"Just relax, Rey. You're going to be brilliant."
Rey wasn't so sure. She was standing backstage with Luke, counting down the minutes until her performance time and trying to remember how to breathe.
"But what if I panic?" she said. "What if I get out there and can't remember a single note? I can't do this, Luke—not again. I—"
"Rey, look at me." Luke put his hands on her shoulders and turned her to face him. "You know this. When you played it for me a month ago, without having touched it in years, it was near perfect. With all the work you've put into it since, I can only imagine…"
He brought one hand up to her face and laid it gently against her cheek, carefully avoiding her injury. She no longer wore the gauze pad—the cuts were still painful, but they were slowly starting to heal.
"Just don't overthink it," he said. "Your fingers know what to do—let them. Ignore the judges. Pretend you're only playing it for me again, if you want to. I'll be right there watching."
"In the front row?" she asked.
"In the front row."
He leaned in and placed a kiss on her forehead. For a moment Rey had the feeling that he wanted to do more, but he just gave her a smile instead.
"Ten minutes," he said. "Time for me to find my seat."
Her anxiety doubled the minute he disappeared through the door, as if his presence alone had been keeping her calm. She clutched the neck of Luke's father's violin, automatically fingering the first few measures of the piece.
It's not going to happen again. Not like last time.
She peeked around the curtain to watch the violinist who was currently performing—Bruch's Scottish Fantasy. She was good—note-perfect, really—but not particularly expressive.
Eight minutes.
From the glance she had taken at the schedule earlier, she knew Ben would be performing immediately after her. She'd breathed a huge sigh of relief when she found out that only one performer was allowed backstage at at time. Hopefully she and Luke would be able to leave as soon as she had finished—she had no desire to stay to watch Ben's performance.
Five minutes.
Luke closed the backstage door behind him, wishing there was more he could do to help Rey. But this was her battle to fight. He could support her, encourage her—but he couldn't do it for her, much as he might like to.
As he was turning into the auditorium to find a seat, someone bumped into him coming the opposite direction.
"Uncle," the man said coldly. He started to walk away, but Luke grabbed his arm.
"Ben," he said, trying to keep his voice calm. "Come talk to me for a minute, okay?"
"I'm performing soon. I need to be backstage."
"This won't take long."
Ben tried to jerk his arm out of Luke's grip, but Luke held on, pulling him into a side hallway away from the crowds. The last thing he wanted was to make a scene.
"Look," he whispered sharply, pushing Ben up against the wall, "I'm giving you one chance—for your mother's sake, not yours. Bring it back by the end of the day and I won't go to the police. But if you don't, or if you even think about doing anything else to hurt Rey, I will personally ensure that you don't see daylight again until you're too old and broken to care."
Ben's expression was blank, unreadable. "I have no idea what you're talking about."
Luke leaned in closer. "Yes, you do," he said. "One chance."
He gave Ben a final shove and released his arm. Ben pushed past him, then turned back.
"Your standards really have slipped, Uncle," he said. "I'm sure Aunt Mara would be thrilled to find out you've been screwing someone half your age."
Only the fear of somehow damaging Rey's chances in the competition kept Luke from punching Ben in the face right then and there. It wasn't the first time he'd had to resist that temptation. Gritting his teeth, he managed to keep both hands at his sides as he walked past Ben into the auditorium.
Being on stage again felt like a dream. Though Rey had never before set foot on this particular stage, there were pieces of it that felt familiar—the hollow creak of the wooden floorboards, the dust motes drifting slowly through the lights, the sudden blackness just past the edge of the stage, full of the restless murmuring of a faceless crowd. There wouldn't be many people here, she knew—the auditions were open to the public, but most of the audience would consist of family and friends of the participants.
Distantly, she heard someone announce her name and music selection for the benefit of the judges. There was a polite smattering of applause as she reached the front of the stage near the piano. She lifted the instrument to her chin.
The pianist began the introduction, and Rey's eyes automatically went to the front row of the audience, half-expecting to see her grandfather's face smiling back at her.
