Chapter 172: Piano Time

Tristan

I changed out of the clothes I had worn to court as soon as I walked into my bedroom. The suit felt like it belonged to someone else now, someone who had spent the morning sitting beneath a judge’s eyes while strangers dissected pieces of my life.

I pulled on a pair of dark jeans and a charcoal sweater, shoved my hands through my hair, and stood in front of the bedroom mirror for a moment. I looked tired. My face had the same hard lines it always carried, but there was something behind my eyes that hadn’t been there before. I looked like a man who had been forced to understand that money couldn’t solve everything, influence couldn’t fix everything. Sometimes you could have everything in the world and still be completely powerless. My thoughts went immediately to Elona.

Tomorrow Grace would take the stand. And I was going to be there supporting Elona at her appointment too. I didn’t know what scared me more. What Grace might say. Or whatever the doctor would say at the checkup. I sucked in a deep breath and walked out of my bedroom.

I went to the huge section of the house, it was empty. I was grateful that Camille wasn’t sitting in here. My eyes landed on the piano. I walked towards it without thinking. The lid was already open. I sat down on the bench. For several seconds, I simply stared at the keys before I placed my fingers on them. The first notes came softly. It was nothing complicated, just a progression I had played hundreds of times over the years, but today it sounded different. Maybe because I wasn’t playing for anyone. I wasn’t trying to impress anyone, I wasn’t performing, I was simply trying to get the noise out of my head. The courtroom returned in fragments.

The plaintiff alleges…

The photograph…

The pregnancy…

Medical records…

Witness testimony…

The next hearing…

My fingers pressed harder against the keys. The melody grew louder. I closed my eyes. I tried to let the music take me somewhere else, somewhere without Grace, without lawyers, without accusations and without the photograph of me standing too close to her being used as though it told the entire story.

I played another chord. Another and then another. “Well.” My fingers stopped. I opened my eyes. Camille stood several feet away. She had entered the room so quietly that I hadn’t heard her, and there was a satisfaction in her expression that immediately irritated me. She looked around the enormous lounge. “It’s wonderful,” she said. I didn’t answer. She smiled faintly. “So quiet.” I looked back at the piano. She walked farther into the lounge. “I must admit, Tristan, this house feels completely different when it’s quiet.” I exhaled slowly. I didn’t have the patience. Camille continued as though I hadn’t heard her. “I think I could get used to it.”

I looked at her. “What does that mean?” I furrowed my brows as I looked at her.

She smiled. “Oh, nothing.”

“Camille.” I said through clenched teeth.

Her expression sharpened. “My work isn’t finished.”

I stared at her. “What work?”

She moved towards one of the chairs. “The old has to go, I didn’t complete with emptying out your old bedroom and things.” Something cold settled in my stomach. Right, I forgot I told her that she could get rid of the old. “The things that no longer belong.”

I stood up, I needed to be away from her and anyone else that would remind me of this house that I might lose, and the court for tomorrow. The piano bench scraped softly against the floor. “Whatever you’re trying to say, say it.” I know she advised for Elona to move out, but she can’t control my relationship with Elona.

She lifted her eyebrows. “I don’t think I need to explain myself.”

“You do if you’re talking about my house.”

Her smile disappeared. “Your house.”

There was something almost amused in the way she repeated it. “Yes.” I walked towards her. “I have had enough today.”

“I can see that.”

“No. You can’t.”

She folded her arms. “You’re very emotional.”

I laughed. There was no humour in it. “Emotional?”

“You’ve been under pressure.” She said.

“You have no idea what I’ve been under.” I hissed at her.

“I know more than you think.” That made me stop. She looked at me carefully. “Maybe you should think about simplifying your life.”

I stared at her. “Maybe you should stop trying to complicate mine.”

Her jaw tightened. “I’m trying to help you.”

“No, you’re trying to take something that isn’t yours.”

Her eyes hardened. “I’ve told you before-”

“I don’t care.”

She went silent. I grabbed my jacket from the back of the sofa. “I don’t have time for your bullshit, Camille.”

“Tristan.”

