Duet Rubato Read online

  Dad told me often enough it would’ve been easier to give up theater. But who am I without it? In a way, I guess being backstage is a weird kind of compromise. If I don’t leave theater, I can pretend I didn’t leave her.

  A vibration in my pocket startles me. I head for the door as I punch the passcode into my phone. Maddy’s probably leading a witch hunt for me. My brow furrows when I look down at an unfamiliar jumble of digits.

  2:13 P.M. Unknown: Saw you rush out after the song

  2:13 P.M. Unknown: R u ok?

  I run numbers over in my head as my fingers fly atop the keys, but this one is still coming up blank.

  2:14 P.M. Addie: Who is this?

  I push into the hall and head for the double doors leading to the parking lot.

  2:14 P.M. Unknown: Catie. I got a new phone since… Anyway, one of ur crew, Sandy? Gave me ur number

  The phone case crackles in my hand. Sam, little bitch! I should’ve known! What the hell am I supposed to do now?

  2:15 P.M. Unknown: Look, I didn’t know you were going to be here. I wouldn’t have sung it if I’d known.

  I laugh out loud. Is she kidding? There are millions, millions, of songs she could’ve chosen from and she had the gall to do that one? And not for a life-changing part, for a local audition. Guilt stabs me, but I shake my head, my fingers dancing over the keyboard.

  2:17 P.M. Addie: But after you did, you shouldn’t have.

  I have every right to be mad. If the roles were reversed, well, nothing could make me sing it.

  2:17 P.M. Unknown: I was nervous and that song always makes me feel better.

  Pfft. Of course it does.

  2:18 P.M. Unknown: I’m sorry, ok? But I need this job

  I dig my car keys from my pocket. She isn’t going to let this go.

  2:18 P.M. Addie: It’s fine.

  2:18 P.M. Unknown: Lyn, I’m sorry

  A horn honks behind me, and I throw the driver a nasty look as I pull out of the spot and turn into the street. I pick up my phone at the next stoplight, growling even as my heart taps in my chest.

  2:19 P.M. Addie: Whatever.

  Even as I type, it takes all my willpower not to turn the car around to go comfort her.

  2:19 P.M. Unknown: Do you still want to meet up? Tomrw? Mario’s at 10?

  Dammit. I can’t go. Not after everything.

  2:20 P.M. Unknown: Please??

  I imagine her adorable puppy dog expression. Swish. A blue text bubble I have no recollection of typing stares up at me.

  2:20 P.M. Addie: Make it 10:15

  Oh yeah. Totally fucked.

  If there’s anything more mouthwatering than the smell of freshly brewed coffee in the morning, I haven’t found it.

  Inhaling, I glance around. I haven’t been to Mario’s in forever. It’s all the same: dark wood counter, glass display cases overflowing with Italian baked goods. The delicacies taunt me from behind various windows.

  My stomach growls in anticipation, but I try to squelch the urge. My trainer kept me on a strict diet during my stint with the dance company, and rehab wasn’t much better. I haven’t had a pastry in years. The idea of sinking my teeth into something so sweet makes my knees go weak. But I don’t want to risk breaking my regime just when I’ve gotten back in the game.

  The audition was still surreal, but finding out Addie was the assistant director? For a second, I’d been convinced we were in a gender-bent production of Hamlet, and she’d vaporize the instant I turned my back. Now we’re meeting for coffee.

  Like old times.

  A wary smile turns up my mouth. I don’t know if we’ll ever be able to get back to “old times” again. But darn it, I’m going to give it my best shot.

  I head to the counter. The line is five people deep. Then four. Before I can step forward as the third person in line, my phone vibrates in the dance bag against my hip. I fish around, pulling it out. By then, it’s on the third ring and I slide my finger over the “ACCEPT” bar.

  “Hello?”

  “Catie?”

  “Grayson, hey.” I sidestep out of line, weaving through the crowd until I find my favorite spot in the back left of the restaurant near a large window, close enough to the kitchen to catch a glimpse of all the fresh pastries. “Um, what’s up?”

  “Are you busy?” he asks. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

  I slip into the chair facing the door, letting my bag drop next to me. “It’s fine. I’m getting coffee.” I prop my arms up in front of an unfinished chess game crowding the table top. “What is it?”

