Touching Melody - By RaShelle Workman

She escapes heartbreak by getting lost in the melody and finds love in the unlikeliest of places.

Touching Melody Summary:

Maddie Martin's first weekend at college is nothing like she's used to. It's wild, like the wilderness on which the University of Bellam Springs sits. Roped into going to a fraternity party, she literally runs into Kyle Hadley. The boy she's loved since she was nine. The boy she promised all of her firsts to. But that was before his father killed her parents.

Determined to stay away from him, she throws herself into her music. Practicing piano eases her heavy heart, calms the sadness, and pushes away images of Kyle's face.

Until it doesn't.

Her music professor asks her to play a duet for their annual Winter Gala. Doing so means she'll be assured another full ride scholarship. It's an opportunity she can't pass up.

But Kyle is the other half of the duet. And that means hours and hours of practicing.

Weeks of seclusion - just the two of them. And it's more than just music. It's passion like Maddie never believed was possible.

The inevitable happens. She falls in love with him all over again.

But, will loving him be enough to erase all the hate in her heart for his father? Can she look at him, and not see the evil in his family tree?

And maybe it's all a set up. Maybe Kyle is only pretending to care so he can finish what his father started, and kill her too.

Inspired by real events.

Praise for Touching Melody:

“I loved this story of two lost souls, toughened up and emotionally closed off by their circumstances, who opened up to each other and themselves through music.” - Stacey Wallace Benefiel, author of Crossing

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Sneak Peek of Crossing by Stacey Wallace Benefiel

Additional Works by RaShelle Workman

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Table of Contents

1

Maddie

Today is an Anniversary

The tattoo studio is covered in art. It’s on the walls, the worktops, everywhere. Two guys are behind the counter, sitting in black chairs, while the artists do their work. The repetitive noise of the guns, jabbing needles into skin over and over, fills the room.

A guy is getting a word tattooed on one of his biceps. Not sure what it says, but the artist has completed an F and is working on the U. The other guy’s ink is nearly finished. His is a blade with a snake winding around it. Both men have blank, faraway expressions.

I know that look, and I envy them momentarily.

“Come on,” Tony says, eyeing the others. “Let’s go back here.”

I follow Tony through the open area and down the hall. He closes the bright yellow privacy curtain and faces me. “Maddelena, right? Take off your shirt and lie back.”

“It’s Maddie,” I say nervously. I’ve done this before, but I’m still edgy, mostly because Tony’s a new guy. Raffie, the guy who did my other tattoos, is on a required leave of absence, and won’t be back for three to five years—two with good behavior. I can’t wait that long.

He grunts his acknowledgement.

Taking the scrunchie from my wrist, I pull my dark hair into a high bun. Yank off my gray tank, exposing pale skin and a white bra. I grimace at the cold air. It makes my skin tighten, prickle with goose bumps.

I’m grateful. Because I know what happens next. I’m anxious. Excited, even.

Today is an anniversary, and not one filled with happiness, balloons, and good feelings. Seven years ago today I found their bodies. Seven years ago I found them dead. It feels like yesterday. The pain is raw and rips at my heart. Scratching. Shredding. My lips and hands tremble at the pain. It’s going to swallow me, eat me alive from the inside, claw through my veins and sinews like a deadly virus.

I want to shout at Tony. Tell him to hurry. Scream, “I can’t take any more,” that I need pain to redden my skin, make the outside hurt as much as the inside.

His brows crunch together and he’s staring at me, at my already inked up skin.

“Is there a problem?” My teeth are clenched. They have to be because if I open my mouth, something other than words will come out. Sobs. Or worse.

His lips press together in a thin line. “No,” he answers, but his attitude tells me he’s lying.

I take a deep breath. Lay back in the dentist-type leather chair. By the look on his face I know he isn’t concerned with the pain thrashing inside my body. He can’t see that. He also