by Lily White
With that kind of resume, I highly doubted he’d be easygoing when it came to my injury. I thought it might be possible I could flirt with the guy, maybe buy enough sympathy to weasel my way through the first week.
Unfortunately, I didn’t have much experience in that department. My brother made sure I hadn’t dated. He was always looking out for me, always worried I’d ruin my chances at a future if I allowed guys to distract me.
I played a big game for the most part, but in truth, I was a fledgling when it came to anything having to do with men.
My stomach churned and I felt dizzy. “I’m sure my hand is fine. I can play something now and see how it feels.”
Julia shook her head, the dusty red hair framing her face falling over her shoulders with the motion. “I think you should rest it tonight. Thankfully it’s your left and not your right. The demands won’t be as bad, but I fear for your range of motion. Some of the pieces you’ll be required to play demand a full octave stretch.”
Leaning against her wall, I pulled the bandage back in place. A heavy sigh blew from my lungs. “Will the first day be that bad?”
She nodded and straightened the skirt of her demure green dress.
“Students are coming from all over to attend the program. This is the first time the program has been held in Tampa, but it’s intended for the entire state. I only secured your seat because I had a friend on the board who owed me a favor. The other students have all been recommended by the youth orchestras and high schools they attended.”
That information did nothing to make me feel better. I knew the program would be challenging, but I didn’t understand the full scope of it. “How many students will there be?”
“One hundred to start with, and it’s our job as teachers to whittle that number down to two by the end of the summer.”
Maybe I should just give up now. Going up against one hundred other students was bad enough, but to do it with a busted hand? The odds were impossible.
“If it’s not broken, then I think it should be okay. I want you to ice it tonight to help the swelling go down. Perhaps it’s not as bad as it looks.”
The pain in my hand when I clenched my fingers said differently, but I wasn’t going to worry her more by telling her.
“It’ll be fine,” I breathed out, hoping to convince her because I sure as hell wasn’t convincing myself.
Casting me a sympathetic grin, Julia patted the couch next to her. “Come sit down. I have a feeling you’re here to avoid being at home with your father. Is he having a bad night?”
Pushing away from the wall, I sat down beside her, appreciative of her arm wrapping around my shoulders to tug me into a hug.
“I won’t let you down tomorrow, Julia. I hope you know that.”
“I know, sweetheart. You’ve been preparing for this your entire life. I’m sure once you show them all you’ve accomplished, Mr. Carter won’t be able to help but fall in love with you.”
Hoping she was right, I closed my eyes in an attempt to keep from crying again.
Tomorrow couldn’t be as horrible as today had been.
At least that’s what I told myself.
Lennon
Two miles outside of Sheldon sat another place I’d never wanted to see again. Walking along a dirt path with a dozen roses in hand, I stepped over tree roots and wound my way through rows of bushes and headstones. The sky above my head was as grey as my mood, and the wind whispering through the boughs of the Live Oaks caused the hanging moss to sway softly.
Hillside Memorial Gardens was the last place I wanted to be this morning, but nightmares had plagued me so much over the last few nights that I knew I wouldn’t escape them until I visited Emaline’s grave.
My sister was only older than me by two years, but she was better than me in every way possible. Smarter, kinder, more talented on the piano than I had ever hoped to be, Emaline was born to be a star.
Despite living in poverty, my parents worked two jobs each to pay for her music lessons. No dime was spared when it came to her, which meant there was nothing left for me.
If it hadn’t been for Mr. Jennison, I would have never learned the keys. I didn’t hate my sister for it. She deserved every dollar my parents gave her.
Her headstone wasn’t much, and with my living out of state and both of my parents dead, there was no one to tend the ground. The grass and plants around her grave had become overgrown. Ripping them away as much as I could, I laid the flowers down and traced my finger over her name.
Memories rushed back to me: the boyfriend that broke her heart, and the day I found her hanging in her room.
“Damn it, Ema, why did you have to throw so much away over a worthless guy?”
I’d turned eighteen three weeks after she killed herself, never looking back once I had the freedom to run. I would have given anything to kill the son of a bitch that broke her heart, but I didn’t know his name. In the two years they’d dated, I’d only seen him once or twice. I would recognize him if I saw him again, but I doubted our paths would ever cross.
Spending a little over an hour by her graveside, I arrived back in Tampa as the sun was finally brightening the sky. Class wouldn’t start for another forty-five minutes, so I stopped to introduce myself to the second teacher judging in the program.
An older woman turned to me as soon as I stepped in her large classroom. Already she had the sheet music set up on the pianos, a class roster clutched between her fingers.
“You must be Lennon Carter.”
Crossing the room toward me, she had kind brown eyes and silver streaked red hair. Taking a moment to study to my clothes, the corner of her lip crooked up as she offered her hand.
“I’m Julia Pickens. It’s a pleasure to meet you, although,” her lips twitched again, “I’d pictured you differently when I read your resume. I guess it’s true what they say about artists being eccentric.”
