Page 25 of Nevermore (A Cruel Love #1)

TWENTY-THREE

SANTIAGO

Fingers arched. Back straight. Foot on the pedal.

I try to go through my repertoire in my head.

Picking a song to practice has never been this difficult.

Normally, I’d use one of the dozen I’ve memorized throughout my years of training, but tonight is proving difficult.

Being unable to sit and clear my mind is frustrating.

I need this escape. Need this one fucking second of blankness that music always provides.

I sit on the bench and try to play a few notes. Attempting one of Mozart’s Sonatas, I go through the motions, but it’s not right. It doesn’t feel right. I try a Ludovico piece but the chaotic messiness in my head isn’t going away.

And I need it to fucking go away.

I don’t do these types of emotions. It’s pathetic to not be in control of yourself. In a kill or be killed world, it’s weak to be anything other than the top of the food chain. I learned that at a young age, and it’s a lesson I’ve always carried.

Only the strong survive.

Today hasn’t even been bad. It’s just been one of those days where everything and everyone was overwhelming.

I barely got through dinner without stabbing my fork into the kitchen table or politely telling Holly for the fifth time that she doesn’t have to try pronouncing my name with an accent.

Unsurprisingly, Reign was quiet through it all.

Even though we’ve been fooling around, it hasn’t made us friendlier in front of our parents.

I think we’re both under the unspoken agreement that what we’re doing isn’t something our parents need to worry about.

Whatever the fuck it is that we’re doing.

I bat that thought away. Once again— weak .

I have no idea why my mind is trying to label this thing I have going on with my stepbrother.

It doesn’t need one. It’s pretty clear—without having to be said—that Reign and I are fucking around for the summer.

That’s it. We have nothing in common, no shared goals, and this raw magnetism I feel for him must be a life crisis.

Then why does my head keep screaming that those thoughts aren’t right?

Then why does my ruthless heart keep begging for more?

“Santi?”

Looking over my shoulder, I see Reign approach the piano with too much caution.

I chuckle internally because I can’t believe I used to think he was an idiot.

He really isn’t. I’ve learned he’s more observant than I ever gave him credit for.

He sees everything, even if he doesn’t choose to comment.

Right now, he’s wary and skittish, but still curious.

“Can I sit?” he asks as he gestures at the bench. “I have a feelin’ you’re not doin’ too great tonight.”

I smile somberly. Fuck me. I have no idea why I ever thought he was nothing of interest.

Reign is…

I scoot over for him and pat the spot next to me. He chews on his bottom lip as he sits and juts his chin at the keys. “Fancy. I don’t think I’ve heard you play since I moved in.”

“I haven’t,” I say curtly. It’s not out of irritation of the question but more so at my own failure. “I need to get back to it.”

“What kinds of things do you play?”

I shrug. “The classics.”

“Like?”

“Here’s Beethoven.” I play a few keys of a classic waltz. “Then Chopin.” I chuckle when his jaw drops at the pianissimo. “Oh and?—”

“De-Bussy.”

“It’s Debussy ,” I say, rolling my eyes affectionately.

He blinks at me. “I feel like that’s what I said.”

I can’t help the foreign instinct to pet the back of his head and drag him to me so I can press a kiss to his temple. “My country boy.”

“Cut it out,” he whines, only with mock offense if his pink cheeks are anything to go by. “Will you play somethin’ for me?”

I cock my head. When he came over, I was under the impression he wanted to talk about what was going on with me.

I want to say he probably got sidetracked in his curiosity but that’s not Reign.

At least, not the Reign I’ve come to know.

Regardless, I give him a small nod and reposition my hands on the keys.

Even though it does nothing for me, my execution is flawless.

Just like Mozart would have himself. Every note is precise and every melody is exact and it’s concert-worthy.

When I’m done, Reign gawks at me. His mouth opens and closes as he tries to find his words before saying, “That was fuckin’ beautiful.”

“Thank you.” I squeeze his arm and shrug. “It was correct.” He nods slowly but his blue eyes hold some type of mischievous glint that has me raising a brow at him. “Yes?”

“You know, I have a song too,” he mumbles, chewing the inside of his cheek. “Wanna hear?”

“Of course.”

With a little too much excitement, he motions for me to scoot over until I’m sitting at the edge of the bench.

He places his hands clumsily on the keys—in the incorrect position—but it’s endearing how he tries to fumble his way to something resembling proper form.

When he does start playing, he ends up having to play with only his forefinger and?—

“Is this fucking ‘Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star’?”

His finger freezes and he grins sheepishly. “Uh, yeah? It’s the only thing I know.” He looks down at the keys and gulps, almost as if thinking better of himself. “Should I stop?”

“No,” I rush out, feeling heat spread through my cheeks. I take his wrist and gently place it on the next key. “Go on.”

He’s hesitant this time but ends up playing his choppy-ass, busted version of a classic.

All the while, he smiles a secretive little grin, as if he’s proud of himself.

His roughened calloused fingers look ridiculous pressing down on my pristine keys but it’s almost mesmerizing all the same.

And then, right during his crappy bridge, it happens.

My mind goes blank.

All the chaos, all the tension, all the screaming—it disappears. With Reign’s shitty lullaby in the background, I find my peace.

I don’t even realize I’m resting on his shoulder until he stops and presses a kiss to the top of my head. His lips ruffle my hair as he breathes into me, “Did you like it?”

“Yes, querido ,” I whisper, melting into his body as I wrap my arm around his, tugging him to me with a sort of neediness that’s unbecoming. “Will you play it again?”

He chuckles and kisses me once more, lingering at the top of my head for a split second. “Yeah, Santi. I can do that.”

And as he regales me with an equally horrid encore, I close my eyes and let my mind drift. I embrace the stillness of it all. The comfort his hard but warm body gives mine. The way he always smells like cut grass and the scratchiness of his stubble when I go to kiss him deeply.

I let Reign take me away.