“Hey.” I try to match his tone, but my nerves cause my voice to crack.
Great. This is going super well already.
“I was on my way to find you. Thought you might still be practicing,” Vas says, shifting his weight from one leg to the other. I notice the absence of a violin case in his hands. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there tonight, but something came up.”
“It’s fine,” I say, trying to sound like I had never been disappointed to begin with.
He hesitates, and there’s a hardness in his jaw that I’m sure is anger.
“Is everything okay?” I ask, not sure if we know each other well enough to talk about feelings.
He fiddles with the rolled-up material of his sleeves, pushing them back over his elbows, and crosses his bare forearms over his chest. “I had a meeting with Simon that didn’t go very well.” He inhales deeply, and I realize he’s about to tell me more.
My stomach flutters. Maybe I’m not just a stranger who takes up half the room during his rehearsals. Maybe he sees me as a genuine friend. Someone he can talk to. Someone he wants to talk to.
“I asked Simon for another shot at composing a new set list for next season, and he promised he’d give it a listen. I was sure I’d done enough—sure that he’d prefer original music to the knockoff tracks he asked for.” He shakes his head angrily, and I still my face to hide my emotions. “He called me in to tell me his decision. It seems he’s going with the music he… acquired.”
“I’m sorry.” My voice is tiny. Minuscule.
He looks flustered, his eyes avoiding mine. “I have to rework everything, put together every new track. It’s going to take me weeks.” He pauses, his gaze finally finding mine. I can’t look away. There’s Vas and nothing else, like he’s a single lantern in the dark.
Does he know what I did? Does he blame me?
I feel so horribly guilty, and it bubbles up inside me and makes my stomach churn. I know how badly I’ve betrayed my parents, but I haven’t had to see their faces yet. Seeing how hurt Vas is and knowing it’s my fault?
I wish I were the kind of person who didn’t care, who could convince myself my ambition was worth any casualties, accidental or otherwise.
But I’m not that person. I do care. More than I want to admit.
I open my mouth to apologize, to tell Vas I didn’t mean to keep him from composing, but he’s talking before I can find the words.
“I won’t have time to be your spotter anymore.” His voice is final. Hollow. An echo bouncing through a rocky canyon.
“Oh.”
What else is there to say?
He runs a hand through his hair, shoving it to the side roughly the way he does in between every piece he plays on the violin. It makes me follow his fingers, and the way they glide through his honey-colored hair. I picture them dancing across the strings, clinging to his bow as it flies up and down like a boat being rocked by mountainous waves.
And in that moment, I’m not thinking about how hard it will be to train without him. I’m thinking about how much I’ll miss his music.
“Maybe you could write something else? Ask him for one more chance?” I offer.
He pulls his face back barely an inch, his eyes flitting back and forth like I’ve caught him off guard. And then they harden. “Simon only makes offers once. He doesn’t give second chances. Anyone who joins Maison du Mystère learns that pretty quickly.”
My mind flashes to the deal I made with Simon. There was no room for interpretation, no second chance, no time to even think.
But Vas’s expression is so severe, I don’t think empathy is what he’s mulling over.
I think it’s judgment.
Because it was me who stole Dad’s set list. It was me who made it so Vas couldn’t compose his own music. And it’s me who is getting in the way of Vas’s dreams, the way Mom and Dad always got in the way of mine.
And I can see it in his eyes—he knows all of this too.
“I know it’s an inconvenience, but you really don’t need to look so worried. I’m sure you can ask someone else to spot you in the evenings.” Vas kicks his foot at the dirt. “It’s the circus, after all. We’re all easily replaced.”
He turns, marching back to his trailer, and I’m desperately trying to connect