  “Just checking in. You never called me after the audition yesterday. How did it go?”

  I rest my forehead in my hand. With everything going on with Addie, I forgot. Still, he sounds flustered. I wonder if he thinks I choked and that’s why I haven’t called.

  Oh God, what if I did choke? What if Frank went to all that work to get me in, then I blew it? I mean, I think it went pretty well, but who knows?

  “Catie?”

  I shake away the nerves and take a deep breath. “I meant to call, but things got a little crazy afterward.”

  “Really? Crazy how?”

  Oh, crap. Now what? I can't tell him about Addie. God knows how he’d react. “Oh, you know. . .” I fiddle with a white pawn.

  “Crazy how?” he asks again.

  “Just,” Addie. “I mean, stuff.”

  The bell above the door dings and Addie walks in. Speak of the devil.

  Her features are puckered and reserved, but she offers a hesitant wave when our gazes meet. I plaster on a grin until she heads toward the counter.

  Phew. Now to get off this call. “Frank wanted to talk. But I’ll tell you later.”

  “He did?” More curiosity. Great. “Think you’ll get a callback?”

  “Yes. No. Too soon to tell.” I cross my fingers under the table. “Hey, can I call you back? My phone is about to die.”

  I search for Addie. She's made it up to the counter and is handing the cashier a bundle of bills. The barista in the back turns to start mixing her drink. Shoot. I need to speed things along.

  “Don’t forget we have that fundraising luncheon for Lyssa’s school with Evelyn and Henry, I mean, my parents, today. The Boathouse at noon.”

  “Noonhouse at boat. Got it! Bye!”

  “What? No, wait!”

  I jam the “END” button and throw the phone in my bag, sagging back against the chair. Too close.

  A second later, Addie stands in front of me. “Hey.” Her lips curl up in a hesitant smile as she settles into a seat.

  “Hi.” I catch my lower lip between my teeth.

  She shrugs off her bag and winds the strap around the back of the chair before pushing one of the coffees in my direction. “You hadn’t gotten a drink yet. Her caramel hair drops into her eyes.

  I stop myself from brushing it back, wrapping my fingers around the cup instead. “Thanks.”

  Raising it to my mouth, I blow away some of the steam. Addie’s watching me, hazel eyes wide and cautious as her tongue darts out to wet her lips. I smile and she flushes, her fingers tangling themselves in the single strand of curled hair that has slipped out from where she tucked it behind her ear.

  She fingers the black coffee sleeve. “Hope I got it right.”

  My grin grows as I take a small sip, then widens further at the familiar taste. I have no idea how she got the staff to do it, but whatever this is, it tastes like my usual Starbucks order. One venti, iced, skinny hazelnut macchiato with sugar-free syrup, an extra shot, light ice, and no whip. I always get the same thing, yet only Christy, my barista back home, has managed to do it right. And now, it appears, Addie. Ten years later and she still remembers.

  “Well?” she asks, turning a black bishop in her palms. I giggle and give her a small nod. God, I forgot how cute she is when she’s nervous. “It’s perfect.” A buzz of electricity skips up my spine.

  “Good.” Laugh lines show up around her eyes and her grin expo
ses her perfectly white teeth. My heart pirouettes in my chest and I match it.

  “I can’t believe you remembered. I mean, it’s been. . .”

  The spark in her gaze dies a little, and her wide smile turns to closed lips. Addie shrugs and gulps her own drink. “Yeah, well, I’ve heard you order it at least a million times.”

  “Are you saying I’m addicted to caffeine?” As I glance at her hourglass figure, heat radiates from my face.

  “Maybe.” She smirks, pointing the head of the bishop at me.

  I stick out my tongue. “And you, Miss Poster-Child-for-Healthy-Eating?

  I grab her cup and peek over the rim, tisking. “Yep. Chocolate-obsessed as ever.”

  She laughs as I shove the cup back toward her. “Just what I needed. More coffee.”

  A tiny part of me feels like nothing has changed. It would be so easy to slip back into our old ways. Like wearing a well-loved pair of ballet shoes after breaking new ones in. Bandage the blisters and move on; they’ll be gone in a few weeks anyway.

