Counterpoint and Harmony (Songs and Sonatas Book 5)

by Jerica MacMillan

  Not so easily dissuaded, Lauren looks between Charlie and me as she pulls back from their hug. “Hanging out, huh? Is that what they’re calling it these days?”

  My ears get hotter, but Charlie just rolls her eyes. “Are you dodging my question? How’d your performance go?”

  Lauren’s right eyebrow arches even higher as she looks over Charlie, her lips pursed. “My performance went fine, thanks. As for dodging questions … I think you ought to look in the mirror.”

  Charlie laughs again. “Okay, sure. Whatever you say, Lauren. I’m glad your performance went well. When do you find out the winners?”

  “Tonight or tomorrow,” Lauren says. “They have to finish listening to everyone, then confer over their tally sheets and decide the winners. Then they’ll call and let us know.”

  Charlie’s eyes go wide, and she shakes her head. “I don’t know how you guys can stand it. I’d be a wreck.”

  Lauren laughs, and I chuckle. “Seriously?” Lauren asks.

  Glancing between us, Charlie’s nose wrinkles. “What? What’s so funny?”

  I give her a grin. “It’s just funny, because you perform in front of sold out arenas, but you think you’d be a wreck waiting to hear the results of one little competition.”

  “Those two things aren’t the same at all. Yeah, my albums and concerts get music reviews, and a lot of times those aren’t very nice. When you’ve built your audience primarily from preteen and teenaged girls, the critics don’t take you seriously, and your singles are either panned as juvenile or trying too hard to be serious. There’s no winning with them, but I can easily avoid reading those reviews for the most part.” She waves a hand, dismissing that topic. “But those arenas are full of fans. That’s why they bought a ticket. As long as I give them the things they’ve grown to love and expect, along with a side of something new and fun, they’ll enjoy themselves. They’re not there to listen for all my mistakes and write them down on a sheet. They’re there to have a good time and sing along and maybe get an autograph at the meet and greet. And no one calls me that night or the next day to tell me if I was good enough to keep doing it.”

  Silence descends as Charlie finishes, and Lauren and I look at each other. Lauren breaks the silence at last. “I guess I can understand why Gabby ran off with Jonathan even more when you put it like that.”

  Charlie laughs. “Yeah. That. And, you know, being with the love of her life. Minor details.”

  Lauren chuckles with her, her eyes darting between Charlie and me again. “Yeah. That. True.”

  She looks like she wants to say something else, but I don’t want to hear what’s behind the speculative look on her face. “I’m starving,” I throw out before she can say anything. “What did you guys want to do for dinner?”

  Lauren’s mouth snaps shut, and she stares at me for a beat, like she sees right through my attempt to change the subject.

  I return her look, unflinching, and she finally drops her gaze and tucks her hair behind her ear before looking at Charlie. “Where’s that list of restaurants we picked from last night? Let’s take a look. And invite Natalie to join us this time. I feel weird leaving her out.”

  Charlie pulls out her phone and sends a quick text. “I think she felt like a third wheel on the plane and didn’t want to get in the way of us catching up.”

  Turning her head, Lauren mumbles something that sounds something like, “know how she feels,” but if Charlie hears her, she ignores her just like I do.

  Natalie arrives seconds later and calls in our dinner order, agreeing to eat with us tonight. Grabbing the remote, I turn on the TV to try to find a movie or something, because between what happened with Charlie and I and now Lauren poking her nose in our business, being far too perceptive for my liking, we all need a distraction.

  At least with Natalie here, Lauren’s tendency to poke and prod for information should be relatively contained. I hope.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Staccato: making each note brief and detached, the opposite of legato, notated with a dot above or below the head of the note

  Charlie

  Dinner with Damian, Lauren, and Natalie starts off great. We pick a movie from the in-room rental options after Natalie gets back with our Thai food. Settling down with our takeout containers around the TV, conversation is sporadic, and mostly centered around the believability of the situations the romantic leads find themselves in.

