So Jayden was right. When he’d said, “I want you to stop playing that thing,” Darren had known he was making the right call—but it still ached inside to let go. To let go of the last gift Father had ever given him. The last time they’d really said anything to each other. The last time that he had been…okay.
Packing it into its case (also replaced; the first case hadn’t survived second year at St. John’s) had ached in a bittersweet way, because he’d never do it again. Carrying it into town felt wrong, because he never took the violin to town. Why would he? And right up until Jayden’s bus pulled into the high street, there was an impulse itching under his skin to turn around and take it home.
And then Jayden dropped down off the bus and gave the violin case the dirtiest look Darren had ever seen, and the impulse handed in its resignation papers and left the country.