Destined Hearts (A Stolen Melody Duet Book 2)

by K. K. Allen

  A sound through the speakers steals our attention. It’s time. I take in deep breath, bracing myself for the familiar sounds of the studio.

  And it’s so much better than I was ready for.

  The moment the guys start to play, the sound fills my body. Fills my soul. It’s like I’m hovering above it all, soaking it in. The emotions are heavy, especially when Wolf’s voice filters through the speakers. But almost as soon as it began, the tranquility of the sound is broken up by Wolf’s cussing.

  “Shit. I’m sorry,” he apologizes while removing his guitar. “I need more rest on this hand. Can we get a backup to play guitar on this, Vana?”

  I cringe. He should have been icing his hand all morning instead of trying to set yet another record for most orgasms in a row.

  The engineer calls someone on the phone, and in minutes they have a guitarist standing in for Wolf. The guys immediately go back to work, deep in the zone.

  My phone buzzes the entire morning, but I ignore it for the sake of the band. Nothing could take me away from this sound. Not even ping pong—not that Terese requests a game. She might be more glued to her spot on the couch than I am.

  I let myself stay until the band takes a longer break to go over some takes with Vana. It doesn’t look like the guys are going anywhere soon, and I need to work. Not wanting to disturb them, I shoot Wolf a quick text message telling him I’m going back to the house, say bye to the girls, and then sneak out the door.

  When I’m in the quiet hallway, I finally look at my phone. All numbers I’ve never seen before, and one new voicemail. I press play and cautiously place the phone to my ear.

  “Hey, sweet pea.” My stomach lurches into my throat at Tony’s familiar, gravely tone that grates on my ears.

  Isn’t Doug supposed to be babysitting him? Why is he calling me?

  “Jesus,” he says with a frustrated breath. “I got a new number. Wanted you to have it—in case you wanted to talk.” There’s silence between heavy breaths. “Look, I’m sorry for being a dick the other night. I fucked up hard. But dammit, Lyric. Two years together. I was going to marry you. Joanna was… Shit, Joanna was a mistake, and you know that. I’m not even sure how it happened. But it’s over, and we can fix this. I know we can. You can’t just throw it all away—and for Wolf, of all people? Just—just call me back.”

  The voicemail ends, and my blood runs cold. He has no right to call me. There’s nothing he can do to take back what he did. And if I’m being honest with myself, our relationship was over long before Joanna happened. Seeing them together just gave me the excuse I needed to walk away.

  He was convenience. He was familiarity. Sure, I guess I loved him at one point. Maybe. I don’t know. But it was nothing like how I feel for Wolf. Not even close.

  Instead of continuing down the hallway to the main lobby, I head in the other direction and peer into the familiar sound studios. All are set up in their unique way—some for instrumentals, some for acoustics, and some just for vocals. There’s even a theater on the other side of the building where I first learned to play piano. Well, the basics. “Hot Cross Buns” was about all I could manage at the age of four.

  The theater still looks the same, but smaller. Funny how that happens. The same abstract oil paintings representing different eras of music still decorate the walls. Even the grand piano in the center of the stage appears to be the same. Amazing. What’s it been—ten years since I’ve been in this room? Since I’ve sat in this audience to watch private performances? Since I’ve been on that stage myself?

  I smile and walk toward the stage, running my fingers along the edges of the seats as I pass them. This room. The room that fueled so many of my hopes and dreams starting from the time I was four years old. And the more time I spent here watching my father, making friends with the producers and artists that came through … the more my dreams started to feel like reality.

  As much as I loved the studio, I could never sit in it for too long. The neverending arguments over creative control became too much at times, so I would wander around the building, almost always finding myself here in this room. I would sit at the piano and dream of playing music for a crowded room. My own original music.

  I climb the steps of the stage and sit in front of the beautiful keys, letting my fingers slide across them silently. White, black, white, black, white. I test a few notes. And then a chord. I close my eyes as I feel the rush of adrenaline starting at my fingertips and working its way through my body.