  Things take a turn when Damian’s phone rings. I hit pause while he stands, moving to the entryway to take the call, not that it makes a difference. We all hear his half of the conversation.

  “Wow. That’s great.” Even with his back to me, I can tell he’s smiling. And when he turns, his smile takes my breath away.

  But then Lauren makes a strangled noise from her seat next to me. I’m distracted at first, because Damian’s eyes lock on mine as he continues talking, agreeing and thanking the person on the phone. When I finally tear my eyes away to look at Lauren, she has her eyes trained on him, anguish written all over her face.

  This is the call. Damian won the competition, which means that Lauren did not. They were competing in the same category.

  She blinks hard, her gaze dropping to the half full takeout container in her lap.

  Damian ends the call, and his elation dims as he takes in Lauren.

  She looks up at him, a forced smile on her face. “Congratulations. I’ve heard you play the Dvořák. I’m sure you deserved it.”

  “Thanks.” He slides his phone in his back pocket, then sticks his hands in his front pockets. “I, uh—”

  Lauren shakes her head and stands, setting aside her food. “Don’t. Just … don’t. I appreciate that you want to make me feel better, but …” She flashes that smile again, tears glittering in her eyes. “I, um, I need to go. I’ll see you guys tomorrow.”

  Standing too, I move toward her. “Are you sure, Lauren? Do you want me to—”

  But she cuts me off too, wiping her hands over her face and slipping her shoes back on. “No. No. I’d prefer to be alone. I’m sorry. Thanks.” She flashes me that same pained smile and heads for the door.

  Damian and I remain frozen in place as she leaves. Several seconds tick past after the door closes loudly behind her with no one moving or saying anything.

  “Well,” Natalie says, finally breaking the silence. “That was really awkward. But, uh, I think I’ll go finish watching this in my room. Without all this”—she waves her hands in a circular motion at Damian and I standing in the middle of the room—“unresolved tension.”

  We remain in place as she grabs her bag, slips her shoes back on, and leaves as well, food in hand.

  Damian looks over at me, hands still in his pockets.

  I clear my throat. “Congratulations. I’m really happy for you.”

  “Thanks.” He looks around, one hand coming up to rub the back of his neck. He clears his throat. “Well, uh, I should probably go too. My parents will want to know. And Dr. Weber.”

  “Yeah. Of course.” My voice sounds too loud, but my default to cover over awkwardness is to talk. Be loud. Distract people with my smile and bubbly personality. Or sarcasm. Whichever seems more fitting. Except right now, nothing seems fitting.

  I don’t want Damian to leave. And I’m torn between wanting to invite him back to celebrate and going to check on Lauren.

  He gives me a polite smile. “Thanks for dinner again. I’ll, uh, I’ll see you later.”

  “Sure. Anytime.”

  Before I can say or do anything else, like give him a hug or a kiss or … anything at all, he’s gone. Leaving me alone in my room, trapped and restless.

  The movie’s still paused, but I don’t care about it anymore. I turn it off and flop down on the bed, staring at the ceiling. But I’m up again after a few seconds, pacing the floor and chewing my thumbnail, trying to decide what to do with myself. I grab my phone and send Lauren a text to see if she wants me to come commiserate with her, but she just say
s, No thanks. Talking to Gabby.

  Of course she is. Never mind that idea, then. It shouldn’t sting, but it does. Gabby would understand better than me how she feels. I know this. And the fact that I’m torn between being happy for Damian and sad for Lauren doesn’t help matters.

  Then there’s what happened with Damian before Lauren showed up …

  She interrupted before we had a chance to talk about it. Then the calls about the competition happened. Nothing’s resolved.

  But there doesn’t seem to be anything I can do about it now. Damian clearly didn’t want to stay. And I can’t go to his room. That’s risky. What if someone sees me?

  My gaze lands on my laptop sitting closed on the desk. There’s always work to be done, so I settle into the plush desk chair and open my computer, pulling up my email.

