Page 101 of Love & Notes

Don’t be dirty, Thorne.

I grin into the dark. She knows me too well already.

I wasn’t!

I stay on the piano bench with the phone in my hand, the smirk refusing to leave my face. I am in considerably more trouble than I initially accounted for. The good kind of trouble. The kind you don’t want to escape from.

Let’s run the Nocturne tomorrow?

Sounds good. Mom wants to go for food, but I will be done by seven.

Look forward to seeing your face.

You too.

“I know,” I say, holding up a peace offering of fresh apples. “I’ve been away. Shut up, and don’t look at me like that.”

Mystery does not look sympathetic.

She’s in the stable at the end of the paddock, her coat a flawless gleaming gold under the winter sun and her pretty eyes wide and full of the deeply unimpressed expression of a horse who has been waiting several months for me to remember she exists. She tosses her head violently when I step through the door, letting out a dismissive snort.

“I’ve had things going on. Cut me some slack.”

She stamps a heavy hoof once, which is probably not related but feels like she is quite literally telling me to go fuck myself.

I don’t blame her. I’ve been a terrible friend lately.

I smooth my hand over her flank, feeling the familiar bunch of her muscles as I begin to saddle her up.

Ten minutes later, we are taking the isolated back route across the Thorne estate. She starts at a stubborn walk, clearly still pissed off at my absence, but by the time we reach the open stretch by the south field she begins to trot, and I loosen my grip on the reins.

Mystery takes the invitation and explodes into a full gallop. I let her go, because this is exactly what she needs, and honestly, it is the only thing keeping me sane right now.

I have been a colder version of myself for years. I know this. I’ve witnessed it happen in stages, each one small enough, but it’s nothing to be proud of. Alistair’s bitterness seeped into my bones until I completely forgot what the alternative felt like.

The freezing air hits my face like a slap.

My father was not always like this. That’s the part I find the hardest to explain to people who only know the current, ruthless version of him. Before my mum died, he laughed. I can distinctly remember the sound of it. He would come home for dinner, sit directly on the floor next to me while Mum played the piano, and listen with me. Actually listen. He was a completely different human being back then. Yeah, they argued sometimes, but we were a happy family.

And then she died, and he did the only thing he knew how to do to survive, which was to put the grief somewhere it could not reach him. He threw himself into his work and locked himself away within his empire. But by doing so, he left an enormous amount of space between us that nothing was ever going to fill.

I think he stopped being able to physically hear the music after she died. I think that it sounded too much like her, so he completely turned his back on it.

I understand it in theory. I understand that grief and trauma can do terrible things to people, and not all of them come out the other side anywhere near the same version of the person they were before.

But I will never understand why I was left behind in the wreckage, and I don’t think I will ever forgive him for that. I was only a boy who desperately needed his dad.

“Woah, girl. Easy.”

I gently pull back on the reins. Mystery huffs loudly, a massive cloud of steam blowing into the cold air, and she tosses her head back towards me.

“I know, good girl,” I murmur warmly, leaning down to pat her side.

She stamps her hoof once, which I am going to interpret as agreement, as she turns to look at me sideways with one dark eye.

“Not you too.” I groan. “Don’t start.”

She continues staring, entirely unimpressed by my brooding. I look out over the sprawling, multi-million dollar estate which is perfectly maintained but completely empty, and let out a sigh.