But now her music wasn’t working. She tried the first harsh chords of a Stravinsky piano concerto, but the keys felt dead against her fingers. She swept her music off the stand, the pages scattering against the floor.
She pushed away from the piano in disgust, nearly knocking over the bench as its legs snagged on the carpet. She caught it right before it fell, remorse spilling through her. She carefully set the bench in front of the piano, as if that could apologize for her outburst.
It wasn’t her instrument’s fault that she was so screwed up.
Briefly, she wondered if apologizing to a piano was as crazy as it sounded. She’d always talked to it in her head the way other people spoke to their cars or their dogs. But maybe it was a warning sign—proof that she’d never been completely stable to begin with.
The front door clicked open, and she whirled around, half expecting to see Walker. He would just walk in uninvited.
But it wasn’t Walker who stepped through the door. Her dad crept into the house like he was sneaking in after curfew. He glanced at the living room and noticed Keira, still bent over her piano bench.
She straightened, swallowing hard as she took in his day-old clothes and the stubble that darkened his chin. They were both reminders of the time he’d spent elsewhere—away from their house, away from his things. Away from her. It made the distance between them seem much larger than a few steps across the living room.
“Hey, sweetie.” Her dad cleared his throat. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
She wanted to know where he’d been and what was going on and what would happen next. Instead, she nodded.
Her dad reached up and rubbed the back of his neck.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t here after your accident. When I got your message, I was so worried—I’m so glad you’re okay. I couldn’t stand the thought of anything happening to you.”
“It’s okay. I’m fine. See?” Keira held her arms out as evidence.
“I know it’s probably been a weird morning. I’m sorry. I really need to speak to your mother. As soon as we have things sorted out, you and I will talk, okay?”
More nodding. As much as she wanted to know what was going on, she didn’t really want to talk about it. She didn’t want to hear the gory, confessional details that lurked in her dad’s eyes.
He headed to the back of the house, where Keira could hear her mother opening and closing dresser drawers.
She glanced at the clock above the mantel. It was two thirty. Walker would be there in half an hour. Suddenly, his visit seemed like the only bright spot in an otherwise miserable day.
Especially when her parents started yelling at each other.
By five minutes to three, Keira was hovering next to the front door, watching for any sign of Walker’s car. There was no way she would let him set foot in the house. Not with the shouting and cursing that was streaming out of her parents’ room.
When his car bumped over the curb and into her driveway, Keira slipped out onto the front porch and closed the door behind her. She shivered in her thin sweater.
“Were you waiting for me?” Walker’s low voice swept through her like a brush fire. “I’m touched.”
Keira rolled her eyes at him, matching his bravado. It felt good. Like a shield that sprang up around her, protecting her tender insides. It made her wonder what Walker was hiding under his pearl-smooth shell.
“Hardly,” she said. Her parents’ room faced the front yard, and the cracked window barely muffled her mother’s angry voice.
“Bastard!” Her mom shouted. The wind chime sound of something breaking followed the epithet.
Keira winced, catching her bottom lip hard between her teeth.
Walker’s gaze raked over her, and though every bit of his iron-cool attitude stayed in place, something in his eyes shifted.
“You wanna get out of here for a while? We could go for a drive,” he said.
Her father’s voice cut through their conversation. “I never wanted to come back here in the first place!”
Keira squared her shoulders and swallowed the tears that blocked her throat. “Yeah. Let’s go,” she said. “I’ve just gotta grab my stuff.”
“You want me to wait out here? Or . . . ?” She could hear him trying to say the right thing. Not wanting to push her, which only pulled her in more. If he’d been falling all over himself with apologies and concern, she would have sent him away without a second thought.
“No, I’m good.” The lie was brittle in her mouth. She darted through the door, snatched her bag off the floor and hurried back outside. She headed straight for the car.
“Can I open your door today?” Walker asked.
A snarky comment about having two perfectly functional hands melted on her tongue. She’d had such a disturbingly bad practice session this morning that maybe her hands weren’t so functional after all.