"Kyle? It's Melissa—Kellogg. Please don't hang up. I'm begging you. I know you don't want to talk to me and I can't blame you if you hate me." There was a long pause followed by a burst of emotion and the unmistakable sound of a woman crying. "I'm so very sorry!"
Kyle Redding didn't hate her. He didn't hate anyone. There was no basis for her thinking he did and had she even been willing to listen to his side of the story she'd have realized how wrong she was to have jumped to that kind of conclusion.
He was now calm, balanced, pleasant, and endlessly friendly, but it hadn't always been that way. As a boy, he'd begun playing the violin at three and by five was recognized as a child prodigy. Shortly thereafter, one of the best teachers in America moved to New York City to guide his development and later serve as his manager.
She and his mother drove him relentlessly and by the time he was 16, he was considered the most talented solo player in the country and one of the three best in the world. By 18 he was on tour playing every major city in the world from his home town of New York to London to Beijing to Sydney to Moscow and points in between.
The constant stress of playing and the endless push for perfection took a huge toll on him psychologically, but there was one thing Kyle looked forward to more each day the older he got. He had the hugest of crushes on his teacher; a crush that was fierce but unspoken until his 18th birthday when he finally confessed his feelings indirectly after a third drink. Kyle Redding was far too shy to ever be able to tell her—or anyone else—how he felt and the only reason he did so on that occasion was the alcohol he rarely ever drank.
Although flattered and even tempted, she initially encouraged him to see girls his own age. All he need do is make time to meet them she'd assured him. After all, Kyle Redding was often told he was an extremely handsome young man. As evidence, he was regularly compared to an actor named Matt Bomer, known most notably from a TV show called White Collar. Like Bomer, Kyle was relatively thin, but unlike Bomer, Redding wasn't gay. Both men however, had the most piercing eyes with those sexy, long eyelashes under which prominent cheekbones were clearly visible and a face that was almost perfectly symmetrical. Lastly, there was the equally beautiful smile and gorgeous black hair.
Unfortunately, Kyle had precious little time for anything outside of his world of music. But that didn't stop the endless entourage of young girls and women who adored him from following him and letting it be known they were very available.
In addition to his lack of free time, the other issue was he simply had no interest in in pursuing them. His obsession with a particular much-older woman was total and as relentless as the mounting pressure he lived with every day.
To Kyle, she was beautiful in every way and she became the focus of an obsession that, in the long run, only added to his torment and anguish because she made it very clear she could never be with him—even after she'd seduced him within a month of his heartfelt-but-clumsy confession. She couldn't, she'd explained, not because she didn't love him back, but because she was nearly twice his age and also married. They could 'have fun' from time to time, but she would never leave her husband.
It was this unyielding tension between them that brought it on and when it finally came, it came suddenly, and the breakdown had been complete. Internally, he knew it was coming. He couldn't name what 'it' might be, but he knew his mind was becoming a kind of pressure cooker with no release valve. Both the demands on him and the desires for her were endless. The constant pressure to perform and to do so flawlessly, while only being able to have the woman he loved on her terms caused his mind to stretch like a rubber band so tightly the only possibility was that it would one day snap.
He'd spent six months recovering in a state-of the-art mental facility and didn't play once. The very thought of picking up a violin made him angry, an emotion unfamiliar to him before that.
Adding insult to injury, the love of his life never once came to see him. His mother however, made it a point to visit every day. Along with her constant presence came the subtle hints about getting better quickly in order to get back on tour. Subtly quickly turned into pressure; pressure which nearly led to a second breakdown. Unable to deal with her demands he first asked—and then told—his mother not to come back.
In a quest to declutter his mind he spent another six months out of the country in what was essentially a kind of monastery where he rarely spoke and meditated for hours each day in complete isolation. Between those two 'institutions' he spent a significant portion of the vast amount of money he'd earned, the majority of which had gone to his manager or his mother before he'd turned 18.
He awoke one morning after having had a dream that night in which his violin had somehow seemed to hold and caress him with its strings. To him it was kind of sign he was whole again and finally ready to leave. Mentally, he felt strong. Spiritually, he was content. Emotionally, he was ready to re-enter life.
He made a conscious decision to never tour again, but now believing the violin was still his friend, he knew he would play. And he knew he would teach.
Even though he'd spent a lot of money 'getting his head straight, he could still well afford to buy a modest home and open a small studio and still have a small cushion in reserve. He knew he would need to teach in order to make what little money he had left last as long as possible. By then, his teaching business would hopefully be sufficient to allow him to live in reasonable comfort doing what he enjoyed most but without the pressure to be perfect. Not one who craved or even wanted luxury, that seemed more than adequate to Kyle Redding.
He vowed he would never again go back to New York City where he'd grown up and honed his craft. He craved peace and solitude yet needed a large enough pool of people to find an adequate supply of students to make a decent living. In the end, after narrowing his search to three cities where he felt he could be happy, he chose to live in Albuquerque, New Mexico, where the weather agreed with him and the cost of living was reasonably low and perhaps most importantly, the pace of life was relatively unhurried.
After working with a realtor on line for a week or so discussing various homes and commercial properties in the city, he flew there and rented a furnished apartment for a six weeks while he was shown a handful of homes he liked that were in his price range. Additionally, she showed him several potential work spaces for a studio. By the end of the week, both places were under contract and thirty days later he was moving in and setting up shop in both just as his short-term lease came to an end.
Business was slow in the beginning, but among those few residents of ABQ (as the city was affectionately called by its residents) who played the violin, his was a household name. That, coupled with a very reasonable rate to learn from the best, helped to grow his business slowly but steadily.
He loved working with anyone who had a desire to play whether young or old, but he especially loved children. They were not only able to learn quickly, they had a sweet innocence about them he found endearing; an innocence he'd never really had and often still yearned for. He wouldn't wish his former life on anyone and rarely thought about it as doing so was fraught with painful memories. What he did wish for was for his students to not only learn to play, but to have a safe place where they could be themselves and grow up happy and confident. He did his level best to make playing the violin enjoyable and never pushed anyone to be more necessary to prod them along.
He'd met Kaylie Kellogg the first week after opening his studio. She'd been one of his first three new students, and at the age of 12 she was exceptionally mature and already beautiful, and Kyle knew she would break a lot of hearts along the way. The source of Kaylie's beauty was obvious. The moment he'd first met this young girl and her mother, the resemblance was striking. Red hair was unusual. Beautiful red hair was even rarer.
