Double Exposition (Songs and Sonatas Book 1)

by Jerica MacMillan

  He studies me, drinking his water. “Wow.”

  “That’s all you have to say? Wow. You’re so helpful, dude.”

  Chuckling, he shakes his head. “What do you want me to say? I have no idea what’s going on with you these days. I barely see you. First, I think Gabby’s living here, and now she’s gone again. Then you’re going to meet her family, or at least her brother, which is a big deal where I come from, and now you’re backing out? You sure are getting yourself in a world of shit. Think she’s going to break up with you for this?”

  I flip him off with one hand and rub my eyes with the other. “God, I hope not. Do you think she might?”

  “How should I know? I barely know the girl. But she is a musician. And we both know that musicians are notoriously unstable.”

  “Hey!”

  He laughs. “I’m messing with you, man. But seriously. Why’d she move back to the dorm?”

  “She was only here while the paparazzi were going crazy. She made it clear from the beginning that she wasn’t ready to move in. And I want her to have the college experience she wants. But I also hate not having her here with me. The last few nights since she moved back to the dorm have sucked.”

  “Tell me about it. You’ve been a grumpy jackass all week.”

  Flipping him off again, I continue like he hasn’t interrupted. “But since things have calmed down, and they’ve been staying off campus, even Blaine agreed that she doesn’t need security there. She’s in the dorm on the second floor. It’s not like they can get to her there. And the general interest in her, in us, has waned for the moment.”

  “You expect it to pick back up?”

  I shrug. “I’ll probably be signing with a label soon. Angela’s encouraging me to start putting out YouTube videos of me playing clips of some of the new stuff, some talking and thanking my new fans. Stuff like that. The PR company has already set up all new social media accounts for me. They’re managing them, so that’s good, but still. With an album in the works soon and probably a tour after that? Yeah, interest is going to pick back up.”

  “So she’ll be in the public eye too as long as she’s attached to you.”

  “Yeah.” The weight of that one realization makes my stomach sink. Fuck. I scrub my hands over my face again. She isn’t as invested in this relationship as I am. She’s young. She has three and a half years of college left at a minimum. Why would she stick with me through all of this? Especially once I’m gone? Long distance relationships are brutal. And she’s only eighteen. Nineteen on November fourth, but still. And I’m graduating in May. Which seems like an eternity away and far too soon all at the same time.

  “I don’t know, man. I really don’t.”

  I look up at Ben, but his face is serious, a tinge of sympathy in his eyes. “Yeah. Me either.”

  “Hey. I have a brilliant idea.”

  “Oh yeah? What’s that.” Ben always thinks he has brilliant ideas. Rarely do they live up to the hype.

  “Why don’t you, oh, I dunno—“ he looks all around the room, waving a hand as though searching for inspiration—“talk to her about all of this. Let her tell you what she thinks and how she feels.”

  I stare at him for a minute, then shake my head. “Yeah. I need to talk to her.”

  “Not just about Thanksgiving, though. I mean, yeah, that conversation is going to suck. But if you want her around long term, you need to tell her that. I’m assuming you haven’t, have you?”

  “No,” I grumble. “You’re the one who told me to take it easy, that I get too intense.”

  His lips twitch, and he crosses his arms, his half empty water bottle dangling from his fingers. “Yeah, well, you do. But just because you haven’t talked to her, doesn’t stop you from being intense anyway. It just means you haven’t actually verbalized anything. I’ve heard your most recent songs though. Does she know she’s your muse as well as your music guru?”

  I open my mouth to respond, but nothing comes out.

  “I’ll take that as a no.” He drains the last of his water, tossing the empty bottle in the recycle bin in the corner. “Talk to her, Jonathan. She deserves to know what’s going on inside that head of yours.”

  He walks out before I can respond. He’s right that I need to talk to her. But he doesn’t know about the unaddressed declaration of love. If she felt the same way, wouldn’t she have said so by now?

