Page 6 of Awaited Love with You (Wasted Love #3)
Bravissima
Autumn
Mom
Where did you go, Autumn?
Seattle. Just going to do something quick for a friend.
Okay… When?
Within twelve hours. I’ll be ready for coffee and catching up…
Oh, alright then, hun. I’ll pick you up again. :-)
I slip my phone into my pocket and stare at the Uber driver’s screen from the backseat. Although Adeline assured me that she had everything covered, I don’t want to take any chances on seeing Ryder—not now. Not when my chest still tightens every time I think about the last thing he said.
Seventeen days.
That’s how long it’s been since I left. Since I made the choice not to look back.
I’ve counted them like scars. Seventeen days of silence. Seventeen days of rerunning his words on a loop until they stopped sounding like him.
The closer we get to the city, the more it feels like I’m betraying someone.
Maybe myself. I’ve gone back and forth in my mind—debating whether to tell him about Kylie, whether to call and say, “Hey, maybe we both overreacted.” But I can’t.
I didn’t overreact at all… and deep down, I know he didn’t either.
“This the place, Miss?” The driver glances back through the rearview mirror.
I nod, staring out the window at Montlake Musical Academy for the Gifted. Roses in shades of purple spill from a trellis, and a sign reads: Welcome Moms!
My heart swells against my ribs. I scan the parking lot for any cars that might belong to Ryder’s men. I don’t spot them, but I know better than to believe they’re not here. This feels too orchestrated. Like a stage dressed in florals and lies.
I step into a hallway lined with soft lighting and polished tile. A table ahead is littered with unclaimed Mom of a Gifted Musician badges. I grab one and follow the smaller purple rose–framed signs toward the theater.
The auditorium is dressed like a miniature Carnegie Hall—velvet chairs in perfect rows, polished wood paneling that glows beneath the stage lights, a gleaming platform backed by thick, ornate curtains—and yet, it’s completely empty.
My pulse ticks like a metronome. I glance over my shoulder, scanning exits, wondering what I missed.
Just then, I nearly collide with a redheaded woman carrying a box of donuts.
“Oh, whoa!” she exclaims, saving them with a quick shuffle. Straightening, she shoots me a look. “May I help you with something, Miss?”
“I thought there was a recital here today.”
“There is.” She smiles, unfazed. “It starts in about forty-five minutes. You’re welcome to explore or take a seat while we get ready.”
Another staffer appears, and the redhead disappears down the hallway.
I walk toward the front row and stop. One seat is marked with a gold placard:
Adeline Ivy’s Mother.
The name knocks the breath from my lungs. I reach out, brush my thumb over it like a secret I was never meant to hold. Like touching it too long will ruin the illusion.
Within seconds, other parents begin trickling in. I finally let out the breath I didn’t know I was holding.
My phone vibrates in my pocket.
Adeline
Are you here, Miss Jane?
Yes. I promised.
xoxo
I slip out of the auditorium and into the hallway, following the signs to the restroom. I need a mirror and cold water to remind me I’m still made of skin and bone—not just emotion.
The second I step around the corner, everything in me tightens.
I feel him before I see him.
And when I do—when I see him standing near the registration table, staring like he never stopped—I lose the thread of thought I was clinging to.
He doesn’t speak. His eyes plead with me and punish me all at once. I almost step forward, almost.
Then I pivot and duck into the bathroom.
I splash my face. Again and again. I count my breaths. Wait for the women beside me to leave.
When I step out, he’s there. Leaning against the lockers like the ghost of every version of us we could’ve been.
“Hello, Autumn,” he says.
“Mr. Rochester.” I nod. Start to turn.
“Do you honestly think I’m leaving this building without talking to you?” He’s behind me now. His mouth brushes near my ear.
“I think you should,” I whisper. “I didn’t come here for you.”
He clasps my hand, his thumb brushing the top of it like he’s checking if I’m real. Then he gently pulls me with him—down the hall, into a room where open instrument cases line every table.
He lets go, but he doesn’t back away. His gaze holds me in place like thread pulled tight.
I don’t speak. I won’t break first.
Adeline. Applause. Airport.
That’s the order. That’s the plan.
“You haven’t called me once since you left,” he says. “I’m surprised…”
“I don’t see why. That’s what people do when they break up.”
“Then someone usually comes to their senses rather quickly.”
“Or they realize they don’t have nine lives and don’t want to spend the next few years losing at the Q&A game.”
“You’re being overly dramatic again.”
“No,” I say, voice steadier than I feel, “I’m showing you what boundaries look like before I leave you—again.”
He stares at me. Long and hard. Then he kisses me.
And I let him.
My lips part, and his tongue finds mine. Our mouths meet in a rhythm so familiar it hurts. My fingers dig into the front of his shirt, and he exhales—low and guttural—against my cheek.
“We shouldn’t,” I whisper. But I’m already gone.
His hands slide up my thighs, his fingers rough and reverent, tugging my dress higher until cool air hits my skin. I shiver. His palms are hot, his touch sure.
I fumble with his zipper. He groans against my neck, a raw sound that vibrates through me. He slides my panties to the side, dragging his knuckles across me until I gasp.
His mouth trails fire along my jaw, down to my neck. His teeth graze my collarbone, and a soft moan escapes before I can stop it. His body presses me into the wall, the sharp edge of a violin case nudging my hip as his hand cups the back of my thigh and lifts.
I wrap around him like it’s instinct. Because it is.
He pushes inside me slowly, deliberately, filling me with everything I’ve missed and everything I can’t keep. The stretch makes me whimper. He kisses me hard, holding me like the answer to a question he’s never been brave enough to ask aloud.
Our breath tangles. Our bodies rock together in a silent goodbye.
His hands cradle my face as I cry. He kisses my tears like he’s memorizing the shape of them. Like he knows this is the last time.
And when we fall apart together, it’s quiet. Shattering. Final.
He smooths my dress back down. I press a palm against his chest, feel the beat beneath it. Try to memorize that too.
He holds my wrist. Lingers. Then lets go. Finger by finger.
And I leave before either of us can say something that doesn’t belong in this future memory.
With an aching heart, I return to the theater. Adeline is standing at the mic on stage, clutching her violin and scanning the crowd.
Her eyes light up when she sees me. She waves, motioning for me to come down.
“My mom can help me warm up since Mr. Tate is running late to start the show,” she says. “Can’t you?”
She’s already picking up a violin and bow, thrusting them toward me before I can respond.
“It’s just the Harper duet. Do you need the sheets?”
I shake my head. I played it with her at least eight times a day at the estate.
I nod once. Tap my foot. Whisper, “And one… two… three… four…”
Her notes slice the air. The audience quiets. They begin taking their seats as we run through the piece. It’s not the show yet—just the warm-up—but you’d never know it by the way she plays.
For several minutes, I match Adeline note for note, until she no longer needs me to. Until all I can do is follow from the background.
When we finish, I step away from the mic and let her take the stage alone.
She straightens her shoulders, and with a confident inhale, begins her solo.
In the middle of her set, I scan the room. And there he is. Ryder. Standing at the back.
Our eyes lock. My heart stumbles.
But I don’t miss a beat.
We strike the final note. The room goes still.
Then—an eruption of applause.
Adeline throws her arms around me. “Thank you so much, Miss Jane. I can’t wait until you hear the rest…”
“Anything for you,” I whisper, squinting at the crowd.
Ryder is gone.
End of Episode 6