  Except they won’t. My blisters and bruises may have healed, but their scars will be permanent. Hers too. As much as I want to put the pieces back together, I’m clueless about where to start.

  When my cup is empty and I’m debating getting up for, she speaks.

  “I have to admit, I never thought this would happen.” Addie shifts, her eyes downcast as she drums her fingers against her hollow coffee cup.

  “What, exactly?” I’m careful to keep my posture casual. My legs uncross beneath the table.

  “Us, together, in the same room. After everything.” She coughs. “I thought you’d hate me.”

  I freeze, my hand hovering over the white player’s last rook—the only piece still in its original place. “Hate you?”

  “Yeah, hate me.” She looks straight into my eyes.

  It was my body and there was nothing she could’ve said or done to change my mind. But I could never hate her. She hadn’t just been my girlfriend. She was the one.

  “No, why would I?”

  “I gave you plenty of reasons,” she spits, letting out a harsh, sharp laugh. “I mean, when I, well, fucked everything up.”

  Her voice cracks, sending a pang of pain through my chest. Oh my God. She thinks I hate her. Like really hate her. Whoever said broken hearts weren’t a real thing must’ve been lying through their teeth.

  “Oh.” I let out a dry chuckle. “That?”

  Addie’s shoulders square themselves against the back of the chair, as if she’s bracing for a punch.

  I shake off my shock and wave my hand through the air. “That was ages ago. I’m over it.” I force a smile, but it drops when she recoils. A few stray tears slip down her cheeks, and I dig my heels into the floor to keep from rounding the table, cupping her cheeks, and kissing them away until we’re both breathless.

  But as soon as the wound appears, it’s gone, replaced with hard eyes as she clutches the chess piece in her hand.

  “You might be over it. I’m not.”

  Gooseflesh rises on my arms and I gather the hems of my sleeves in my palms, pulling them down as much as I can without breaking eye contact. My heart jétes. I snap the trance in half as heat creeps up my neck.

  The silence is back. And again, I have no idea how to break it.

  At least she hasn’t bolted. But her staying doesn’t tell me where to go from here. My hands dance along the forgotten chess pieces on the board. Addie’s do the same.

  Lightbulb.

  “Want to play?” I ask. Is this the best you got?

  “Sure.” Addie looks up and starts replacing the pieces on the board. “You won’t know what hit you.”

  “Try me.” I stifle a giggle at the glimmer of competition in her eyes.

  “I’m going to.”

  An hour, two more coffees, and forty-something moves later, we still haven’t said more than two words. Addie is down to two bishops, a rook, her queen, king, and a handful of pawns. I, on the other hand, still have one knight, one bishop, both rooks, though one is surrounded, my king, queen, and about seven pawns.

  Addie’s hand rests under her chin as she contemplates whether it’s safe to knock out my rook. If she does, it will leave me a direct path to her king, but if not, I’m one swift slide from taking out her queen.

  She takes the rook down.

  I resist the urge to squeal as I slide my bishop into place, protected by the knight. “Checkmate.”

  “What?” Addie stares at the board. Her jaw goes slack when she spots my maneuver. “How?”

  I hide my smirk behind a last gulp of coffee. “You better believe it.”

  “Are you fucking kidding me?” She throws up her arms.

  I trill the chorus of “Impossible” from Cinderella, and Addie scowls.

  “I hate you.” She smiles.

  Burying my face behind the rim of my cup, I snicker. “No, you don’t.”

  She smirks. “You can bet your pretty ass I don’t.”

  I grin, then sober as Addie flushes, sighing sharply and resting her hand on the table.

  I stiffen. Oh no. I don’t like where this is going.

  “Look, I want to ask you something/”

  I bite my lip and curl my fingers around the knight, letting its curves dig into my skin. “Is it about what happened?”

  Addie nods, twisting the hem of the right sleeve of her forest green jacket between her fingers. “Is that okay?”

  I cringe. “Actually, I’d rather not talk about it, if you don’t mind.”

  Addie winces, but tries to hide it beneath a strained grin. “Of course.” Her gaze settles on her sleeve. “I shouldn’t have brought it up.” I pause as she brushes her hair behind her ear.

