Page 14

William

I woke in the dark, disoriented and with a crick in my neck. It took a minute or two for my vision to adjust. The frame of the loveseat dug into my back, and the blanket covering me slipped past my shoulders, settling in my lap. Ryan must have covered me with it.

“He takes care of you.”

I remembered another instance where Ryan draped a throw over me. I’d seen the gesture as a form of care, or perhaps an act of kindness, but now Xavier’s opinions filled my head. I didn’t know what to think.

The faint squeak of a stringed instrument caught my attention. I strained my ears toward the sound, trying to pick up the familiar melody. “Mary Had a Little Lamb.” The song most violinists learned to master first.

It wasn’t the playing of a complete novice I listened to, speechless. Ryan played like someone who hadn’t played in years but had only mastered the basics. He played like someone being reacquainted with an old love, testing the waters.

It made me emotional and unable to move under the phantom boulder crushing my chest. The reasons why weren’t unfamiliar to me.

He could’ve used help with his pitch, and guidance in depressing the correct strings at the right intervals. Call me biased, but it was still the most beautiful piece I’d ever heard.

The live room door could be stubborn sometimes. It tended to need a good hard push to seal all the way. Ryan likely believed he couldn’t be heard from this side of the insulated room.

Getting to my feet and groaning as I rubbed the kink out of my lower back, I followed the music.

Ryan played with his back to me. A blessing. It meant I got to observe him from a place of honesty. A pleasure I’d lose the moment he saw me and shyness—or anger—set in. He took it from the top. I wanted to tell him he’d started in the wrong key, but I wanted to remain inconspicuous even more. At least for a while longer.

He clicked his tongue, surprising me. Other than his trapped screams fighting for freedom while he slept—or the morning he cut himself—I’d never heard him utter a sound.

I tried to gauge the timber of his voice from the small molecule of sound. Would it be high pitched like a tenor, or contain the warmth and depth of a baritone? Would it be low and rich, capable of sending chills down my spine? Or maybe soft and breathless. My body began to warm at the idea of the latter, and for once I didn’t stop the heat from spreading.

Ryan whirled around at the sound of my rough exhale, nearly dropping the violin in his surprise. He panted, eyes wide, trembling.

“Sorry. I could hear you from the control room. I’ve been meaning to get the door fixed.” I pointed a thumb over my shoulder. He considered the instrument in his hand, then its stand, as if contemplating setting it down.

“You need to start with the second finger on the D string,” I instructed. “Can I?” I moved closer with my hand out. His brows dipped. Either my request for permission seemed odd to him, or he wasn’t convinced I could play. He handed the violin and bow over, then waited.

Holding it by the neck, I sat the body along my collarbone before gently resting my jaw on the chinrest. I kept my movements slow enough for him to study them. Next, I aligned my index finger over the first stop on the fingerboard while the remaining digits hovered over each successive note in the major scale.

This particular violin hadn’t been crafted by a master luthier from the finest of woods, but it held sentimental value to me. I’d had it restored and upgraded to produce the best quality sound possible while not making it unrecognizable. I wanted to maintain what made it special in the first place. It was the violin I exclusively played. It was well loved by me.

Ryan watched me closer as I ran the bow back and forth over the freshly tuned strings. I ran through the nursery rhyme twice—calling out each note shift—before closing my eyes and getting carried away by a haunting number that never failed to crush me. A song about loss and finding salvation.

I forgot about my muse, my audience-of-one. Forgot about the voices in my head, and all the tragic stars that aligned to bring me to this moment. I just played. Something I hadn’t done enough of lately. The one thing that would send me as close to heaven as God would allow—given my past sins.

The sorrowful piece escalated near its climax, the long, sustained notes adding intensity and emotional depth. The music became a third being in the room, joining us as something tangible with its own heartbeat. The sound reverberated under my skin and down my arm as I moved to create a vibrato effect. I felt the quiver deep in my bones, and I allowed myself to get lost in the ache both there and in my heart.

I played until I could no longer hear my soul weep beyond the wailing of the music. I played until the pain melted away, until I was lost. I passed the bow over the strings one last time, drawing it out, not wanting to let the last note go.

Everything I thought I’d outran came crashing back into me when I opened my eyes to see hate and betrayal pulsing in Ryan’s angry stare. He didn’t need to speak, didn’t need to utter a single word. His feelings had never been clearer.

I’d gotten to play while he hadn’t. I’d gotten to perfect my craft while he—and so many others like him—had been stolen from theirs. Life wasn’t fair by a long-shot, and I wanted to tell him he didn’t need to waste time and energy hating me for it, because I already carried that burden.

I’ve got it , I wanted to whisper. You can let it go.

The first time he entered this room he’d cried over seeing the violin. I’d made a vow right then never to mention it was the instrument I played. It seemed cruel to do so. But seeing him in here tonight, trying to recapture something he’d so obviously lost… I had to help him. He needed to know he could get it back, that it wasn’t too late. I could teach him. Save him.