But it was Luke who smiled instead. She watched him for a moment, letting the warmth of his expression wash over her. Then she closed her eyes and pretended she was playing only for him. They were back in his office, on that very first night—she could almost smell the delicate mix of old wood and paper in the air. It felt exactly the same in some ways, but it was different, too—she was no longer playing for a stranger. She knew Luke now, knew the depths of his kindness and the color of admiration in his eyes. She wasn't afraid or nervous to play for him now, but excited. She wanted to show him what she could do, to make him proud.
Rey was hardly aware of her fingers moving over the strings. She could hear the music, but it was almost as if someone else were playing it, as if she had no conscious control over what she was doing. And it was beautiful.
She came back to herself as the echo of the final note faded. The moment she opened her eyes, she looked down at Luke for his reaction.
He was absolutely beaming.
"Dinner's on me," he said when she met him in the lobby a few minutes later. "We're celebrating."
"Celebrating what?" said Rey. "They won't announce the winners until next week."
"Well, how about the fact that you were amazing?" he said. "That you were ten times better than anyone else here, and that—"
"That it's over and I survived?"
Luke laughed. "That, too."
He took her to Niima's, a steakhouse not far from the concert hall. For the most part he seemed to be his normal self during dinner, talking warmly and animatedly, but every once in a while she could sense that distance between them again. It stretched and grew whenever there was a lull in the conversation, and when she looked at him in those moments she could see it in his eyes—he was miles away. Years away.
He's thinking about Mara. Wishing she were here instead of me.
But then he would look at her and smile, make some comment about her performance or the meal, laugh—and she would wonder. She hadn't quite figured out how to read him yet, to know what he was thinking or how he felt. All she knew was that she was happiest when she was with him, and she wanted him to be happy, too.
Luke brought Rey back to her apartment after dinner, all the while trying to work out how to tell her what was on his mind. There was so much he wanted her to know, about himself and the way she made him feel, but he didn't know if it was the right time. Or if it would ever be the right time, for that matter.
Halfway up the stairs to her floor, he had finally made up his mind to ask if he could come inside for a few minutes so they could talk when Rey suddenly stopped mid-step.
"Shoot, I forgot to grab my mail," she said, turning around.
"Want me to get it?" said Luke. He was still trying to figure out how he could ask to come inside without sounding overly suggestive, anyway.
"Sure." She dug through her purse and pulled out a small key. "It's 3C."
"Got it."
He had just reached the mailboxes near the front door when he heard Rey shriek at the top of the stairs.
"Rey?" he called, bounding back up the steps. "What happened? Are you all right?"
"It's back!" she squealed. "They brought it back! My violin!"
Luke slowed his pace, relief flooding through him. Perhaps his threats of going to the police had actually gotten through to Ben? But no...he wasn't sure he could believe that. It was too easy.
"Rey?" he said, quickening his step again. "Don't open it yet, okay? I just want to—"
He was cut off by another scream, but this time it wasn't one of excitement—it was horror.
"Rey!"
He took the last flight of stairs two at a time. At the top, he found Rey sitting against the wall opposite her door, both hands clamped over her mouth and tears already streaming down her face. In front of the door lay her violin case, open, and inside was her grandfather's violin.
Smashed into a thousand pieces.
Luke swore and closed the case, then sat down on the floor next to Rey and pulled her into his arms. Tears still poured down her cheeks, but she was silent and still—probably in shock. He held her for a moment longer, then pulled back so he could look her in the eyes.
"I need you to go inside and pack a bag," he said, carefully wiping the tears from her face. "Whoever did this knows where you live, so I can't let you stay here. I'm going to bring you back home with me until this is all over. Okay?"
Rey nodded numbly. He helped her to her feet and gently moved the violin case out of the way so she could open the door. She hesitated, her eyes following the case as he set it down a few feet away.
"Inside, Rey," he said. "Please. I'll wait out here."
She unlocked the door and went inside, and Luke fought the urge to put his fist through the wall. There was no longer any doubt in his mind who had done this.
And he wasn't going to let Ben get away with it anymore.