Free ENCORE PERFORMANCE (THE MATCHMAKER TRILOGY) by Bernadette Marie Page B

had brought on the dreams.
He swallowed hard as he lay back on his pillow. His
throat was sore. That meant he’d been yelling in his sleep.
Thank God, Carissa had stayed at her parents’ house.
He pressed his fingers to his eyes. It was still so vivid
in his head. Screaming, pain, dark places he’d hidden. His
mother’s yelling, his father’s yelling, and his sister’s
sudden silence made him nauseous. He kicked his feet over
the side of the bed and headed to the bathroom to run water
over his face. He needed coffee.
The throbbing in his head began to dull and it was then
he could hear the noises that filled the house. Carissa was
home. She was playing her cello. From the sound of the
music, she was in a miserable mood.
Thomas gave his teeth a quick brush, pulled on his
pants, threw on a sweatshirt, and headed down the stairs.
Barefooted he stood just outside the study door. It was open
and her back was to him. She wore a pair of lounge pants
and a tank top. Her hair was wet. How long had she been
home? When had he had the worst of his nightmare? He
ran his fingers through his hair again. It didn’t feel the same
as it had for months when he’d needed a haircut. He
realized everything in his life was changing, right down to
his hair. He stood silently and listened to her play.
She wasn’t playing something soft and warm, no, she
was playing the song he’d come to despise even as he’d
helped write the notes down on the paper. She was using
the music to relieve the stress. He’d done it himself many
times. Her body moved into the instrument. Her fingers
pinched the strings and her hand gripped tight to the bow.
He slipped into the room and headed to the piano. His
hands were still itching to play. He started in the middle of
the piece, where she was playing, blending his notes with
hers.
Her head shot up. Obviously she hadn’t heard him
come into the room. He caught her eye but never took his
fingers off the keys. She put her bow back to the strings
and played.
Carissa’s music was before her, but he knew she didn’t
need it to play. Thomas would never need the music for the
piece. Not only had he helped write it, he’d played it so
many times he probably hummed it in his sleep. He hated
it, though it was a beautiful piece and the people of the
world seemed to embrace it. Even alone in the room with
Carissa and their instruments he could hear Pablo DiAngelo
belt out the words in Italian.
When the piece had ended he didn’t turn from the keys
right away. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes
because he could feel hers on him.
“We play well together,” she said.
“You’re an amazing, amazing woman, Carissa.” He
turned to see her standing still, holding the neck of the cello
in one hand and her bow in the other.
Her eyes were open wide. She tucked her lips between
her teeth and looked at the floor. “I play that when I’m
trying to cool down. I played it for first chair my senior
year. I got it. Sophia helped me with it.”
“She’s an amazing woman too.” He backed up against
the piano and crossed his arms over his chest.
Carissa nodded. She turned and set the cello in the case
that lay across the large oak desk in the corner. “They’re
going to have to put Katie in an assisted living home, you
know.” Her voice had hitched and he knew tears were soon
going to spill over.
“She’s ninety-two-years-old, Carissa. She needs more
than what you can offer her. She’ll be fine.”
Carissa nodded in agreement. “I wanted to stay, but
she kicked me out.” The slightest laugh escaped. “Called
me a spoiled brat and told me to go home to my man.” He
heard what he assumed was supposed to be humor, but she
had swallowed back the chuckle with a sob.
Thomas walked up behind her and rested his hands on
her shoulders. He felt her tremble. “You went home with
your father,” he reminded her as he breathed in the scent of
her shampoo.
“I was afraid to come back here.” She turned