Broken Chords

By Michele Shriver

Jordy Valencia thought he had it all, with Grammy awards on the mantle and a beautiful wife by his side, but as they say, all good things come to an and. When his long-time band called it quits, Jordy struggled to make it as a solo artist and once his fame was gone, his wife was, too. After a battle with depression, fueled by recreational drugs, Jordy has found sobriety and peace teaching music lessons to kids while leading the local church youth music group.

 

A widow by the age of thirty, Avery Stocks isn't looking to fall in love again. She has her hands full enough with a seven-year-old and a fledgling catering business. Still, she can't help but be intrigued by her daughter's new piano teacher.

 

With his outgoing personality and sense of humor, Jordy is a hit with the kids as well as the single women in the congregation. When he takes an interest in Avery, she quickly becomes the talk of the town and the envy of many, but can she risk her heart again on a musician with a troubled past?

• Language: English
• Publisher: SMC Publishing
• Release date: Oct 25, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201316211

Michele Shriver

Michele Shriver grew up in Texas and now lives in the Midwest, where she has a general law practice. In her free time, she enjoys bicycling, Zumba fitness and watching sports on TV. She is working on her second novel, a spin-off of After Ten.

Book preview

Prologue

The house is one of the largest on the block, but it’s still modest in comparison to the one I used to call home, back in the day when status mattered. To be fair, it never really mattered all that much to me. My ex-wife, on the other hand, obsessed over it. Sometimes I wonder what Cherie would think if she saw where I live now. She’d probably crinkle up her nose in disdain. Status meant everything to Cherie, something I was blind to in the early days of our marriage. You see, as crazy as it sounds now, I got married for love. Cherie, on the hand, married me for my fame.

When that was gone, so was she.

Once a upon a time, I played bass guitar for one of the hottest alternative rock bands in the world. We played to sold out arenas and stadiums across the United States, Canada and Europe, and even headlined the NFL Kickoff show one year, when the Patriots played, of course. I have to say that was quite the honor, and at the time, there was talk that perhaps our band would be selected to play the Superbowl halftime show.

That never happened, though. I met Cherie, got married and took a break from the band. I never intended it to be a permanent one, but our front man, Chase Radcliffe, used the break to pursue other interests, both musically and otherwise. By the time I was ready to return to writing and recording music with the rest of the guys, Chase had recorded a duet with Nashville’s sweetheart, which won him an ACM award as well as Kenzie Bolton’s heart, and he no longer had the passion for the band we started back in college in his parents’ garage.

In the three years since, our lives have gone in different directions. Chase is still playing to big crowds, this time as a solo artist, and sometimes with Kenzie. As for me, well, I’ve settled in a two-story colonial style house on a quiet street in a quiet suburb of Concord, New Hampshire. It’s within walking distance of the church where I work and features a nice basement which I use to teach music lessons. While I made my fortune playing bass guitar, these days I spend more time on the piano. It earns me a decent wage. Nowhere near what I was used to, but I don’t need the money. I do it because I enjoy it.

Pretty much the only reminders of my old life are on the walls in my living room, which display the awards I won with the band. The Grammys, Billboard Music Awards, and framed Platinum records adorn the room. Some might call it my ‘ego wall’ but since I’m the only one who sees it, I don’t think that’s accurate. It’s not there to show off, but it is a nice nod to the success I’ve had. Even if these days I measure success in different ways.

You see, this isn’t the story of how a Latino kid from the streets of East Los Angeles earned a scholarship to an Ivy League college, formed a garage band and made it big. It’s a story about redemption, finding happiness in places I never would have expected it, and treasuring the little things.

This is my story.

Chapter One

Avery studied her daughter’s expression and braced herself for the standoff. Harper was strong-willed and feisty, just like her father had been. She also had his green eyes, although her hair was darker than Wyatt’s was. That silky black hair might be the only thing Harper got from her, Avery thought wryly. Yes, looking at eight-year-old Harper every day was a stark reminder of everything Avery lost. Still, she wouldn’t trade a minute of her life with Wyatt, as brief as their time together had been, and certainly not this beautiful little girl they created together.

I don’t want to go.

Too bad, Avery thought, but tried for a softer approach. I understand that, but you’re still going.

Why? Harper protested. Why do I have to take stupid piano lessons?