  With another shake of my head, I stand, gathering my phone and the notebook I had with me for the call with Angela in case I wanted to write anything down. The page is covered in a series of doodles, treble clefs, staff lines, and a fragment of melody. I’d barely paid attention to the notes as I scribbled them down, just messing around to occupy my hand while I talked on the phone. But I hum through what I scribbled down, and it has promise. Maybe change that note, because it sticks out kind of weird.

  Heading into my bedroom, I grab a pencil and my notebook full of staff paper, transferring the notes there. I settle on the bed, picking out the melody on my guitar, more notes coming as my fingers move over the strings. As I hum along with my playing, repeating the line a few times until it sounds right, words start to attach themselves to the notes, a song coming together already.

  Soon I’m lost in the flow of writing, the notes and words converging perfectly, almost effortlessly. I don’t even notice the sun going down outside or my body’s demands for food. I’m lost in the act of creation, completely unaware of anything except the notes and the words, the vibration of the guitar, and the scratch of the pencil on the paper.

  When it’s done, my pencil coloring in the last few notes and drawing in the heavy double line to indicate the end of the song, I sit up straight, laying my guitar on the bed beside me. Stretching my arms overhead, canting my head to one side and then the other to work out the kink I just noticed, I turn and see Gabby. She’s sitting on the other end of the bed, just watching me, not saying anything.

  Blinking, I rub my eyes, and check the time. It’s almost seven. “Shit, Gabby. I’m sorry. How did you get here?”

  She gives me a small smile, her eyes a little sad. “Lauren gave me a ride. One of the handy things about having a roommate with a car. When my boyfriend forgets to pick me up after rehearsal, she’s willing to drive me. Even though she tried to convince me to ditch you and go have fun with her. Actually, I did. We went shopping. I got a coat. And we grabbed dinner. But when I didn’t hear from you, I started to get worried. What if you’d gotten in a car accident and no one bothered to call me? Or you were sick and passed out in your bed? So I made her drive me here. Ben let me in. You were so focused you didn’t hear me come in.”

  “I’m sorry,” I say again, putting my guitar in its case and latching it closed. Then I crawl across the bed to where she still sits cross-legged, her elbow resting on one knee and her face propped on her hand. She hasn’t moved except to speak.

  “I probably should’ve been practicing this whole time. I wish I would’ve known you were working.”

  Wrapping my fingers around her arm, I give a little tug. She comes up on her knees and lets me hold her. “I’m sorry. I really am. It wasn’t planned. I just started with this little melody I doodled, and it was good. And the notes kept coming, and then the words, and I had no idea how long I’ve been working on it. I’d never stand you up on purpose. What can I do to make it up to you?”

  “Can I hear what you’ve been working on?”

  Her large eyes blink up at me, a lingering sadness still tinging her expression, but no anger or recrimination. I press a kiss to her lips. “Of course.”

  I release her and lay my guitar case on the bed again, flipping the latches so I can pull it out. Usually I give her my scribblings when I play for her so she can follow along and correct things, but I don’t want to this time. I want her to hear it, to listen, and to let me play it just for her.

  It’s fitting that she should be the first one to hear it, since I wrote it for her.

  Adjusting the tuning,
I settle the guitar on my lap and give her a smile before strumming the opening chord. At first she looks confused, glancing around for the notebook that sits closed on the wire stand on the piano, but I give a little shake of my head when she starts to reach for it. “No. Just listen this time. I want you to listen, to feel it instead of analyzing it. We can analyze it later if it needs it. But let me play it for you first.”

  “Okay.” She settles back onto my bed, leaning back on her hands with her legs curled around under her.

  I feel unaccountably shy to play this for her so intimately, so I drop my gaze to my fingers on the neck of the guitar. Shifting between chords, I close my eyes, focusing on the feel of the strings under my fingers, the vibration of the body of the guitar against my chest, and the way my voice melds with the instrument to create something new, something better than either could be on its own.