I turned towards the hallway. “Not today.”

“You can’t just walk away every time-”

“I can, and I’m doing it now.” I left before she could say anything else.

The drive to the auditorium was exactly what I needed, because I needed somewhere that wasn’t home. Somewhere Camille couldn’t follow me with her words. Somewhere I didn’t have to look at the walls and wonder what she was planning next. By the time I reached the auditorium, the late afternoon sun had begun to soften. I walked through the entrance. It was strange how quickly the place settled something inside me.

The old woman at the front desk looked up. Her entire face brightened. “Tristan.”

I smiled. “Hi.”

“I was wondering when you were going to come back.”

“I needed somewhere quiet.” I said.

She gave me a knowing look. “Then you have come to the right place.”

I chuckled. “I hope so.”

She glanced at me. “How was your day?”

My smile faded slightly. “Complicated.”

“Ah.” She didn’t ask for details. I appreciated that. Instead, she nodded towards the auditorium. “Go play.”

I looked at her. “Just like that?”

“Just like that.”

“I might be here for a while.” I informed her.

“Then be here for a while.” Something about that nearly broke me. There was no questions, no judgements and no expectations, just permission to exist somewhere without explaining myself.

“Thank you.”

She smiled. “You’re welcome.”

I walked inside. The auditorium wasn’t completely quiet. There were children in one of the rooms nearby, their voices drifting through the corridor. Someone was practicing scales on a violin. Another class was happening farther down the hall. The ordinary sounds of people learning filled the building, it was strangely comforting. Life was happening, people were laughing, children were making mistakes, teachers were correcting them. Nobody cared who I was, nobody cared about Crane Industries, nobody cared about Grace, nobody knew that tomorrow a nineteen-year-old girl would sit on a witness stand and potentially turn my entire life upside down. Here, I was just Tristan.

I sat at the piano. My fingers rested on the keys and then I began playing, this time, I didn’t stop myself. The melody came out deeper and sadder. I played the way I felt. Every note carried something. The anger, fear, exhaustion, helplessness, the memory of everything. The ache I had been carrying so quietly that sometimes I forgot it was there.

My fingers moved faster. I closed my eyes. And for a few minutes, I forgot where I was and then I heard a small voice. “That’s beautiful.”

My fingers slowed as I opened my eyes. A little girl stood beside the piano. She couldn’t have been more than six or seven. She had a small backpack hanging from one shoulder and was watching me with enormous curiosity.

I smiled. “Thank you.”

She looked at the keys. “Is that a real song?”

“No.”

“You made it?” She asked.

“Sort of.”

She tilted her head. “What does it mean?”

I looked at her. That question caught me completely off guard. What did it mean? I looked down at my hands. “I think…” I paused. “Sometimes music says things that people don’t know how to say.”

She considered that seriously and then she nodded. “I think you’re sad.”

I nearly laughed. Children were brutally honest. “Maybe a little.”

“Are you crying inside?”

My throat tightened. “Maybe.”

She frowned. “Why?”

I smiled gently. “That’s a long story.”

“Is it a sad story?”

“Very.”

She looked at me for a moment and then she pointed at the bench. “Can I sit?”

I moved over. “Of course.”

She climbed onto the bench beside me, her feet barely reaching the floor. She looked at the keys. “I don’t know how to play.”

“That’s okay.”

“Can you teach me?” She asked.

I smiled. “Sure.”

I placed her small fingers over the keys. “These are the notes.”

She watched carefully. “Which one is C?”

I pointed. “That one.”

She pressed it. The note rang through the room. Her face lit up. “I did it.”

“You did.”

She pressed another. “That one sounds different.”

“Every note has its own sound.” I said.

“Can you make a song with them?” She asked.

“I can.”

“Can I?” She looked up at me with curiosity.

“You can learn.”

She looked at me seriously. “Will you teach me?”

I hesitated. Something shifted inside me. The question wasn’t complicated, but it felt important. “Yes.”

She smiled. “Promise?”

I nodded. “Promise.”

We spent the next several minutes going through the basics. She kept making mistakes, she kept laughing and she kept asking questions. Every time she hit the wrong key, she would look at me as though she had committed some terrible crime.

