I sigh again. Why am I being so ridiculous? This isn’t me. “You’re right. I’m sorry I suggested otherwise. I know you and your work ethic. Heck, I have a work ethic too. At least I used to when I did something worthwhile.”
I wish I could take back that last part. Why am I dwelling on my failures? I got over that a long time ago. At least I thought I did.
“You’re a teacher, Rory. Everything you do is worthwhile. You’re bringing music into the lives of children. What could be more noble than that?”
And for the third time, I sigh. A big one. She’s right, of course. Teaching is a noble calling, especially when music is being taken out of public school curricula every day due to budget cuts.
But there’s still a part of me that longs to be on the stage.
“Then let Brock throw this recital for you.”
I drop my jaw. “Did I say that out loud?”
“No, actually. I could just tell by the wistful look on your face. You were thinking about performing.”
“You know me better than I know myself sometimes,” I say. “When he suggested the recital… I don’t know. I mean, I love performing with Jesse in the band, and I do love rock and roll. But my first love has always been the stage. The musical theater stage. The opera stage.”
“I know.”
“He said… He said he wanted to do it because of the look on my face.”
“He probably saw the look I’m seeing right now.” Callie yawns.
“I’m sorry. I’m keeping you up, and you do have work tomorrow. And so do I. If I don’t teach those lessons…”
“New musicians aren’t made,” Callie finishes for me.
“You always have an answer for everything,” I say.
“It’s part of the beauty that makes me me.” She yawns again. “Now get the heck out of here so I can get some sleep.”
Chapter Sixteen
Brock
A couple cold showers later, I can finally walk.
My sleep is plagued with Rory Pike’s face. Specifically, that serene look when she thought about a recital.
I’m determined to make this happen for her.
I rise at five a.m., my normal time. Such is life on the ranch. I’m my dad’s right-hand man and I usually head to the main house to have breakfast with him and Mom.
To my surprise, only my mother is seated at the table, while our housekeeper, Patrice, is frying eggs and bacon.
“Where’s Dad?” I ask.
“Business in the city today,” Mom says. “He left about a half hour ago.”
“What kind of business in the city starts at six in the morning?”
“Got me, but he said it was important.”
My mother smiles. Her naturally blond hair is now an ashy white. Neither Brad nor I got her blond hair, but Brad did get her amazing green eyes.
My mom is a gentle soul. A published psychiatrist, she was instrumental—I found out from Dale—in Dale and Donny’s recovery when they came to the ranch.
She’s retired from private practice now, but she still helps the family when they need counseling, and she spends most of her time working on publications.
Melanie Carmichael Steel.
Sixty-five years young.
Hardly a wrinkle mars her gorgeous face. Only a few laugh lines and smile lines. She’s as beautiful as she was the day I came into the world. She was forty-two when she had me. She didn’t think she could have another baby. In fact, she and Dad were looking into adopting when I decided to make myself known.
She always called me her miracle baby. But I look at her now, and I know why she was able to have a baby so late in life. Her genetics are extraordinary. She doesn’t look a day over fifty.
“You have a pensive look on your face, honey,” she says to me.
“I think it’s just fatigue. I got in pretty late last night.”
“Oh?”
That’s Mom’s way of asking me where I was. She knows I’m twenty-four and a grown man, so she won’t come right out and ask, but she’s inviting me to tell her.
And she knows I always tell her.
She doesn’t always like to hear the answer, but I always tell her.
“Had a date. With Rory Pike.”
Mom raises her eyebrows. “She’s dating men now?”
“She’s bisexual.”
“I know that. Her last couple of relationships were with women, though.”
“So?”
“So… I don’t want you to get hurt, honey.”
“When have you known me to ever get hurt?”
“I’ve told you this before.” She smiles. “You will fall eventually, and when you do, it will be hard.”
“I’m still too young to fall,” I tell her.
“Are you?”
No.
The word pops into my head without me even having to think it. I’m not too young to fall. Not at all. Did I expect to fall for Rory Pike? No. I expected to fuck her and get her out of my system, like I do with everyone else.
I could have fucked her last night. Hell, she offered herself up on a gold platter and seemed very put out when I didn’t.