Page 63 of Hurt

Willow bounced back in her usual way. One moment she was clinging to Roland, and the next, she was back to her bright, bubbly self. She remarked on the quality of the violin and compared it to hers at home. Roland sensed there was history in her instrument at home, a nostalgia that couldn’t be recreated with another instrument.

Her chatter filled the car on their way home. Willow refused to ride in silence this time around. She also didn’t let go of Roland’s hand on the drive. Talking with it as if it was attached to her own body. Roland didn’t mind.

Parking in front of the bar, they could hear the thumping of bass and music spilling out into the night as Roland opened Willow’s door. Willow reached up and played with the collar on his shirt, straightening it even though it didn’t need it.

Standing on tiptoe, she kissed Roland again. They had shared three kisses, and all of them had been different. This one was lazy and languid. Soft, an end to the night with the promise of more.

“Thank you,” Willow said softly. “I had an amazing time.” She kissed him again, a closed-mouth kiss that was sickeningly soft and sweet.

Roland looked down at Willow and tucked an errant strand of hair behind her ear. “Come to the Weaver Estate with me.”

Surprise flickered in those wide eyes. “What?”

“Come live with me. You can play music, and I can protect you.” He had never wanted something so much in his life. He would give Willow everything she ever wanted. Away from Kurt’s roots, she would be able to rise to the heights her talents demanded.

“We’ve been on one date,” Willow reminded him.

Roland shook his head. “Doesn’t matter.”

Timelines meant nothing to Roland. Not when he felt this strongly.

Willow smiled shyly. The darkness of the night covered the heat in her cheeks. She pulled Roland’s face down to her height and kissed his cheek.

“Don’t you know the first rule of performing, Roland?” she asked in a hushed tone, lips whispering against the sensitive skin of his cheeks. “Always leave them wanting more.”

Then she was gone. Shoes crunching across the gravel. On the first step of the metal stairway leading up to her apartment, Willow turned back and waved at Roland.

In the darkness, underneath the stairwell, a shadow emerged. Arms crossed, the specter had watched the entire encounter. He watched as Roland stared after Willow with a mix of regret and longing on his face. He stayed until the stairs stopped rattling under Willow’s light feet, and Roland’s dark sedan had pulled out of the parking lot.

Only then did Kurt emerge into the light pooling into the parking lot. Drunkenly, he fell onto the stairs and winced as they clattered under his weight. He didn’t see the landscape in front of him. It danced and swayed under the influence of the drink he had consumed. The fire of the alcohol hadn’t burned the pain of Ezra’s attacks away, nor had it glossed over the memory. Kurt couldn’t seem to drink enough to do that.

Come back to Weaver Syndicate with me.

Roland’s words played over and over in his mind as he dropped his head into his hands.

Elijah fiddled with the wrapper from his straw and looked up at the large industrial-sized clock in the bar. Jamie had convinced him to come out for a relaxing evening, but he was feeling far from relaxed.

This was the first time he had come to The Sunspot off duty. He felt out of place without something to do.

Jamie had been thrilled when they received news of their unexpected night off. Grant had locked himself in his office when he returned, and Roland was out on a date with Willow.

“Hey, do you think I could fit an entire jar of Maraschino Cherries in my mouth?” Jamie asked seriously.

“You’re a menace to society.” Elijah sighed.

“And a coward,” Noah said as he dropped a jar in front of Jamie. “Try two.”

“Deal.”

Elijah confiscated the jars, sliding them out of Jamie’s reach.

He tried to shoot Noah a stern look, but the kid was grinning back at him as if he knew exactly what he was doing. It melted his resolve.

“How’s the secretary life treating you?” Noah asked, letting the last syllable of ‘secretary’ drag on.

“Personal Assistant,” Elijah corrected him.

There was something shining in Noah’s eyes, and he looked a little unsteady on his feet. His lips were curled into a goofy grin, and he was blinking a lot.