  Because that’s what Gabby is for me. Someone who makes me better than I could be on my own. I hope I do the same for her. And that’s what this song is about. Two people merging, becoming better together than they could be on their own.

  When I get to the last verse, I finally open my eyes and find hers. They’re shiny and bright like she’s about to cry, and her cheeks have bloomed with color, her pink lips parted as she watches me play the last few lines.

  The last notes shimmer in the air between us, and I take a deep breath as they dissipate. As the sound dies away, the spell holding Gabby motionless breaks, and she draws in a shuddery breath, blinking rapidly and clearing her throat before she sits up straighter. “Wow,” she says. “That was … beautiful.”

  Clearing my own throat, I set the guitar gently in its case once more. “Thank you.” While I latch the case and set it against the wall again, I steel myself. Because I’m going to do this. I’m going to come clean and lay my heart out there for her to take or reject. I need to know where I stand with her. And even though Ben’s earlier warning that getting too intense too soon could scare her off, things have already gotten intense. While I might not have chosen to do this at this point in our relationship under other circumstances, it’s no longer the two of us in our own little microcosm just having a good time in college. Life is encroaching faster than I’d expected when we started this.

  I wipe my hands on my thighs, suddenly nervous. But I turn to face her, meeting her eyes again. “It’s about you. The song. About what you do for me.”

  Her tongue darts out and swipes across her lip, and her eyes widen further. “What do you mean?”

  Settling on the bed next to her, I reach for one of her hands. “You make me better. It’s because of you that I even have a chance to do what I’ve always wanted to do. To perform, to bring my music to other people. You’re the reason any of this is possible. And I want you to know how much that means to me. How much you mean to me.”

  “But I—“ Her dark eyes dart back and forth between mine, and she already looks overwhelmed.

  With a deep breath, I forge ahead. If she decides she doesn’t want anything more to do with me, better to get it over with quickly. Rip off the proverbial bandaid. “I know things have gotten crazy, and you didn’t expect this when we started dating, even though you knew who I was. Who would’ve expected all of this? I know I didn’t. But here we are. And even though it’s a dream come true, you are more important to me than all of this.” I take a deep breath. “I love you. I’ve said that before, and maybe you’re not ready to hear it or you don’t feel the same way, but I do. And I can’t keep myself from saying it anymore. I’ve been holding back for weeks, and I can’t keep doing it. Not with you in my bed, in my house, in my music. Every love song I write is for you. And I need you to know that.”

  “Holy shit,” she breathes.

  My lips quirk up in a little smile. “That’s not quite the response I was hoping for.”

  She shakes her head, her hands reaching up to cup my cheeks. “No, I know. I’m sorry. I just—that wasn’t—“ Her wide-eyed gaze turns sharp. “You’re full of surprises, you know that?”

  I blink. “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

  Her lips curl up. “Well, so, the first time you said you loved me, I wasn’t sure what to think. If you really meant it. Or if you just meant you loved the sex. And I didn’t know how to feel if you did mean it. But …” She trails off, her eyes still searching mine.

  “But?” I prompt when she doesn’t continue. The suspense is killing me.

  “But this is quite the elaborate declaration of love. It’s hard to believe it isn’t real.”

  “It’s real. So real. It’s the realest thing I know.” My arms wrap around her of their own accord, my body unwilling to let her go, even if she wants to end this. I’m still not sure, but hope sparks deep inside at the fact that she hasn’t run away yet.

  “I love you, too.”

  At those simple words, I crush my mouth to hers, determined to show her with my body how much she means to me. And how much it means to know that she feels the same.

  Nothing’s decided. We still have things to figure out. But knowing she loves me makes me think it’s possible for us to have a future together.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Gabby

  “Where are you today, Gabby?”

  I pull my violin off my shoulder, settling it under my right arm, my bow dangling from my finger, and let out a sigh. “I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

  Clara’s brow wrinkles in concern. “Is everything okay? It’s not like you to be so distracted.”

