Forbidden Love: Bad Boy Romance

by Amy Faye

  Maybe he'd given up that chance, but maybe… just maybe, he'd get another one. The car couldn't have pulled into the driveway any sooner. He forced himself to move slowly. There was nothing to be gained in speeding things up needlessly. Deep breaths. Calm down.

  The key fit easily into the door, and he opened it up. Maybe the door was already unlocked, but he didn't hear the mechanism moving. "Hello?"

  He didn't get a response right away. Amy's car certainly was outside, so there was no need to wonder about that. His lips pressed together. What was going on, then?

  "Amy? You there?"

  He called through the house. It was a big house—too big for one, he had to admit—but it wasn't that big. Not so big that she wouldn't hear him calling. He heard it, though, after a minute. She was busy. Brett made his way the rest of the way through the house and leaned against one wall.

  She was good, he had to admit. She'd never given him the impression of a girl who played an instrument. Drums seemed like they might be her thing, maybe, but that would be it. Aggressive, mean, and rocking. But now, she was playing almost sweetly, and it didn't fit at all.

  He leaned up against the door frame to listen as she played. It was very sweet, certainly, and she played with feeling. Yet, the piece itself was sweet and a little bit sad, and he could see the sharp movements in her hands that seemed to spell a little anger in her playing. It was discomfiting.

  She stopped when it suited her—at some point, it ceased to feel like practice and became something more like a performance, playing straight through the piece. There must have been mistakes, of course—everyone, in everything, made mistakes—but Brett couldn't have identified them. Doubly so, because she never stopped playing, until she set her bow aside and hit the button on her screen to stop the canned flute music coming through it.

  "Am I bothering you? I can go."

  She unscrewed the spike from the bottom and set it all in the case propped open on the bed beside her, without answering right away. Then she stood up and walked past, still wordless, and at that point he started to worry. Brett followed her as she went into the kitchen, poured herself a glass of water, and then finally turned and leaned and looked at him, as if she was finally ready to talk.

  "How was your day?"

  "Jim came by to give his condolences."

  "Oh? Good." Brett tried to hold himself straight even as his energy threatened constantly to leave "Had you two met?"

  "He seems nice," she answered. It wasn't an answer, but then, maybe she didn't really owe him one.

  "I guess. I don't really know him that well. But the family up north is fine, far as it goes, I guess."

  "Absolutely singing praise." Amy's voice sounded low and annoyed and Brett couldn't figure out what the hell was her problem. Then again, he wasn't going to try.

  "Hey, uh—I don't mind at all, okay? So don't take it that way. It's good to have someone around."

  "But…?"

  "No but, I just wondered how long you were staying? Another day or two, or a couple weeks, or—"

  Her lips pinched together, and Brett knew with absolute clarity how badly he'd screwed up asking his question. "I didn't mean it like—"

  "No, I'm sure you didn't. but that's how it came off."

  "Please, don't get upset with me, I really didn't mean it that way."

  "Fine, Brett. Tell me how you did mean it? Did you mean, 'how long before you run off, cause I know that runs in your family'? Is that what you meant?"

  She was past him in an instant. He called at her, over his shoulder, but she didn't turn. "I don't think that, Amy, I—"

  He could hear her storming up the stairs, and for the second time in his life, he decided that it might be better to leave it alone. Maybe it was going to turn out to be a mistake. Maybe she'd think that he was abandoning her, or something.

  But going after her now was just going to escalate things. That was the one thing he didn't want, more than anything else. Just let her cool off, let her decide she didn't want to fight any more. Because she could fight all she wanted, and there wasn't a whole hell of a lot he would be able to do to stop it until she decided it was time to stop.

  That was just how it had to be, for now. but eventually—eventually, he'd get to the bottom of whatever the hell had just happened. He'd figure out what that fight was supposed to be, why she was so mad, and hopefully, figure out whether or not there was time to actually take whatever he was hoping they had together seriously.

