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I’m sorry.
Oh no!
“He’s going to kill me.” Every muscle in her body tensed.
“He’s not going to kill you.” Bastian twisted his torso, reaching into the backseat. He handed her a black hoodie. “Put this on.” He gave it to her. The lights from the porch and the roundabout driveway hit his face in just a way that his usually severe jawline appeared softer.
She didn’t argue. Her father was already going to be beyond pissed, and if he saw what she’d gone out in, it would only fuel his anger. She quickly shoved her hands through the sleeves and pulled the oversized sweatshirt around her.
“Thank you,” she said as she pulled her hair through the neck of the hoodie.
“You deserve an ass-whipping, but he won’t give it to you. He’ll yell and rage, but you’ll be in bed within an hour, hopefully taking his words seriously for once.”
“Did you just say I deserve to be beaten?”
“No, an ass-whipping isn’t a beating, and you’ve deserved one for years.” He reached over her and popped her door open. “Go on, Ariella. Don’t make it worse.”
She grabbed her purse and climbed out of his car, her stomach swaying and twisting as she made her way up the steps and into the house. Everything was silent inside. The lights in the hallway were on, but the living, sitting, and dining rooms were all dark.
“Ariella.” Finn stepped into the hall. “He’s in the music room,” he said with a frown. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t lie to him.”
She forced a smile. “It’s all right.”
He lowered his gaze. “He’s really pissed, Ariella. Don’t talk back when you get in there. Just let him rage for a few minutes.”
She nodded. “Yeah. I will. Don’t worry.”
He stepped back. “He’s waiting.”
She swallowed back the bile climbing up her throat. Only twenty minutes ago, she’d been thrilled beyond belief. She’d been high on the excitement and pride she felt at the audience’s reaction to her performance. Now she dragged her feet down the hallway toward the music room she’d found so much comfort in over the years.
“Ariella.” Her father’s voice came down like a hammer when she stepped into the music room. He sat on the piano bench, his hands steepled downward between his knees. His shoulders slouched, and his eyes were sad when he brought them up to hers.
“Father, I’m so sorry,” she said, stopping barely inside the room.
“You’re sorry?” He pushed up to his feet. “I had to lie to Robert Faulkins. I had to leave the party to check on you, so he wouldn’t find it suspicious that you weren’t there. That you justblew offthe party.” His voice remained low, but ironlike.
“I know, I’m–.”
“Don’t say you’re sorry again.” He raised a hand to stop her. “I thought something happened to you. Bastian said he was looking for you, that you weren’t home. I had horrible ideas as to what could keep my daughter from keeping her word to me. I thought death would be the only thing keeping you from getting to that party tonight. Your future husband was concerned when you didn’t show up.”
Having nothing to do with her hands, she twisted the hem of Bastian’s sweatshirt. It smelled like him, all spicy and manly. An odd thing to notice, but it gave her some comfort as her father’s glare continued to shoot daggers at her.
“And then I find out you’re at that fucking club!” His voice rose, fiercer than she’d ever heard it.
“I’m sorry, Dad. I’m so sorry.” She swallowed hard.
“You’re sorry.” He shook his head. “I’m sorry!” He yelled, twisting around and waving his hand around the room. “I’m sorry I let this silliness go on for so long. I gave you too much freedom. Too much time to come up with these fanciful ideas!” He picked up the piano bench he’d just been sitting on. “No more!”
He threw the bench into the far corner of the room where another guitar sat in its stand. The neck broke off the guitar when the bench crashed into it.
“No!” She hurried forward, but he was already moving on. He grabbed hold of the saxophone and brought it to the piano. “Daddy, no!” She put out her hands as though her will alone could stop him.
He locked eyes with her briefly before slamming the saxophone into the piano's keys, then he flipped open the lid. The piano lid had fallen off the other side, exposing all the strings. Over and over again, he struck the instrument. Bangs and pings of the strings snapping and vibrating filled the room. She barely heard the noise beneath her cries for him to stop.
But he wasn’t done.
He threw the broken sax to the ground and went for the desk, ripping out the drawers and tearing apart music sheets. She tried to grab and pull him away, but he flung her off. She flew to the ground, watching helplessly as he destroyed every instrument, every music sheet, even the little music stands, until there wasn’t a single instrument or scrap of music left. Even the piano book her mother had used to teach her had been ripped to shreds.
