Page 104 of Hurt

Yesterday she had woken up in the same bedroom. That had not been fun. Fighting the effects of the drugs, she had stumbled around the house until she caught a familiar smell. Following it to a closet, she ripped it open and covered her nose in the jackets hanging there. Roland’s scent radiated off the fabric, and her fear abated. She closed her eyes and breathed in the calming sage-like scent. If Roland was here, it would be okay.

She had not turned on any lights or explored the house. Back then, her only goal had been to get to Kurt. But ten steps out the door, she realized she didn’t have a vehicle. Or shoes. Or any idea of where to go. So, she was forced to wait. Something she wasn’t good at.

By the time Roland had arrived, Willow was a mess. Her emotions were taut, and she waffled between extreme anguish and rage to anxiety.

All of that faded the moment she saw Roland. Like a flotation device in a raging sea, he had given Willow a respite. She had eventually fallen asleep in his arms—though not for very long, judging by the early light coming in from the windows.

She was surprised to see an expansive porch out the windows. Standing, she moved to the glass door and opened it to let the warm dawn sun warm her face. It felt good. A subtle reminder that no matter how bad things seemed, the Earth kept spinning. If one day was miserable, there was always another chance.

Something bright caught her attention out of the corner of her eye.

Resting up against the gray wall was an instrument case. Willow unsnapped the hard case and flipped the lid back.

Nestled in plush velvet was a violin. Made of polished black wood that reflected the early morning rays with contrasting red piping and accents. Clean lines with impeccable craftsmanship, it screamed beauty and elegance with a wicked sort of undercurrent. Willow let her fingers brush against the tight strings, sporadically curling a digit to pluck at the wires. They reverberated in the wood in a siren call Willow could not ignore.

Like a kid with her hand in the cookie jar, she released the instrument from its casing and withdrew a matching bow. She knew it would need to be tuned, and the bow would need some rosin, but she couldn’t wait.

Turning to face the windows, she let the light of the day illuminate the glossy surface of the violin. Chin tucked, she pulled the bow across the strings and listened to the sound resonate. Even without being tuned, it was still beautiful. Her fingers fit against the neck perfectly and moved without hesitation as the music flowed.

Without meaning to, she let her emotions run wild. The first notes of the violin shattered the dam she had put up, and they flooded out in a wave directed by the harmony. Face twisted in a pain she could feel but not pinpoint. She let the violin scream for her. The music said everything she couldn’t—expressing the pain of betrayal, the fear of losing her brother, the worry that she won’t be able to fix what has been broken. It all came out in a chorus of notes that didn’t really belong together but worked anyway.

She didn’t stop when sweat beaded her brow or her shoulders ached. Willow wasn’t listening to the timbre or the composition. She didn’t care that the notes weren’t perfect or if her technique was lazy. She just played. She played until the music had sapped her dry, and there was nothing left but a tingling in her fingers and a pleasant numbness in her heart.

Letting her hand drop, her fingers relaxed, and the bow dropped to the floor.

Once she became cognizant, she could feel Roland’s eyes. Turning, she held out the violin.

“I’m sorry. I couldn’t help it.”

Roland was leaning against the doorway of the bathroom. His arms were crossed, and his skin was wet and rosy from a hot shower. The soft sleep pants he was wearing were slung low on his hips. Willow had never seen him shirtless before, and she was wildly unprepared for how beautiful the man looked.

Chiseled in all the right places, he was built like someone who used their body for a living. Small scars marred the perfect surface of his skin, but they only added to the appeal. Landmarks on a map that Willow wanted to visit.

“Don’t apologize,” Roland said as he pushed himself off the wall and strode toward her. He moved silently for such a large man. As he got closer, the scent of sage increased to an intoxicating level.

He ran a finger along Willow’s jawline, touching the mark the violin had left.

“Never apologize for that. Not to me.”

Willow felt herself blush. She was entirely too frazzled to handle a half-naked Roland right now.

“I bought it for you,” he admitted after a moment. “It suits you.”

Willow gaped down at the expensive instrument. “But this is so much money!”

“And you are priceless.” Roland’s amber eyes sparkled as he pressed a kiss to Willow’s temple.

Noah pulled on the borrowed T-shirt and wiped a spot clear on the mirror. Even after his shower, he could still smell smoke and the sharp tang of blood and death. Not necessarily clinging to his skin any longer, it was more embedded in his memory.

Last night they had all trundled back to the apartment exhausted and worried. Noah had collapsed on the couch and fallen asleep. Dead to the world, it was only when Jamie had kicked him and told him he was stinking up the apartment that he finally rolled off and went to take a shower.

There was a fresh set of clothes in the bathroom. When he unfolded the pair of jeans and T-shirt, he just knew they were Elijah’s. The powder blue shirt was soft from use. It was so old that whatever vinyl logo that had been stamped on the front had long since faded.

The clothes fit surprisingly well. Running his fingers through his wet hair, he took a moment to stare at his reflection in the steamy mirror.

His hair had grown long since he had been away from Luther’s meticulous standards. Shaggy and sun-bleached in some places, it made him look younger than his eighteen years.

Sleep had come easy when he was so exhausted. His mind couldn’t process anything. But now that he was awake, he could finally sort through everything.