This wouldn’t be the first time a person couldn’t match the image to the reputation. It wasn’t the tenth time, or the fiftieth either. Most people read my stats and presumed I’d walk in decked out in a suit and tie, my clothes carefully tailored to represent my wealth or career.
All those people had been wrong, and they learned to get over it. As for today, I’d attempted to look presentable. I assumed the tan chinos, scuffed navy blue Docs, skull patterned suspenders and white Henley weren’t cutting it.
Julia reached to touch the brown leather cuff on my wrist. “This is nice.”
A grin stretched my lips, my eyes meeting hers.
“You don’t have to try so hard. You’re not the first to have been fooled by what you read about me. Should I have worn a jacket?”
It didn’t bother me that people looked at me as either a piano virtuoso or a freak who desperately needed to install a light bulb in his closet. I’d happily own either of those reputations, as long as another reputation I’d earned stayed out of public knowledge.
All they knew was that I was a stern disciplinarian behind a piano. They didn’t need to know that the discipline didn’t stop when I took a woman to my bed.
I winked and her cheeks tinted pink, a soft laugh bursting from her throat. I was nothing if not a brazen flirt.
“Oh, Amelia is going to have fun with you.”
“Amelia?” Cocking a brow, I eyed her and leaned a shoulder against the doorframe.
Waving a hand, Julia shook her head. “We’re not supposed to discuss students. Forget I said anything.”
An early bird student walked past us en route to my classroom. I shook Julia’s hand again, told her it was a pleasure to meet her and followed after the young boy. He didn’t look a day over fourteen, but I knew he had to be a high school graduate, at least, to have been granted entry into the program.
Skirting past him to open the door, I didn’t fail to notice the curious expression on his face. To his credit, he didn’t say a word.
He attempted to walk in behind me. I blocked the doorway with my body
and asked him to remain in the hall until I set everything up.
With every class I taught (a rare occurrence given my other work) I had a routine to accomplish before allowing the students to shuffle through the door.
Three Steinway pianos were arranged in the room. Why they’d provided so many, I wasn’t sure. It would be impossible for all three to be played at the same time, and really, only one was necessary for what I planned to do.
Walking past them, I dragged my finger down the white keys of each one, my head canting slightly to the right as I decided which one’s sound resonated the most inside me.
People often think that every piano sounds like the next, but that’s where they are so horribly mistaken. The strings used, the quality of the wood body, the construction of the hammers; all of it contributed to the tone of an instrument. It was my job to select the instrument that was just right.
Doing so, I glanced over the sheet music provided for the first week in class, boredom setting in immediately. Bach, Clementi, Debussy, and Chopin. All were meticulous composers, yet none of them spoke to my heart.
The one student who would remain standing in this classroom by the end of the summer would be the one who could seduce, through their music, the darkest parts of my soul. And these composers? Yeah, no. They wouldn’t cut it.
For the first week, they would have to do. I set the music aside and glanced over the class roster. Thirty-eight girls. Twelve boys. I didn’t like the numbers, but it was typical. Boys are often pushed into sports while girls are sent away to piano lessons.
The same thing would have happened to me if my mother had her way. Thankfully my father didn’t pressure me into reaching for her goals. He knew I was learning from Mr. Jennison, and he never made a move to stop me.
Fingertip running the list of names, I paused by Amelia Dillon. What was so special about this girl that Julia had thought to mention her?
A quick scan of her credentials didn’t answer the question. She wasn’t sponsored by a high school or youth orchestra. I found the lack of information interesting, and made a note to keep an eye on her.
By the time I was finished setting up, it was nine on the dot - time to let the students in to discover who had what it took to move forward and who would be returning home.
I opened the door and turned toward my desk as shoes shuffled in behind me, the squeak of chair legs and quiet murmurs a chorus of excitement mixed with anxious anticipation.
Once I was certain that every student was settled and waiting, I turned toward the hopeful fifty to scan my eyes over their faces. One face in particular caught my attention, my body freezing in place with recognition.
Well, well...
The last time I’d seen those teal eyes and perfect pouting mouth, the girl had been beneath me fighting to break free, her gaze narrowing on me every time I threatened to spank her ass red.
My anger with her vibrated just beneath the surface of my skin, and I was tempted to teach her a lesson right here in front of everybody - a reminder as to why we don’t pickpocket strangers who are bigger and badder than ourselves.
Like a deer in headlights, she stared back at me, her bandaged hand slipping from the top of her desk to fall in her lap where she could hide it, her face draining of color.
She knew me, and she was well aware that I knew her. I smiled to see she hadn’t forgotten the moment we first met. Terror bled behind her wide eyes, her lips parting just slightly, the movement drawing my attention.
Something inside me awakened to witness her body shrink down into her chair. She wouldn’t challenge me. Not this girl. However, having her in my class was a complication I could have lived without.
Refusing to openly acknowledge my recognition, I continued looking over the rest of the faces before dropping my eyes to the roster. There wasn’t a single student in here named Melanie.
Who the hell was she?