  The music owned me back then. This was my home for so long, just the piano and me. We could be anything. Create anything. And it was magic.

  At least it felt like magic.

  Expressing myself was never difficult, but finding someone to listen was always a challenge. The piano listened. It took my beatings; it embraced my pain. And most importantly, it spit out my truth, conjuring the most beautiful melodies.

  I’m not sure when it happens, but at some point, I start playing. Really playing. It’s as natural as it ever was as my fingers dance over the keys, and it feels… Damn. My lids squeeze together tighter, and I remember how long it’s been since I last gave myself over to the music.

  It’s not a hard moment to pinpoint because it was the same moment I realized my dreams were for nothing.

  I was eighteen the last time I played piano, living with Destiny. My mom walked into the house and I froze at the keys, the hum of the instrument still ringing in the air. I remember begging silently for the reverberations to stop, to eliminate any proof that I’d been playing at all. Destiny didn’t deserve to hear my music, my innermost thoughts expressed in the best way I knew how. Six years later that damn humming still hasn’t gone away.

  But now … it’s like riding a bike. My fingers effortlessly play a familiar melody, though I can barely remember where it came from.

  The tune radiates throughout my entire body, and I’m right back to my happy place. I forget the Destiny and Crawley drama for a moment. Forget the reason I abandoned my intimacy with the music. It’s safe to feel it again. But to create music—that’s where the scary begins.

  For the first time in years, I feel the release that lit me up from within as a teenager. When anything felt possible. When dreaming was just the first step to an entire world of possibilities—

  “Now that’s a sound I didn’t think I’d ever hear again. Beautiful, pumpkin. Just beautiful.”

  My fingers fade to a stop as my heart picks up the pounding melody in my chest. I twist my neck to face the source of the voice, not sure if I’ll be able to handle the flood of emotions already building within me. Our eyes connect.

  “Dad.”

  He’s smiling. A bright, familiar smile that starts with his eyes—always—and follows his heightened cheekbones to the crinkle in his nose, and finally down to his mouth. It’s that full smile that fills me with comfort. Aside from some new creases across his brow and around his eyes, he looks exactly the same. Styled casually in dark denim and a vintage Bulls t-shirt, he’s still as charismatic as ever. Strong. Confident. Tired.

  Even his strides are just as I remember them. Long and determined as he approaches, his eyes never leaving mine. I realize I’ve just been staring at him, so I step away from the piano and hop off the short stage to greet him.

  My dad hugs me, and I breathe him in. He smells the same, too. His aftershave is cool and sharp, familiar and comforting. The tears are filling my eyes before I can stop them.

  It’s been almost two years since I’ve seen him, but I know the distance has been more my fault than his. The pain and suffering I went through with my mother somehow made me cold toward my father, too. In a way, I blamed him for how she treated me. If he hadn’t sent me away to live with Destiny, none of the betrayal and pain would have ever happened.

  She never would have stolen my childhood. My trust. Thank God she never stole my love for music. But she did steal my dream of sharing my music with the world, and that’s almost as bad. She gave me a dose
of reality I would never wish on anyone.

  “It’s so good to see you, pumpkin.”

  His words squeeze at my heart, and I finally pull away to get a closer look at him. I smile. It’s a small smile, but he reacts with a smile of his own.

  “It’s good to see you, Dad. What are you doing here?”

  He cocks his head. “Didn’t Doug tell you? I’m here to see you. I’m taking some time off between tours and writing. You know, I think this is the first real break I’ve taken since we lived together.” He smiles at the thought. “I’ve been doing this for a long time, pumpkin. Time off was overdue, and I hoped we could spend some of it together. Only if you want to, of course.” He sighs and looks around the room. “Other than that, I have no clue what to do with myself.”

  I know my father, even after all the time apart. He’s scared of the time off. Mitch has always been a workhorse. Whether he’s on tour, or in the studio recording a new album, or mentoring newer bands to help them get an edge in the industry, he’s always moving. Always busy.