I laughed. “No.”

“What?” She asked.

“You don’t have to be afraid of the wrong notes.” I reassured her.

“Why?”

“Because they are part of learning.” I smiled at her.

She pressed another key. “Even that one?”

“Especially that one.”

She smiled. “You play really good.”

“Thank you.”

“Are you famous?” She asked.

I laughed. “No.” Well, technically not that famous if I’m a CEO of Crane Industries. I try to be private as much as possible.

She narrowed her eyes. “You’re lying.”

“I’m not.”

“Then why do you have a big house?”

I froze. I hadn’t realized she knew. I looked at her. “How do you know about my house?”

“My mom knows who you are.”

“Ah.” I said, she probably saw me on the news.

She shrugged. “She says you’re very important.”

I smiled faintly. “Your mom is probably exaggerating.”

“She said you’re rich.”

I laughed under my breath. “Your mother sounds very honest.”

She giggled before she looked at me again. “Are you going to teach here?”

“I don’t know.”

“You should.” She was confident about that.

“Why?” I asked.

“Because you’re good.” There was such complete certainty in her voice that I couldn’t help smiling.

“That’s a pretty good reason.”

She nodded. “I think you should.”

A voice called her name from the hallway. She jumped off the bench. “That’s my teacher.”

“Okay.”

She picked up her backpack and then she looked at me. “Will you be here next time?”

I looked at the piano before I looked at her again. “I might.”

She smiled. “I hope you are.” And then she ran off. I watched her disappear. For a long moment, I didn’t move. Something about that tiny interaction had done what nothing else had managed to do all day. It had made the ache quiet.

The woman from the front desk appeared. She leaned against the doorway. “I saw you.”

I smiled. “Did you?”

“You’re good with children.”

“I didn’t know that.” With one of my own who is distancing herself from me, I can’t help to think where I went wrong.

“Neither did I.” She said.

She walked towards me. “You should teach.”

I looked at her. “Teach?”

“Piano.”

I laughed softly. “I’m not a teacher.”

“You don’t need to be.” She gestured towards the room. “You made that girl feel comfortable in ten minutes. Most children are terrified of making mistakes. You made her laugh.”

I looked down at the keys. “I’ve never thought about teaching.”

“Think about it.” I was quiet. She continued. “You have something.”

I swallowed. “What?”

“Patience.”

I nearly laughed at that. “I don’t think some people would agree.”

She smiled. “Maybe not.” I looked at her. “But here?” She pointed towards the piano. “Here, you become someone else.”

I looked down at my hands. She was right. For the first time all day, my chest didn’t feel quite as tight. The world hadn’t changed. Grace would still take the stand tomorrow. The court would still be waiting. Camille would still be plotting whatever she was plotting. Elona would still be caught in the middle of something she never deserved. Nothing had been solved, but for an hour, I had forgotten, and maybe that was enough.

“All right,” I said.

Her eyebrows lifted. “All right?”

“I will teach.”

She smiled. “Really?”

“Really.”

“Then we will arrange your schedule.”

I nodded. “Okay.”

She gave me one last smile before heading towards the door. I remained at the piano. My fingers moved over the keys once more. A quiet melody filled the room. This time, it didn’t feel like an escape, it felt like something new. Something I hadn’t known I needed. Tomorrow would come. Grace would stand before the court. She would speak, I would listen, and whatever she said, I would have to face it. But for the first time since leaving the courthouse, I could breathe.

I stood up and closed the piano. The ache in my chest was still there. It hadn’t gone anywhere, but it wasn’t swallowing me anymore. I picked up my jacket. As I walked towards the doors, I looked back at the piano. Maybe the woman was right, maybe I did need somewhere that reminded me I was more than a courtroom accusation, more than a CEO and more than a man being dragged through someone else’s version of the truth.

Maybe I needed this…music and children. A place where mistakes weren’t crimes. A place where the wrong note could simply be played again. I stepped outside into the evening air. Tomorrow was going to be hell. But at least I had found one small place where I could forget.