Page 49

The bench isn’t cushioned like the ones I’ve seen countless times.

It’s constructed of thin metal spikes, and each note Delilah plays pushes her deeper into the sharp ends.

The sweats have protected her as much as they could, but as she pushes the pedal down, the back of her thigh is forced onto the needle-like points.

“Get up,” I urge.

She doesn’t react, other than staring up at me as her notes get faster. They don’t run together, but one hand plays a soft melody before she quickly switches to deep, haunting notes with the other. Is that how she feels about me? Confused and contradicting herself in each thought?

I can’t pull her off the hooked ends of the needles or they’ll tear through her skin.

So, I lower to sit beside her, gritting my teeth as the barbed edges scratch the back of my thighs.

Planting my feet flat on the floor, I try to keep my weight evenly distributed and whisper, “Stand up, koukla mou.”

The stubborn fucking fool ignores me.

Ice clinks, pulling my attention to our twisted grandparents, who are standing further away at a bar in the corner of the room. The little girl is directly in front of us, and she looks at my wife like she’s in the presence of a god.

Keeping my voice low, I beg, “Delilah, please. Do it slowly, and it’ll be like before. Remember? You used to sit on my lap while you played, and I’d do the pedals for you.”

A small smile lifts her lips, and she sounds younger as she asks, “When you’d tell me that you love me?”

I slowly nod, because the reminder of those stolen moments robs me from being able to speak.

She smiles wider as she takes her feet off the pedals.

The sweats, along her skin, tug against the hooked ends of the needles as she slowly lifts up while the sick fucks continue their conversation.

I gently place my hands against the part of her thighs that aren’t stuck to the bench and lightly push her up, so she follows the curve of the needles.

Blood stains the back of her sweats but she smiles, her lips twitching like she can’t believe I’m in front of her.

I’ve fucked up. Badly. More than any other mistake in my life. I’ll give her the fucking world as soon as I get her out of this place. I’ll lay my life at her feet.

Holding her hips, I shift across the seat so I’m directly beneath her.

As soon as she sits down with her thighs over mine, it pushes me into the needles.

Each one digs into the back of my legs and my ass, but I place my feet on the pedals and rest my chin on top of her head.

My hand automatically goes to her stomach, imagining a life where she had my child.

It wasn’t mine, but the illusion of it still hurts with the girl who looks like her standing in front of us with hearts in her eyes as she taps her fingers on the side of her thigh, mimicking Delilah’s moving across the keys.

Helene’s back is to us, and the little girl smiles at Delilah.

In another life, this would be a scene we could have had.

Our daughter watching her mom, in awe of how talented she is, while I watch them both, equally enamored by the life they’ve given me.

The dreams I had of a family have shattered, when they were only ever a silhouette of what could be.

I never gave thought to a son or a daughter.

In my childish mind I thought it would be easy.

I’ve only ever loved one person, so we’d get married, have kids, and raise them in the same life that we grew up in—full of wealth and everything they could ever want, but they’d have more than us because we’d love them, unlike our parents with us.

Now, with a little girl who resembles my wife in front of us, I know that I’d want a daughter.

One who looks like her. I’d spoil the shit out of both of them.

My throat tightens and I weakly croak, “I love you, my pretty girl. Only ever you.”

The haunting notes she was making with her left hand change to match the soft melody of her right hand. Her fingers delicately press down on the keys as she shyly whispers to them, “Kane loves me.” She giggles and plays over the sound of it. “Kane loves me. Me, Delilah.”

I raise the stand for the sheet music to block sight of everyone else.

Even though it’s empty, it stops them from taking this moment away from us as I lower my head to Delilah’s shoulder.

There is no pain or discomfort. I’ll be able to spend eternity with the needles pushing into my skin, embedding themselves deeper into me as long as she stays with me.

Pressing my face into the crook of her neck to hide the emotion building behind my eyes, I whisper, “I’ve always loved you. My pretty girl, who promised to change my life.”

My thumb brushes her stomach, and she tenses.

“Mine, Delilah. You’re mine. Only ever mine.”

Her back turns rigid, and she mechanically lifts her head. The slanted piano top and raised stand don’t allow her to see anyone else in the room, but she acts like she used to when we’d hear her mother being a bitch to everyone whenever I’d sneak into her house.