  “It will be good for you.”

  “I hope so. You look good, Lyric. Sound good, too. Better than I remember.”

  I blush. He doesn’t know how many beatings my piano took after I left Chicago. He also doesn’t know it’s the first time I’ve played in years.

  “So. Europe, huh?”

  I move to sit at the edge of the stage and he follows. “Yup. Next week. The guys have some insanely obsessed fans over there, so things should be interesting.”

  He nods, but I can tell he has something else on his mind. “Things okay working with the band? I heard about all the trouble with Tony. Hopefully the company took care of you.”

  I make a face, suddenly uncomfortable. This conversation will lead to my relationship with Wolf, and I’m not sure what to talk about that with him, although it sounds like he already knows most of it.

  “I’m okay. Hoping things return to normal, but what Tony did…” I scrunch my nose in fury. “He’s repulsive.”

  My dad nods. “I’d say so. The story is already dying, though. He’s scum, and everyone knows his career will be over before it really begins. He doesn’t have what it takes to last in this business. Not many do.”

  He looks at me as his brow lifts. “I’d say that Wolf character has a better chance.”

  “Wolf has what it takes,” I confirm confidently. “He’s a good guy. Passionate about his music. Makes smart decisions—most of the time. He cares about his fans, his band. He treats the people close to him like family. He reminds me a lot of you.” I smile because I never thought about that before now.

  “Doug tells me he cares a great deal for you.”

  “Dad,” I moan.

  He chuckles. “C’mon, pumpkin. I never got to be the father that kept boys away with my shotgun. Let me have some fun.”

  I laugh. “He does care about me, okay? Happy?” I nudge his shoulder with mine. “I almost messed things up pretty good, but we’re working it out.”

  “You still writing?”

  My laughter ceases, and I immediately retreat into my shell. The walls that Wolf broke through were built because of my parents, mostly my mother. “I haven’t written in the past week, but I’m writing some.”

  “‘Dangerous Heart.’ That’s yours, isn’t it?”

  My jaw drops, and I throw my arms up in the air. “How does everyone know about that? I turned it over to Wolf. No one should have ever known that I wrote it.”

  My dad smiles. “Pumpkin, I would know your writing anywhere. You didn’t arrange it, though, did you?”

  I shake my head, amazed at how well my father knows me even after our time apart. “I don’t arrange anymore. Wolf found the song after I trashed it, and he loved it so much he put it to music.” I smile at the memory. “I was enraged at first, but then we made a deal. He promised me his silence, and I gave him my song. He’d rather tell the world I’m the one who wrote it, but he respects my privacy.”

  “He respects you. I like him more than Tony already.”

  “You didn’t even know Tony, dad.”

  His eyes grow wide. “I met the asshat. Twice, if I remember correctly. Pumpkin, you may have been mad at me for the past nine years, but I tried to stay in your life as much as you’d let me.

  “He opened for me before you met him, you know. Hated him then. And then I came out to Vegas once and had dinner with you two. He was a real charmer,” he smirks, revealing his sarcasm. “Knew I couldn’t trust him for shit.”

  I laugh incredulously. “Why didn’t you ever say anything to me?”

  He glares at me, his lips curved up in amusement. “You already hated me. I wasn’t about to fuck things up more than they already were. Besides, you’re an adult, and I’ve always trusted you to make your own decisions. I knew that eventually you would realize the error of your ways.”

  “Ha! Says the forever bachelor.”

  He groans and rolls his eyes. “No, you did not just bring up Forever Bachelor. I could have killed my career with that show. Damn near did.”

  “I still tuned in every Sunday night. You were a real ladies’ man; that’s for sure. Did you really have to kiss every single female contestant, though?”

  “Yes,” he responds with mock confidence. “I didn’t want to play favorites.”

  “What was the point of that show, anyway? I watched it every week and never quite understood.”