  Until then, Amy had to calm down, and he had to let her.

  2003

  Walking through the door, the last thing that Brett expected to have to deal with was his mother, waiting for him. She had work, didn't she? Well, evidence right in front of him proved otherwise. Like it or not, she was waiting for him, her arms folded in front of her chest like she wanted him home sooner. If that was what she'd wanted, then she ought to have called.

  She pinched her lips. "How was practice?"

  Was she mad about something? Did he forget to do his chores, or something like that? What was it that she was getting so uptight about? "Fine, I guess. Why?"

  "We need to talk."

  "When's supper?"

  "Six thirty. Jerry and Amy are going to be joining us. Your sister's upstairs. In a huff."

  He kept his eyes unfocused, staring past the wall. He might be in a huff, too, for that matter. "Okay, what's this talk about?"

  "Well, I don't want to make things weird, but you and Amy are around the same age–"

  "Sure. Can you get to the point?" The sooner that she said whatever she was going to say, the sooner that he could walk away. At this point, that was about all he wanted from the conversation.

  "I'm not going to fight with you, Brett. You want to pick a fight, you can go upstairs. But I'm not going to listen to it."

  "You've got me worried, Mom. Why are you beating around the bush here?"

  "Well, the way Jerry made it sound, Amy seems to be interested in going to Homecoming. He says she decided not to because she can't find a date, and I just thought–"

  "Oh." He said it before he could think of anything else to say. So that was what they were up to? He almost wanted to laugh, but he kept his face blank. If their parents weren't dating, then her trouble finding someone to go to the dance with would have been dealt with already.

  "I'm not saying you have to, but I know I'd appreciate it if you would, you know, take her. As her future step-brother."

  "Future what?"

  Mom unfolded her arms and then he saw why she'd had them folded before. A big diamond, ringed by rubies.

  "He proposed?"

  "I guess we should have introduced you guys sooner–it must seem quick for you. But I mean, we've been dating for–"

  "No, it's fine. Congratulations, Mom." Brett forced a smile onto his face. He shouldn't expect things to fail. That was just asking for things to go wrong. He had to take care not to sabotage this.

  "So does Dani know?"

  "She knows, but by that point she was already mad about dinner."

  He pulled a face. How very much like her. He shut his eyes. No, there was no reason to be getting mad at his sister. She was, well, who she was. There wasn't going to be any getting around it so all he could do at this point would be making a fight worse.

  "I'll go talk to her, and–"

  "Just leave her for now. If we need to talk to her, then we'll do it after she's had a little more time."

  "Are you sure?"

  "If you want to get a bag of nail polish thrown at your head, by all means, go ahead."

  "I'll take the risk."

  He took a deep breath. Dani had a few years yet before she would be real reasonable. If she ever was. Young teenagers like that, they're fickle and Mom wasn't wrong to worry about her losing it over nothing. But he was her brother, and she'd deal with him.

  He climbed the stairs slow. Dani was in the room at the end of the hall, her door shut. It could have been that she just pulle
d the door closed, but he had a much easier time imagining that she'd slammed it. He approached slowly and knocked.

  "Dani? You in there?" He didn't get an answer. "You want to talk about it?" Still no answer. He let out a long breath. "If you want to talk about it, I'll be in my room getting changed."

  He left her, knowing that a minute later he'd have her standing in his doorway. He dropped a fresh shirt on the bed and rooted through his closet for a pair of slacks. If they were going to be celebrating Mom and Jerry getting engaged, then he'd have to dress up.

  "I'm sorry if I caused any trouble." Danielle was standing in the doorway, with a look on her face that

  "No trouble for me, Dani." He stripped his tee off and tossed it into the pile of clothing in the corner that would need to be cleaned at some point. He ought to have done it by now, but he'd been in a mood. "But I think you hurt Mom's feelings."

  "I know. But I was mad."

