with Heartthrob Warfare, I have a feeling you brought the creativity, the lyrics, and the vision for the sound, but your sister, and probably Trey, too, pulled it together.”
How the hell could she know that?
“I’m right, aren’t I? You’re a neurodivergent learner, and I’d bet my piano that you still struggle.” She rested her hand on the shiny black Steinway in the corner of the living room like she was begging for him to try to deny it.
Struggle?
His life was the definition of struggle. Every damned day was a battle to conceal his shortcomings and fit in.
And it was exhausting.
This was why he didn’t let anyone in.
This was why he had to keep his guard up.
He wanted to kick himself for thinking his time in her house would be a fairy-tale respite.
He schooled his features. With his defenses in place, he set down his guitar and crossed his arms. “What do you want me to say, Harper?”
“Try the truth?”
“The truth?” He huffed and shook his head.
“Yes, the truth. Do you have something against it?”
Hell yes, he did. But she had no right to lecture him on the truth.
“Let’s talk aboutyouliving your truth,” he remarked, walking past her as he sauntered into the kitchen. He shoved his hands in his pockets and felt Harper’s panties in one and that damned picture he’d promised to dispose of in the other. A fresh jolt of snarling anger flooded his system.
“Go ahead. Let’s hear what you think my truth is,” she snapped, hot on his heels as she reverted to her feisty ways.
Good, this brush with vulnerability had him itching for a fight.
“Then you won’t mind telling me what you’ve written since your split with Vance.”
The thought of that prick being anywhere near her made him want to pound the guy into oblivion, but he kept his cool. This wasn’t about the pop poser stealing her songs. It was about what she’d done after tragedy struck. And from the looks of it, she wasn’t much different from him.
Anger burned in her eyes.