My ribcage felt like it expanded to the point of cracking with every harsh breath I took. I could see it in his eyes, in the pooling of moisture in them. I was losing him. Whatever ground I’d gained, he was taking it back from me, just like he’d taken my once-in-a-blue-moon smiles. He had no idea how much power he had over me.

I reached out a hand to him, not sure what I intended to do with it. Ryan retreated a step, and then another before making a wide arc around me, storming toward the door. He knocked the cello over in the process.

“Please don’t be angry with me,” I said, voice cracking. “My heart can’t take it.”

Ryan came to an abrupt stop as though he might actually care about what I’d said. Or maybe he was at war with his own heart. I refused to think about the reasons why.

Later on, I’d wonder if that was the reason he stayed. The reason for the change in him after that night. Perhaps the remainder of the ice around his heart was melted away by my plea. Maybe he finally understood how sorry I was, and decided he’d had enough of punishing me.

I set the violin down. “Look at me,” I whispered. See me .

His shoulders tensed as though he was fortifying himself for the task. He turned to me, eyes awash with pain and beauty, both equally as stunning and fatal. He looked so young and fragile as he weaved his way through the lineup of instruments to get back to me.

Ryan’s fingers clawed into the fabric of his sweats, but he advanced on me as like he’d dared himself not to stop. We were closer than we’d ever been while awake and eye to eye. So close my breaths were his, and his were mine. Close enough for me to make out the single teardrop clinging to his lashes. It was either touch him or die from wanting.

I held my palms out to him like I would to a frightened animal, letting him know I meant him no harm. His tongue darted out, wetting his full lips, making them glisten. A nervous habit of his.

I brushed a lock of hair from his forehead, halting at his minute backward shift. “I’m not going to hurt you,” I breathed between us, my stomach tightening when his eyes fluttered. He inched forward again.

My fingers moved upward, getting lost in his curls. His breath smelled like caramel and hazelnut, like he’d secretly sampled both my popcorn and coffee when he’d prepared them for me. I wanted to taste him, to slip my tongue past the opening of his parted mouth and explore the flavor of him. I settled for gliding my digits behind his ear, the pads of my fingers caressing the lobe before descending to the column of his neck.

Ryan’s skin warmed, blooming crimson as I trailed past his collarbone to his shoulder where the loose neck of his t-shirt hung.

“Breathe,” I whispered, reminding myself to do the same as the intensity of this moment threatened to overtake me.

Ryan took a step back. The teardrop fell, traveling down his cheek.

He was shaking. I could almost hear the rattling of his bones. His gaze lowered to the erection pushing at my zipper, and then to his own tenting the front of his sweats. I couldn’t deny it another second, not when the proof was staring me in the face. Ryan’s interest went deeper than just a general sense of care, gratitude, or the pursuit of shared comfort. He was attracted to me, and I didn’t know whether to feel happy or regretful about it.

When he lifted his head up again, a wave of sadness filled his eyes.

“I’m sorry. I went too far.” I stepped back, giving him more room when what I really wanted to do was hold him in my arms. “It won’t happen again.” My erection deflated as shame overwhelmed me. I looked around for somewhere to sit, suddenly feeling ill.

Ryan held up a hand this time, stopping me. He took several deep breaths to calm his erratic breathing, then swallowed before closing his eyes and baring his neck to me.

I couldn’t get my brain to function, to figure out what he was asking of me with the gesture. “I don’t know what you want, Ryan.” I sounded helpless. He pressed forward until our toes touched, eyes still screwed shut, neck exposed to me in offering.

He couldn’t mean… Could he?

Taking a chance and hoping I didn’t damn us both, I lowered my nose to his shoulder, filling my lungs with his scent. Traveling to the fluttering vein at his throat, I collected more of him, then ascended the same pathway of skin, repeating the process until his low whine stopped me.

We separated again, and this time instead of tears cresting his eyes, sweat shone along his brow.

I’d had plenty of sex in my lifetime. Empty, meaningless sex. Never had I experienced the level of intimacy I’d just shared with Ryan, and we hadn’t even kissed. We were afraid, broken, and trying to work our way through both. I felt even less alone than I did when he showed me his scars, and I hoped he wasn’t about to take that feeling away from me. All it would’ve taken was a regretful or hostile glare before leaving me there without a backward glance.

He moved over to the violin stand, fingers gliding over the scroll and peg box before making their way down to the bridge. He glanced at me with such longing that the minor repair made to my heart threatened to undo itself.

“I’ll teach you,” I promised. “I’ll teach you everything I know.”

He nodded, picking the instrument up and hugging it to his chest.

“Keep it,” I said when he set it down again. He shook his head, but I insisted. “Really, keep it. I was holding it for someone, but…” It was my turn to shake my head, not wanting to go down that road. “It’s yours.” My voice was rough with emotion as I made the decision for him.

He nodded his gratitude before collecting both the instrument and bow, staring at me like he had so much to say.

“Goodnight,” I said. “Or good morning, I guess.”

He glanced back once he got to the door, his expression soft and reassuring. It made being in there alone, after he walked out on me, not feel so bad.