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“I’m not going.” I sit on the bench at the foot of the bed. Hal will have to drag me out of here if he wants me to mingle.
An image of him throwing me over his shoulder and carrying me out of the room pops into my mind, but Hal would never do such a thing. He’s my substitute older brother, the one who always ratted me out for eating junk food before dinner, but who also taught me how to swim and ride a bike, and who let me sleep with him when I had nightmares as a kid and my parents were out of town.
Hal sits next to me. “You’re not going?”
I shake my head.
“Okay. Don’t. But don’t hide in closets either. This is your house. Show them all how much you hate them. You’re an adult. You can voice your opinion.”
“I don’t hate them, and what’s the point?” Nobody treats me like an adult anyway. Scratch that. Nobody treats me like a person. I’m just Vincent Halifax’s daughter. The daughter who failed.
“The point is, you don’t need to hide.”
“Everything is always so simple for you.” Why wouldn’t it be? He’s never been in the spotlight. Somehow, my cousin has escaped the attention, and he comes and goes as he pleases.
Hal sighs, but it’s an odd sound, wistful. I look at him over my shoulder and find him scanning the room. When he catches me watching, he says, “I don’t come here often.”
Guilt crunches me in its powerful jaws. This must be a difficult place for him. My grief over losing Uncle Soren is different after the years of hiding here. I remember his quiet laugh and his stories from his youth or about Hal when he was a kid.
“I’m sorry.” I place my hand on his shoulder. “Should we go somewhere else?”
Hal bumps my knee with his—his way of returning a tender gesture. “Yes, let’s do that.”
As soon as we step out of the room, I stop in my tracks. The music is much louder here. So is the laughter. Both are jarring and downright wrong after the almost sacred peace inside Uncle Soren’s room.
“Want to know the best part about why your dad wants you to play with him?” Hal continues.
“Not really, no—”
“There’s a couple of hotshots he wants you to meet—”
“I told you I didn’t want to know.” I rub my temples, already knowing what he’ll say next.
“He doesn’t want you to be alone.” Then Halquotes the pitch he’s heard just as many times as I have. “No one will understand you like a musician, Laurel. People who don’t play music just don’t get it.”
I walk to my room.
“Come on, Laurel.” He follows me. “They’re not all bad. You do want to get out of the house more often, don’t you? Getting a musician boyfriend may solve all your woes.”
“You did not just say that!” I exclaim. “A boyfriend to solve my woes? You’ve got to be kidding me. I don’t need a prince. I don’t need rescuing.”
“I don’t know.” He falls onto my bed, lying on his back and crossing his hands under his head. “You fit the princess-in-a-high-tower profile to a tee.”
“I’m not a princess, and you’re the worst.” I grab one of my pillows and smack his laughing face as hard as I can.
“The worst? Not even close.” He rolls to his side to dodge my next blow. “I’ve seen much worse. There’s this one friend I have who pretty much keeps my shop afloat. Trust me, you’ve never met such an arrogant reprobate.”
I smack him again, in the hip this time. “I’ve seen plenty. That’s why I don’t want to meet anyone Dad thinks will be a good fit for me. Those guys are all the same. They want to please him so that he’ll help them get a leg up in the industry. They don’t want me.”
I drop the pillow on the floor, sit on the edge of my bed, and clench handfuls of bed covers in my fists. “No more talking about relationships.”
Hal sits up behind me. “Laurel. Do something. You’re miserable.”
“I’m fine.” My eyes roam over the golden rug in my room. Over my desk and bookshelves barely containing my reading collection. Over my dark purple curtains and the six-foot wide board on the wall full of photographs from family vacations we did manage to take over the years. The one guitar I’m allowed to keep in my room (the rest are nestled away in Dad’s guitar den with advanced humidity control). My life is amazing. I don’t need to be a musician again, neither do I need to fall in love. All is well as it is.
Hal’s phone chimes. He reads the message and curses under his breath. “Does it have to be tomorrow? Last night he said I could come on Monday.”
“Is everything okay?” Curious and naughty, I peek at his phone screen.