Why, indeed? In the grand scheme of things, considering everything they had endured over the year, learning about tempo and chord progression seemed to be a minor thing to wage a battle over. Except a promise was a promise. Because it was important to Daddy. He very much wanted you to learn to play a musical instrument.

And because it had been so important to Wyatt, it was important to Avery, too. Besides, with the decision to home school her daughter, Avery wanted to ensure Harper was exposed to diverse interests, and Avery herself had no musical ability. She could teach her daughter to make a mean soufflé, but not play a musical instrument.

But why the piano?

That was a better question, once to which Avery had no good answer. Because it’s a good place to start, she said, but if you decide you don’t like the piano and want to learn a different instrument, we can talk about that. Deal?

Harper nodded, seemingly pacified for the time being. Deal, she said.

Great. Avery smiled in relief. One battle won. She was sure there would be many more to come, but she’d take this victory, much as she savored every other victory she earned as a young widow and a single mother. It might not be the life she expected, but Avery considered herself blessed, nonetheless. After all, she had a beautiful daughter, a nice home in a close-knit community—where she would hopefully form friendships—and she’d soon be launching a catering business. She had plenty to be happy about, even if she missed Wyatt with every fiber of her being.

At least that was what Avery continued to tell herself, because she believed in staying positive.

She put an arm around Harper as they walked out to the car. Let’s go meet your new music teacher, shall we?

Fine, Harper answered. I’m only doing it for Daddy, though.

Avery smiled, trying to keep the tears at bay. Or at least keep them falling down her face in torrents. She didn’t want to greet Avery’s piano teacher with blotchy eyes and a tear-streaked face. That wouldn’t create the best impression. That’s fine, kiddo. In fact, I think it’s a great reason to do something.

She opened the door of her car and buckled Harper into the backseat. If your daddy was still here, I know he’d be very proud of you.

I hope so, Harper said. I miss him, Mommy.

Avery blinked and wiped at her eyes. Me too, baby. Me too. Every single day. It’s going to be okay, though, because he’s still looking out for us, and he always will.

THAT’S GOOD. REAL GOOD, Jordy praised. Do you want to try the F chord now?

His teenage guitar student hesitated for a second. I’m not sure, Emily said. I mean, I’ve been practicing it a lot, but...

Jordy nodded. I get it. It’s a hard one, but I think you’re up for the challenge. He’d taught Emily the chord at her previous lesson, making sure she knew exactly where to place her fingers. Every finger was used to play the F chord, which accounted for its difficulty. Heck, even Jordy’s former bandmate, Royce O’Connell, who was considered one of the most gifted guitar players in the industry, acknowledged it was a tough one to play, especially on faster songs.

If you say so. She still didn’t sound convinced, but dutifully picked up the guitar and positioned her index finger first, followed by the others. Like this? she asked?

He nodded. Yes. Placement looks good, he said. Go ahead and play.

Emily did, and her face broke out in a smile. Wow. That didn’t sound totally awful. At least I don’t think it did.

Jordy let out a laugh. Not awful at all. In fact, it sounded pretty darn good, he said. Especially for someone who picked up a guitar for the first time only a few weeks ago.

I still can’t believe my parents are letting me learn to play guitar, Emily said. I’ve only been bugging them for like forever.

I’m glad you managed to persuade them, he said, because you’ve got real potential, Em. Are you sure there’s no musical background in your family?

Not that I know of, but I wouldn’t, being adopted and all. She shrugged her shoulders. Hey, maybe I’m the biological daughter of a famous musician. A single ripple of laughter followed. I doubt it. It’s fun to dream, though.

It must be hard, Jordy thought, to not know where you came from. Where he’d come from was anything but special, but at least he knew. And no famous musicians in your adoptive family? He didn’t though, but hey... you didn’t everything about people in a church setting.

Hardly. Emily shook her head. You’ve met my moms, she said. One is the superintendent of schools. The other is a justice on the New Hampshire Supreme Court.

I knew that, yes. Jordy was familiar with Emily’s family because her mom Kelsey served on the church Board of Directors, and he’d spoken briefly with both of her parents regarding her music lessons. Beyond that, he didn’t know much about his teenage guitar protégé, or her home life.

And my brother was drafted into the NHL before he finished high school, Emily continued, So I guess you can say we’re a family of overachievers. She rolled her eyes. Then there’s me. It would sure be nice to be good at something. Finally,

From what I can see—or hear—so far, you have real talent for music, Jordy told her. That’s no small thing. Music has saved me plenty of times. It also almost destroyed him other times, but he kept that to himself.