  Still staring at the music stand in front of me, I bite my lip, trying to decide what and how much to tell her. The closed cover of the Mozart concerto stares back at me. I’m supposed to have it memorized, but I keep botching it. The transition from the exposition to the development. The cadenza. The recapitulation, where it changes from the exposition, staying in the tonic instead of moving to the dominant, the melody just slightly different. Clara’s right. I’m distracted. My head is all over the place.

  “I let it go when everything was so crazy a few weeks ago. I had a pretty good idea of why you were distracted and unprepared. But Thanksgiving is next week. There’s only one week of classes after that, then juries are the following week. This is our last lesson without the pianist. You need to be focused. So tell me what’s going on. Maybe if you get it all out, you can play. I know you have this memorized. The sheet music has been more of a crutch than a necessity for weeks. You could play this in your sleep.

  “So what’s the deal? I haven’t heard about any new media attention lately. I thought things had settled down.”

  With a sigh, I decide to just tell her everything. “They have. I mean, there are still a few photographers hanging around Jonathan’s house, but they only take my picture when I’m going in and out. They don’t follow me around or bother me. The one interview I did last month seemed to satisfy their curiosity enough, and now I’m just a boring fixture. I’m only interesting for my attachment to Jonathan.”

  “Okay.” She leans back in her chair, crossing one leg over the other. “So what’s going on? Family stuff? Romantic trouble? I’m pretty sure it’s not problems with Lauren, or I would’ve heard about it from her. Unless something came up in the last few days?” Her eyebrows go up, inviting a response.

  I shake my head. “No. Everything with Lauren is fine.” I wave my free hand dismissively. “And my family’s fine. My parents are happy I’m back in the dorm and not staying at Jonathan’s. They weren’t happy about me staying there, even if it was necessary for a while. They think I’m too young to be living with my boyfriend.”

  Clara’s face remains neutral. “So they don’t approve of him?”

  “No, that’s not it. They don’t disapprove, they just don’t want me to move too fast.” I give a crooked smile. “I’m the baby. And I just turned nineteen. And I’m not ready to move in with my boyfriend either, anyway.” Taking a deep breath, I look all around. “Things have just been really busy lately. Jonathan’s put
ting together a demo for the labels he’s meeting with next week. And he leaves Friday and will be gone for over a week. He was supposed to come with me to my brother’s for Thanksgiving, but since his manager set up meetings with three different labels, he has to go to California instead. So I’m bummed about that. And I’ve been helping him finish the songs for the demo, which is a lot of work. And I have homework, and want to spend time with him, and I haven’t been able to practice as much as I would like.”

  Clara shifts in her seat, clearing her throat. She opens her mouth, then thinks for a second before clasping her hands around her knee, her fingers laced together. “You’re probably not going to like what I have to say. But I’m going to say it anyway.” Her blue eyes find mine.

  “Okay.”

  “Your parents are right. You are too young to be moving in with a boyfriend. And you’re too young to give up on your own dreams, your own music, to help him pursue his. You have a lot of talent, a lot of potential, but you need to focus. You need to make your practice, your schedule, a priority. And let him worry about his.” When I open my mouth to respond, she holds up her hand. “If, after you’ve finished your own obligations, you have the time to help him with his music, then go for it. But you can’t let his priorities overrule yours.” She pauses before continuing more slowly. “I don’t want to say that this relationship isn’t worth investing in. Maybe it is. I don’t know. I can’t predict the future. But I will say that most things that start when you’re eighteen years old don’t last forever. And things are really intense at this age. Your feelings are huge, and it seems like nothing will ever be this huge and important again. I remember what that’s like. Hell, it wasn’t that long ago. But you have to keep your eye on your own goals. Because even though you might have the best boyfriend in the world, he’s going to be focused on his own career right now. And rightly so. But you can’t let that take over your whole life, or what will you be left with if and when it ends?”