  "I understand. Ain't gotta tell me. But that doesn't mean Mom's not going to get her feelings hurt, either."

  She let out a deep breath. "I just don't get it. Why does she need to marry some guy we barely even know?"

  "Have you even met Jerry? I don't seem to recall you being there."

  "I was at Katrina's, so–"

  "So you're nervous? Something like that?"

  "I just don't get why some jerk–"

  "He's not a jerk, Dani. You don't need to get the pitchforks out until he does somethin' wrong."

  "But he will, though."

  "Maybe he will, maybe he won't, but we don't get to decide for her. Mom's had it hard, right? So we have to be supportive."

  "I don't get why I have to–"

  "Just trust me, alright? And turn around a minute, will you?" He waited for Dani to turn her back before quickly stripping below the waist and dressing again. "Alright."

  "I guess you're right, but I just… I don't get it."

  "I know you don't. But we're going to have to be strong. For Mom, right?"

  Dani looked like she wasn't the least bit convinced. Like she was being awfully put-upon. If only she knew, he thought. He almost laughed. Things had a weird way of going. 'Working out' wasn't exactly what he'd call it.

  "I guess I should go get dressed."

  "Yeah, you've only got half an hour or so, so you'd better go get some clothes on for dinner. Good ones. And just–do your best to be nice, okay? Maybe he's not as bad as you're thinking."

  Now if only he could make himself feel as confident as he sounded.

  11

  Amy

  Present Day

  Amy's eyes shut tight. That couldn't be right. They were kidding themselves. Was someone out there trying to sabotage her? That was the only explanation that made sense. First, Brett was trying to get her out of the house. Whatever spark she'd thought there was between them, she must have just imagined.

  Well, whatever. That was no different than it had been in high school, and she'd gotten over it then. It had taken a while, but now she had practice doing it, too. But this was a different story altogether. They'd rented out all the practice rooms already? It wasn't like she'd brought her own flutist and pianist. Even if she wanted to—she could think of some who would have come, if she'd paid for the time—the Orchestra had insisted.

  Which made perfect sense, but it also meant that she needed fucking space to practice with them. This was basic stuff. She'd done her part. She'd called ahead, she'd scheduled a time, she'd made sure that they had rooms, she'd put a hold on one of them, and everything.

  Well, now that was all fucked. She hadn't come here for a relationship, so finding out that wasn't going to happen was nothing. On the other hand, she had come here for a job, and being sabotaged out of it was a whole different story.

  Deep breaths. There was a solution. She had the numbers of the assistants, and she'd at least bothered to check and make sure that her reservation was still valid with enough time to figure out a change of plans. That, by itself, was good. Now she just had to figure…

  She closed her eyes again and took another breath. First thing was to text her accompaniment and make sure everything was good, let them know well in advance that something had come up, and while she'd figure something out, things were in the air.

  She'd better do it soon, before her temper grew any worse, because she was starting to feel more than a little pissed off about the whole situation. She typed a fairly simple, fairly direct message and sent it off. Now that just left her with the other problem.

  There wasn't anyplace she knew of. Maybe they'd have suggestions, but they were working for the Orchestra, and it would reflect much better on her if she came prepared rather than asking for favors from two people she didn't even know.

  She needed a place with a piano, at least. That was a tall order by itself. Studio space cost too much. She'd sunk most of her money into this trip. Of course, Dad could send her money, or she could beg borrow and steal from someone. Maybe Brett would pay the money if it meant getting rid of her, since apparently that was what he wanted.

  She took a deep breath. That might be a first step, if anything else. Call Brett and see if he was had any ideas. He seemed to know plenty of people around the state. Maybe a friend of a friend had some space, or something like that. So she'd just call him.

  "Sure," he said. It surprised her. "I know someplace where you can practice. Owner's a real asshole, though, so watch out."

  Amy sucked breath in between her teeth. "Oh yeah? You don't think he'll mind?"