  My phone vibrates against the seat between us. “Sorry. One second.” Cheeks on fire, I search through my bag and pull out my phone.

  Saved by the bell.

  But when I unlock it, my heart crawls into my throat.

  Grayson: Where are you?? E and H are here and they’ve already been waiting for fifteen minutes.

  Oh, no. Lunch! Grayson’s going to kill me.

  If Evelyn doesn’t finish me off first.

  I spring up from the table, snatching up my cup and throwing my bag haphazardly over my shoulder.

  “Catie?” Addie asks.

  “I’m sorry! Gotta go. I should have been somewhere fifteen minutes ago!” In my rush to get out the door, I knock over a few chairs. Addie scrambles up to follow me.

  “Okay.” I face her after dropping the cup in the trash, taking her hand.

  She startles, but doesn’t pull away. “I’m sorry I used our song.”

  “It’s okay.” Addie’s throat convulses as she swallows. “Will I-do you want to see me again?”

  Before I answer, the door swings open, propelled by the incoming lunch rush. I step onto the sidewalk to avoid being trampled. Addie stays behind, but before she disappears, I spin on my heel. “Lyn?”

  She gawks. “Yeah?”

  “I lied. I’m not over it either.”

  Her smile banishes the rain clouds forming in my mind.

  Even as Hellsworth drones on from the aisle of the auditorium, the dizzying happiness flowing through my veins since Catie first smiled at me this morning doesn’t dissipate. My hand still tingles where she held it. Her body settled into mine effortlessly. For a moment, I forgot we had been apart. Her abrupt exit had set my insides into an uncertain arpeggio, but I’d tried my damnedest to shake it away. There was still so much to be said between us, but doubts could wait. She’d missed me. She didn’t hate me for abandoning her all those years ago. It was more than I’d dared to hope for. More than enough.

  My heart, though, has other ideas. Five times since she’d left, I’d typed out texts asking how she was doing, or suggesting ways we could see one another again, before deleting them and dropping the device into my purse. I sure as hell didn’t deserve her forgiveness. Freely as she’d given it, I didn’t have any right t
o barge into her life. As blissful as our morning had been, we couldn’t stay in that little bubble forever. Her taking leave was another heart-wrenching reminder. She had an entire other world, other life that no longer included me.

  “Addie?” Whipping around, four faces scowl at me, the nearest belonging to Franklin Johnson. “Did you hear me?”

  “Um.” Fuck. What did I miss? My eyes dart to the card table, strewn with an array of résumés and headshots sorted into piles. In his left hand, Frank holds a picture of a boy around seventeen, with light hair and bright green eyes. Scrawled across the top are the words DAMIAN NORTH in bold font.

  “Too short?” I squeak out.

  Frank blinks as his brows furrow and Hellsworth, who’s sitting to his right, narrows her eyes as her painted lips purse.

  “He’s 4′9″,” Frank replies. “How can he be too short to play a munchkin?”

  Shit. “Well.” I draw out the word.

  Hellsworth clears her throat. “Ms. Davidson, if there is something more important that warrants your attention—”

  I shoot up in my chair and shake my head. “No, Ms. Helmsworth,” I interject. She finishes that statement and my sorry ass will be out of the game. “I’m 100 percent committed.” Her frown deepens and I raise my right hand. “Scout’s honor.”

  Hellsworth keeps an eagle eye on me as she studies my arched posture. She hums and I dare to offer a hint of a smile but all she gives back is a resting bitch face.

  Fuck. I’m screwed.

  Neal, our music director, breaks the awkward silence. “Come on, Gina. You know Adaline’s dedicated. She’s been with Bright Light since—”

  “Can you tell me something I don’t know, Neal?” Her gaze snaps to him and back. She lets out an indignant huff. “Miss Davidson. Any personal distractions or preoccupations are to be left outside my auditorium or you shall no longer be privy to my casting decisions.”

  How did she . .

  “Gina,” Neal cuts in. “Surely, that’s a bit—”

  “That goes for everyone.”

  I suppress a shiver and nod as she arches an eyebrow. “Yes, ma’am.”

  She grunts and goes back to the papers. “Very well. Moving on.” She faces Maddy, seated to Neal’s right. “Miss Carmichael, who do we have for Nessa?”