  I respond to an email from my manager and another one from my PR person. And delete one from my mom without reading it. She occasionally tries to make contact. The first few times were her trying to browbeat me into moving back in with her and Dad, where she could control me again. When that didn’t work, she acted like she was just checking in, like a normal parent does with their child. I actually talked to her a bit then, but it soon became clear that she was only interested in trying to worm her way back into my management team. And that’s not happening.

  Sometimes I read her emails or listen to her voicemails. But tonight I just don’t have the emotional bandwidth to deal with her. Deleting her email is the best form of resolution I can get right now.

  There are more emails, more decisions I need to make, and I just can’t right now. Another email from my manager asking where and when I want to schedule my next pop-up show, and the only answer I can come up with is I don’t know.

  I can’t send her that, though.

  So I close my laptop, frustrated that I’m so wound up that I can’t even work.

  All these conflicting feelings—happiness, disappointment, confusion—leave me itchy and unsettled. Damian and I always talked about everything. So not talking about all of this—the sex, what we’re doing, his win—feels wrong.

  That’s the only word I can come up with that fits. Everything’s all wrong.

  I know he wanted to call and talk to his family, but it’s been over half an hour. That should be enough time, right?

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Portato: carried; non-legato but not as detached as staccato

  Damian

  The knock on my door has me telling my mom to hang on so I can check the peephole.

  Charlie stands on the other side, a baseball cap pulled low over her face, darting looks down the hall as she bites her lower lip.

  I pull open the door, and she lets out a relieved breath as she pushes inside. “Thank you,” she whispers. “I didn’t want anyone to see me. But the coast was clear.”

  Her gorgeous smile twists a knife in my guts, the same feeling as when she put out the press release that said we were just friends. Yeah, I know she explained her reasons, but would it really be so bad if people saw her coming into my room?

  Swallowing down the acid in my throat, I bring my phone back to my ear. “Mom? Yeah. Hey, someone’s here. I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”

  “No problem. Thanks for calling, mijo. We’re so proud of you. Your dad and I will be sure to get the time off to come to the final concert.”

  “Thanks, Mom. Love you.”

  After we say our goodbyes and hang up, I take a deep breath before turning to face Charlie again, crossing my arms over my chest.

  “So your parents are happy?”

  “Yeah.”

  She looks at me, her face expectant, but I don’t offer anything more. Tucking her hair behind her ear, she looks away for a second before meeting my gaze again, her expression more guarded now. “Right. You must be excited, though, right?”

  “Of course.”

  She waits again, but still I say nothing.

  After a long moment, she clears her throat. “Oh. Well. Okay, then. Sorry to bother you. I just …” She makes a helpless gesture with her hand, then reaches up to adjust her hat. With a weird smile at me, she heads for the door.

  I drop my arms and let out a big sigh. “What did you want, Charlie? Why did you come here?”

  Her hand is already on the doorknob, but she turns back to me, her face as open and vulnerable as I think I’ve ever seen it. “I don’t know, Damian. I guess I thought … well, after this afternoon, I thought maybe you’d want to hang out. Celebrate. Talk. Something. Instead you’re shutting me out. Again. So, fine. Sorry to interrupt your phone call. I thought you’d be done. But if you don’t want to see me, then no biggie.” She shrugs, her eyes dropping from mine, the set of her mouth giving away her lie. “I’ll just sprint back to my room and hope no one’s out there. No one’s supposed to know I’m here until tomorrow when the announcement goes out about the show.”

  Understanding dawns. “That’s why you were sneaking over here? Why you were so relieved no one saw you?”

