With or Without Him Read Online Free PDF Page B

him escape into a different world and it still did.
    He needed to practice two pieces by Liszt that he was performing in a concert on… Oh fuck, fuck, no. Wednesday night. How could I fucking forget? He groaned and reversed direction, heading for the notice board to see if the order of play had been posted. It hadn’t. Shit. He’d just have to hope he was scheduled in the first half and if not, beg Dr. Flowers, the head of the music department, to let him swap with someone.
    Not going to Prescott’s thing wasn’t an option. He needed that thousand pounds. Plus Tyler had the uncomfortable feeling Prescott would contact Jeremy if he called to say he couldn’t make it. It annoyed him that he felt protective. He wished like fuck he hadn’t gone back to his place. He shouldn’t have been Jeremy’s first for anything because despite telling himself not to, now Tyler felt involved.
    He climbed the stairs to the practice room with heavy steps. Hopefully, playing would put him in a better mood. Dr. Flowers had arranged the midterm concert with the aim of enticing guests to sponsor the school. Tyler wasn’t the best pianist of his year. He’d been told by Boris, his piano tutor, to make the guitar his second instrument and by his guitar tutor, Marc, to put the guitar above the piano. He refused to choose one over the other which annoyed his tutors, but Boris said he had the most heart of anyone in his year and it was a compliment he cherished because Tyler never shared his heart. It was too fragile to risk breaking.
    He warmed up with a Chopin etude and then launched into Liszt’s La Campanella , a fast moving study with large jumps over the keys, great for demonstrating dexterity and accuracy, and bloody easy to cock up. He followed that with one of his favorite pieces, Liszt’s Hungarian Rhapsody No. 2 . He messed up the trills, swore and repeated the section over and over until it was perfect, and then lost himself in the fun of the fast part, his playing so frantic he wondered for a while if he or the piano was in charge.
    Whether his fingers danced in a violent explosion of motion or soothed the keys in gentle meditation, whatever and whenever he played, it was just him and the music in mostly perfect harmony. It made him feel safe and secure when nothing else could, and the pleasure in creating something so beautiful made his pulse race as fast as if he was having sex.
    He ended the piece with a flourish and then gulped. Shit. Remember to breathe. Tyler let out a snort of laughter. Playing almost always made him feel better, more hopeful. Music wiped away the grime of his life, for a while at least. That something pure could make his soul sing proved he still had one, and that music could make him smile without reason gave him hope. Music had the ability to calm his frazzled nerves or excite him until his heart pounded. He liked loud, fast and strong the best. He could be emotional in playing in a way he couldn’t risk in real life. He trusted music with his heart because it would never let him down.
    Tyler switched to Rachmaninoff’s Prelude in g major . He felt an affinity with Rachmaninoff because the composer had for a long period been depressed and cash-strapped. Rachmaninoff wanted those who played his pieces to put themselves into the performance, to instill their own perspectives into the music rather than merely follow instructions. So no two performances were ever the same. Not even by Tyler. He became caught up in the Russian cadences of the piece he was playing, the strong bass line appealing to his rock instincts, and he played and played until he’d wiped last night and this morning from his mind.
    Almost.

Chapter Three
    Haris held out his arms as his valet brushed his tux jacket with strong sweeping motions, first against the nap of the material and then in the opposite direction. He hadn’t thought the jacket needed attention but as usual, Wilson knew better.
    “You’re tsking under your