Thanks for saying that. You know, about having talent. Emily removed her guitar and reached for the case. It’s not always easy. I have a learning disability, and I talk funny sometimes, she said.

I didn’t notice. It was a partial lie. He had noticed Emily occasionally spoke with a slight lisp and appeared to have difficulty saying certain words, but it wasn’t bad and he didn’t want to make her self-conscious. Besides, her music talent was legit.

Thanks. You’re nice, Emily said. I’ll tell my parents their money on the lessons is well spent.

Jordy laughed. Thank you. Word of mouth is a good referral when you’re trying to establish a business. He glanced at his watch. My next appointment is due in a few minutes. I’ll walk you out.

He escorted Emily up the stairs and outside. One of the features he liked best about his house was the separate entrance to the basement where he taught his lessons. That way he didn’t have students or their families traipsing through the rest of his house.

Emily slung her guitar case over her back and got on her bicycle. Thanks again, Jordy.

You’re welcome. I’ll see you Thursday, he said. Keep practicing that F chord.

Yeah, yeah. The teenager rolled her eyes before pedaling away, just as a car pulled into his driveway.

Jordy didn’t recognize the car, or the people inside it—a dark-haired woman with a child in the back seat—but assumed it must be his new student and her mom. He’d spoken to the woman over the phone the previous week when they arranged the lessons.

Mrs. Stocks? he asked.

Yes. You’re Mr. Valencia?

He almost laughed. Talk about sounding way too formal. It still surprised him sometimes that almost no one in Hampden Park recognized him from his days with his band. Then again, back in those days he had long hair and was clean shaven. Now Jordy wore his hair short, along with a trimmed beard. No, he didn’t look the same at all, and that was the point. Call me Jordy, please.

HE WAS GORGEOUS, AND it unsettled Avery that she noticed it. He was supposed to teach her daughter the piano, for crying out loud. And her husband had only been gone for a year. What the hell was she doing noticing he had beautiful eyes the color of milk chocolate and filled out his jeans extremely well?

Good grief, Avery. Get a grip.

I’m Avery, she said, finding her voice. And this is my daughter Harper. She opened the door and helped Harper from the car. Can you say hi to Mr. Valencia?

It’s Jordy, he said again. Hello there, Harper. He lowered himself to her level. It’s nice to meet you. Are you excited to learn to play the piano?

No, she answered, but my daddy wanted me to.

My husband, Harper’s father, passed away last year, Avery said, not offering details. It was always his wish that Harper learn to play an instrument.

Jordy stood again, meeting Avery’s eyes. His own held compassion. I’m very sorry for your loss, he said, and she believed he was sincere. I’m sure that’s been difficult.

Yes, but we’re getting by, Avery said. We’re new to Hampden Park. We just moved here last month from the Boston area. It’s an adjustment, but so far, everyone has been very welcoming.

Jordy nodded. It’s a good community. I’m relatively new here myself. He smiled. I, too, have found the people very nice, he said, and willing to give me a chance, which is a good thing when you’re trying to establish a business.

That’s the truth. I have my own business, too. Catering.

Nice.

I’m just getting started, but if you ever need an event catered...

He smiled. It’s good to know someone in the business, but really, I teach kids music lessons and run the church youth group, so I’m not sure when I’ll need catering.

Fair enough, Avery said.

I’ll keep it in mind, though.

Thanks. He was nice, in addition to hot. And she should so not be noticing that.

You’re welcome, and thanks for taking a chance on me for Harper’s piano lessons, he said.

You were recommended, and I checked references. Everything she heard was favorable, especially from the church congregation. He was either a great guy or a great actor who had a whole town fooled. Avery wanted to trust her instincts, and since she was trusting him with her daughter, she hoped they were good instincts.

How long does each lesson last? she asked.

An hour. That usually pushes the limits of most kids’ attention spans.

Avery stifled a chuckle. In the case of my daughter, I’d say you’re right. She glanced at her watch. Shall I pick her up in an hour, then?

That’s what I suggest, Jordy said. You could stay, but I find the students engage more if it’s only the two of us and no parents. I hope you don’t mind?

Avery shook her head. Not at all. I have a yoga class to get to, anyway, she said. "I can just come back when