  “They wanted me to ride off into the sunset with one of the women, and that was supposed to be the big twist. That a rock legend like me would go on a show claiming to be a forever bachelor and then wind up falling in love. It didn’t exactly turn out the way they wanted.”

  There are tears in my eyes from laughing. “You picked a winner at the end, though. Even said you were in love with her.”

  “Lies!” he shouts dramatically. “All lies. We broke up a minute after the director yelled ‘cut.’ She despised me by the end of the show.”

  “Gee, I wonder why,” I tease.

  My dad shakes his head. “I didn’t claim to be the perfect male specimen. I just know that my daughter should never date a man like me.”

  “Daddy, you’re a good man.”

  “Not good enough for my daughter to speak to me.”

  My heart hurts at his words. “Things just got . . . difficult. I don’t know. I felt like Mom stole a huge part of me, you know? I had big dreams. Not to follow in my parents’ footsteps exactly, but I was determined to collaborate with the hottest artists and work in a studio just like this one. After I found out what she did, I hated her.

  “You know, it’s funny,” I continue. “Even when I moved in with her and she was never around, I couldn’t bring myself to hate her—not until she really gave me a reason to.”

  It’s true. I always made excuses for her when my friends would come over and ask me where she was, or when she wasn’t in the audience to watch me perform at my high school’s talent night.

  It’s not like I was alone when my mother wasn’t around. There was a full-time house cleaner and a hired tutor to help me with schoolwork. I had a chauffeur to get me to and from school and appointments. And then there was Deloris, my nanny, who took care of everything else. Deloris was my rock through those years, but still, I hoped Destiny would come around.

  “You don’t hate your mother, Lyric,” my dad says. “You’ll probably be mad at her forever, and you have every right to be, but your heart doesn’t hold hate. That’s not you.”

  I turn my head toward him and frown. “It sure feels like hate. She had zero remorse for what she did, even after she saw how much it broke me. I’d never felt more alone than I did in that moment.”

  “You weren’t alone. Not at all.” His face softens. “I would have fought Soaring for you if you’d have let me, but you told me to stay out of it. I just figured there was more to the story I wasn’t privy to. Pumpkin, I would have done anything for you. Still would. Your mother…” He trails off. “I should have n
ever sent you to live with her.”

  I do not want to cry right now, but the tears are pricking the backs of my eyes and my throat feels swollen. I’m twenty-four years old, and I’m still crying over shit my parents did when I was a teenager. It’s time I move on from this. I just don’t want to be angry anymore.

  My father slips a hand into mine, and my heart expands with love for this man. God, I’ve missed him. I give up trying to hide the buildup of tears. The expression on his face mirrors mine.

  “Let’s do something together,” he suggests, his voice thick with emotion. “Like old times.”

  At first I’m not sure what he means, but then I realize his eyes have moved from my blotchy face to the piano. I shake my head. “No, I can’t.”

  “You were just playing. Come on. Play something with me.”

  I take a deep breath. That hopeful smile on his face and pleading eyes… I can never say no to my father. And anyway, if I’m going to move past all this shit that’s been holding me back for so long, I might as well start right now.

  He helps me to my feet, and we sit next to each other on the piano bench. He smiles as his fingers play around the keys, toying with melodies for us to play together.

  “You ready?”

  “What are we playing?”

  He winks at me. “You’ll know in three keys.”

  He plays the first line of the verse and my eyes immediately go wide. “‘Gravity.’ I still love that song.”

  Without another word, my father places his fingers on the keys and starts the haunting melody from the beginning. His eyes are closed, waiting. I laugh, knowing what he wants me to do. I thought we were just going to play together, but no.

  He wants me to sing.

  I take deep breath, feeling somewhat shaky. I haven’t sung in years, except for in the shower. He starts the verse from the beginning again, and this time I’m ready. I close my eyes, prepared to feel the impact of the music as I let the words lift from my diaphragm and out into the surrounding space. Once again, I’m overwhelmed with emotion and filled with the buzzing from the room’s acoustics. This feeling … I forgot what this feels like.