Anything but this.
Roz always told her that was okay, too.
To be alone.
To need time.
It was okay, and she could take it.
As she headed out of the kitchen without as much as a look over her shoulder, Penny heard the DA say, “We don’t need her agreement on the deal for it to go through, but I did want to let her know personally.”
“Right,” Naz snapped back, “because it is never about the victim, only the victory.”
“Or do you just have a personal problem with law enforcement, Nazio Donati, because of your own circumstances?”
“Get the fuck out of my house.”
Penny heard the front door slam shut minutes later, but she was already at the back of the house, sitting in front of the piano that taunted her on a daily basis. For whatever reason, she hadn’t been able to play it since she arrived in New York. It followed them from the penthouse to the large, three-level home in the suburbs.
Roz played.
Naz did, occasionally, even if it wasn’t perfect.
Penny, though?
Never.
Until right now. The urge thrummed deep, the notes taking shape in her mind the longer she stared at the glossy black smoothness of the piano legs.
Why now?
Why when she shouldn’t care?
Why did it matter now?
Good girls play for Daddy, she heard him say in her head. Oh, you missed a key, what does that mean? And then, Smile at the camera when you do that, Penny, they like it.
“Fuck you, fuck you ... fuck you,” Penny mumbled, rocking forward on the bench. “Just ... fuck you.”
She pressed the heels of her palms to her burning eyes as she squeezed them shut, willing his voice out of her head, and for those memories to burn. Maybe that’s what she had been looking for here, to take away all of that, but it was never going to go away.
Those memories would never leave.
It would never not be.
Her fingers trembled as she placed them to the ivory, the tune that came out of the instrument echoing and haunting through the halls of the quiet house as it matched the sounds she made when she cried.
And God.
She cried so hard.
The melody was so unlike what she had been known to play before—much darker, and deafening. A tune that had goosebumps racing over her skin and had her heart thumping hard against her ribcage.
It was pain.
Not pain she caused.
Not pain he made.
It didn’t come from a razor against her skin, and it didn’t hurt. It wasn’t brought on by wrongs done to her, even if memories helped to create the music. It didn’t leave scars behind, and it didn’t linger long enough to make her wish she wasn’t here at all.
It was pain put into music.
And it felt different like that.
Better like that.
For a long time, Penny had pushed music aside because it felt like a punishment. She had been put in front of a piano for her father’s desire, not because anyone thought she would be any good at it. Her talents had then been used to please others, before they turned it around on her so that when she misbehaved, they punished her with it, too.
By sending her away with the music.
And she hated them.
Hated it.
But this was none of that.
This was all her.
Why couldn’t everything else be like that, too?
THE WEEKS THAT FOLLOWED the DA showing up with news of the plea agreement with Penny’s father wasn’t ... good. Quite the opposite for her. She hadn’t known what she expected from finally putting her father in prison, but the emptiness settling deep within the pit of her gut certainly wasn’t it.
The darkness of the bedroom that belonged to her in the large home stared back at Penny. She couldn’t say how many hours she laid there watching the ceiling, but it was a few. A few more than she should. The dark shades she had pulled closed in the morning kept any light from coming in which meant she couldn’t even estimate the time by looking at the sky.
What did it matter?
She wished she cared.
It was the buzz of her phone that pulled her from the depths of dark, spiraling thoughts that always led her to a dangerous edge whenever she had enough time to indulge. Without even checking the text, she knew it was from Roz.
She was right.
The guilt that spread around her heart—like tentacles squeezing the blood right out of the beating organ—at the sight of the message was impossible to ignore. Penny knew why, too. She hadn’t even read the words yet, but she didn’t need to when the only thing Roz ever did was make sure her ward was okay.
All the time.
Whenever.
Roz cared more about Penny than even her own mother had. She worried about the teenager constantly even though she tried not to voice it too much.
Penny wanted to be good for Roz—desperately wished she could say she was okay and mean it every time her guardian asked—but she still hadn’t learned how to do that for herself, yet. How was she supposed to do it for someone else?
The actual text of the message made her feel worse when Roz asked, How are your classes today?
Not great.
Because she skipped.
Penny didn’t lie in her reply—a simple: Came back home early—because it was the only thing her two guardians asked of her. That she always tell them the truth no matter how uncomfortable or painful it might be. At least then, they could help her if needed. They didn’t want the truth to punish her for it.
Something else she wasn’t used to.
Okay, came Roz’s next reply. Not because of someone, right?
No, just her depression.
Penny only texted back: No.
It didn’t seem to bother Roz at all because her next reply, a far longer message, dropped the subject altogether. Not that Penny was excited to see the words on the screen, far too bright in the darkness of the room.
If you’re home and have time, then, would you look over the file from the lawyer? He sent it over a week ago, and he really needs you to sign it, Penny. I know you don’t care about the trust fund or restitution payment, but he does need to file it for the estate.
Her first thought was to say hell no. The very idea of taking money from her father and his estate fucked her up more than anything else in her life currently. She had been avoiding that file sitting on the desk in the corner of her bedroom since Naz put it there.
She didn’t want shit from Preston. Hadn’t her father given her enough? Penny thought so.
Still, it had to be done.
Otherwise, the lawyer would continue to pester Naz and Roz, who wouldn’t say a thing to Penny about it because they didn’t push. But the file would remain on her desk where she had to look at it every day knowing the final payment for her innocence waited for her signature.
More blood money. Cash for her silence. At least this time, Penny was the one being paid.
Right?
Fuck.
She hated how morbid her thoughts could be sometimes. Another hell she couldn’t escape.
Penny didn’t bother to reply to Roz’s last message. Instead, she clamored out of bed, wishing she could just say where she was, and gathered the file from the desk.
Soon, she found herself in the music room downstairs. The one space that Roz designated as hers and Penny’s—even though Penny barely used it. The piano bench in front of the shiny, black Baby Grand seemed like a good spot to get comfortable while she flipped open the file on her lap. Before long, she had music filtering through the speaker on her phone. A song she had composed when she was only thirteen, but one of her favorites.