Conducting roll call, my voice snapped over every name on the roster, each student straightening in their seat when their name was called, fear saturating their expressions when I didn’t react to their hopeful smiles.
“Amelia Dillon.”
My mugger raised her right hand, her arm trembling as she averted her eyes, still refusing to meet my stare.
She wanted me to ignore her. I was too much of a bastard to make it that easy for her.
“Not the hands...”
What she’d yelled in that alley was finally making sense. It didn’t make me feel sorry for the injury I’d inflicted to extract my wallet.
“Amelia, do me a favor and spell your name.”
Every student looked at me with confusion, but there was only one set of eyes I was interested in. The same set that only reluctantly turned my way, meeting my gaze with trepidation.
“What?”
“Spell your name. You’ve had it your entire life. It should be easy for you to remember how it’s spelled.”
She wanted to roll her eyes, but caught herself before doing so. “A-M-E-L-I-A.”
I scratched my jaw and glanced down at the roster, the short stubble rough against my fingertips.
“Strange. That’s what it says here, but-“ My eyes lifted to meet hers again. “I just thought that had to be a mistake since it’s a weird way to spell Melanie. Don’t you agree?”
Her face blanched, and I was positive she was about to be sick.
“I noticed your hand is bandaged. Are you sure you’ll be able to play to the best of your ability today?”
Shrinking down further into her seat, she nodded her head. The criminal she’d introduced herself as was suddenly shy and submissive.
It bothered me how much I liked that.
My point had been made, and I moved on to call the names for the rest of the class.
Dropping the roster on my desk once all students were accounted for, I locked my hands together behind my back and took a moment to memorize their faces, careful to avoid staring at one in particular for too long.
I didn’t want to notice that rather than the black hoodie, grungy jeans and sneakers she wore yesterday, today Amelia wore a yellow sundress, the thin straps showing off her tan shoulders, the modest neckline giving a small peek of her chest, the skirt falling just below her knees, revealing a set of toned calves that explained how she’d almost outrun me.
Anger burned through me again to think she was on the streets taking chances with her life and body.
“There are fifty of you in this class today because someone believed you should be here and recommended you for a Hasting’s scholarship. It’s my job to tell you that by the end of tomorrow, only twenty-five of you will remain in this classroom.”
Fifty sets of eyes widened in shock to hear the first cuts would be so soon and so dramatic a number. Good. Let them be scared because I wasn’t here to handhold or coddle. I was here to determine who in this room was worthy of the ultimate prize.
“My name, as some of you may already know, is Lennon Carter. I graduated Hastings six years ago and have used that degree to secure a seat with the Florida Symphony, as well as maintaining a career in popular music. I’ve worked with bands such as Hollister, Gregori, Crimson Pawn, and others. You may have heard some of their work.”
Nervous chuckles followed that last line. The three bands I’d named were known everywhere, their music so popular that every show they played was sold out, every album they released hitting the top of the charts within hours.
“But I’m not here to talk about me. What I am here to talk about is what I expect of you when it comes to your music, and what you can expect of me as not only your teacher, but also your judge.
“By the end of this summer, I will select one of you to move forward and audition for the scholarship. You will be competing against the student selected by the other teacher in this program, Julia Pickens. I won’t go easy on any of you, because when it comes to competition, I hate to lose.”
Careful to scan over the top of Amelia’s head rather than look
at her directly, I slowly paced a narrow path in front of my desk while continuing my opening remarks.
“Every one of you will be judged on your skills, technique and knowledge of the piano. The music selected to move you forward will increase in difficulty with each passing week. However, do not think that hitting each note properly and doing so according to how it’s written will earn you the top spot.
“I don’t give a damn if your technical skills are top-notch. What matters to me is whether you are living and breathing the music you play. In my opinion, we feel the music first, see it second and hear it last. If your music does not affect me on an emotional level, then you will be asked to leave. If your music puts me to sleep, then I ask that you kindly wake me up on your way out the door. It’s as simple as that.”
A few students shifted in their seats, their faces turning a sickly shade of green at how strict I would be on them.
“A bathroom is located at the back of the classroom. If you need to puke at any point, I prefer you do so in there.”
More nervous laughter, although I was sure a few of them would run in that direction before the end of the day.
“Four pieces have been selected for the first round of cuts. Debussy, Bach, Clementi and Chopin. They are not technically difficult, and all of you should be familiar with them already. I will randomly assign which one each of you will be playing. Be sure to make me feel the music when you do.”
My gaze wandered to Amelia to discover she was staring back at me, some unspoken thought obvious behind her eyes. She wasn’t happy I would be her teacher, that much was clear, but she would either learn to accept me or she’d walk out my door. I had no intention of going easy on her.
My cock twitched at the thought of disciplining her in the best way I knew how. I hoped her performance would be worthy of what I could teach her.
“To begin, I’ll play each of these pieces so you can hear what will be expected of you. Once I’m finished, the first performances will begin. It will take me all of today and most of tomorrow to go through the first round, so you may leave once you’ve had a chance to play. Any questions?”