  "No, not at all. He's just good at pissing people off. He'll rub you the wrong way for sure."

  That was better than no place to practice, so she'd take whatever she could get. "I can deal with being rubbed the wrong way. What I can't deal with is having to put a bunch of money into this. You don't think that'll be a problem?"

  "No, I'm sure it won't be a problem."

  "Oh?"

  "No problem at all, I don't think."

  "Great. Can I have his number, then?"

  "I can save you some time and just hand him the phone, he's right here. One second."

  There was a momentary pause before Brett spoke again. "Hey, what's up?"

  "You're kidding. You own a studio?"

  "No, not really."

  "I don't have time for jokes."

  "But I have a little room off to the side, it's soundproofed and has a little piano. It's not going to blow your socks off or anything."

  "Where is this?"

  "I guess I should ask, when did you need it? If you needed to get in today, then that could be an issue, maybe. I guess. I might be able to get someone there with a key, but I'm 4 hours out and I can't really leave early today."

  "No, not today. I had previously scheduled for Wednesday."

  "Well, I've got a studio downtown. I don't, uh, think that you're really supposed to have that kind of stuff in an office, so I made sure it's pretty soundproofed. I'm no Vivaldi, but playing Chopsticks really helps me relax."

  Amy couldn't help laughing. "Oh yeah?"

  "Oh, you should see it. Sometimes, if I'm lucky, I can even peck out 'happy birthday.'"

  "Truly, a man of unknown depth."

  "So I can get you the keys, and you can feel free to go in. I don't have anything going on, so nobody will be in there to bother you. I'll show you around tonight if you want."

  "That would be amazing. And it's really no problem?"

  "Think of it as an apology for last night. I really didn't mean to sound like I was sending you out or anything."

  "No," she said, taking a breath. "I guess I was a little at fault for that, too. I was in a bad mood."

  "Did Jim do something wrong?"

  "Not really. Just said there was talk."

  "There's always talk. It don't mean anything."

  Amy frowned on her end of the line. "Yeah, I get it. Look, I'm gonna go. I'll see you tonight?"

  "Yeah. I'll pick you up around 9. If you want, we could grab some dinner, while we're
out? It'll be a little bit of a trip out to the office anyways. We could make an evening of it."

  "Sure," she said. She was anything but sure about the idea, but she could always hope it went better than the last time they'd tried to make an evening of anything.

  2003

  Amy didn't like any of this plan. In fact, it was downright humiliating. For one thing, if they were really going to go to Homecoming, then she ought to have known about it a long time ago. Or at least a week. Two days was simply not enough time. Not time enough to get a dress, not time enough to get her hair set—even if it might mean something different than what the other girls meant by it.

  She ought to have made some sort of plan, and she definitely ought to have thought about what it was going to mean to those bitches who had decided to interrupt her little nap the other day. If for no other reason than to get a look at the anger on their faces.

  It really wasn't until she was walking through the door, though, the lights up but somehow dimmed, that she started to realize that everything had been halfway-done, and yet, she also realized that she was wildly overestimating how bad things would be.

  A pair of thin students who she knew to hang out behind the school, sometimes smoking and sending skateboards flying at anyone unlucky enough to leave past the tennis courts when they missed tricks and fell back on their already-scraped hands, leaned up against the wall. Teachers were speaking to them in harsh but quiet voices, no doubt about their clothing.

  Nobody stopped them, and after a moment they came to a stop near a corner. "I'm sorry you had to come," Amy said. She was sorry. It was one thing to go to a dance with Brett—going with him as a pity-date, as something he had to do as a favor to her, was something else entirely.

  "Yeah, well, I'm sorry, too. I know this isn't how you wanted it."

  "No," she answered. Her voice held more annoyance than she ought to have let in. "It isn't, but I was over it. I just mentioned it to Dad a few weeks ago, when I was working up to, you know, asking you. I got over it, no problem. Honestly I'd forgotten about it entirely."