  Her blue eyes meet mine again, surprise there now. “Of course. Why else? That’s why I’ve been hiding out in my room the entire time we’re here. Normally I fly in the night before a pop-up show to minimize the possibility of word spreading too early. The whole attraction is that people find out only a few hours in advance, and they never know where the next one is going to be. And there are all these supposed ‘sightings’ of me all over the place.” She lifts her hands to make air quotes and then drops them with a sigh. “I mean, I guess if I were spotted for real, it’d probably blend into the noise. But so far, none of them have been real, or at least not where a show was going to be, so they’re all red herrings. If word gets out I’m here today, and then there’s a show here tomorrow, it’ll make them only try harder to figure it out next time. The paparazzi will hound me even more.”

  “So it’s not because you don’t want people seeing you come to my room?” I’m stupidly hammering the point, but I need to hear her say it.

  Her eyes widen. “No. That has nothing to do with it. I’d be just as paranoid about going to Natalie’s room. Or Lauren’s room. Which is why you’ve all been coming to me instead of the other way around. Not because I’m some diva on a power trip or something.” She spreads her hands. “But I’m the one who has to stay hidden.” Her mouth twists in a sad smile. “After coming to Marycliff, they’re onto my attempts to disguise myself.” She gestures at her face and hat. “This doesn’t fool anyone for long.”

  Closing the distance between us, I pull her into my arms. She holds herself stiffly for just a second, but then relaxes into me, her arms coming around my waist. “I’m sorry.”

  “For?” She pushes back enough to look up at me.

  Pressing my lips together, I shake my head, pulling her close again. “For being a dumbass. I thought you were embarrassed to be seen coming to my room.”

  She pushes back again. “Damian, why would you think that? I’ve never tried to hide our relationship.”

  I arch an eyebrow at her. “You were the one who put out the statement that we were only ever friends.”

  With a frustrated noise in the back of her throat, she shakes her head. “I told you why I did that. And at the time I didn’t think you’d care, since you basically told me you never wanted to see me again.”

  Pressing my lips together again, I tilt my head to one side. “I don’t quite remember the conversation going that way.”

  She lets out her breath in a huff. “You told me you needed time, but then refused to talk to me even after we got back to Spokane.”

  “You didn’t even show up for the flight home!” The words explode out of me without thought.

  Taking a step back, she blinks up at me in surprise. “You didn’t want to see me. So I went straight to the airport, called my old assistant, and had them send the plane for me. There didn’t seem to be a point in waiting around till the next day.” She swallows and looks away. “And by the next day my picture was e
verywhere. It would’ve been a disaster if I’d shown up for our flight, even if things between us hadn’t been so … broken.”

  She’s quiet for a moment, examining me. I stuff my hands in my pockets. She lifts a hand in my direction, but lets it drop before actually making contact. “I had no idea you would be upset by that,” she says softly.

  It’s my turn for an unconvincing shrug. “I didn’t …” I look around, unwilling to meet her gaze. “I expected you to be there. Figured it would force us to talk. But then you bailed. And then all the media attention. I decided it was easier if we just left things as they were. So I didn’t answer your calls or texts. Even when Lauren chased me down and told me you were moving back to California. I thought …” I stop and swallow. “Well, it seemed like my best chance of moving on would be to just let you go. You’d be gone. I wouldn’t see you again. Eventually I’d find a way to get over you.”

  “And now?” The question is soft, her voice breaking on the second word.

  When I bring my gaze back to hers, her eyes are bright with tears, but steady despite the raw emotion laid bare for me. Reaching for her, I wrap my arms around her again, and she buries her face in my chest. “And now I’ve finally realized that I don’t think I could get over you no matter how hard I tried. Even if I never saw you again, you’d always own me.”

  At my words, she presses up on her toes, lifting her face to mine, capturing my mouth in a kiss, her lips salty with her tears.

  When she drops back down on flat feet, I follow, kissing her again. And again. Then leading her to my bed, where I wrap my arms around her and kiss her some more. Soft, gentle kisses. No tongue. All sweetness and connection, each one an unspoken promise between us.

  We don’t talk anymore, the kissing giving way to simple cuddling. Eventually Charlie’s breathing evens out, and she falls asleep in my arms.