Page 44 of The Masks We Wear (Satan’s Angels #1)

He shakes his head as he rises from his seat on the couch and walks over to me in a few strides.

He sits on the bench beside me, his warmth seeping into my side.

His thigh presses against mine and I instantly want to rip all of my clothes off and let him have his way with me, but I remember how anxious I am over his opinions on my music and stay where I am, fully clothed.

“I didn’t hear the whole song but from what I heard, you just completely came up with a new concept that Satan’s Angels have never done.

I don’t think any other bands have ever done what you just did,” he nods his chin at the piano as he speaks, “Brody, you’re easily the most creative and talented person I’ve ever met.

The way you play the drums amazes me and so does the way you play piano.

You play the instruments like they’re a part of you and not many artists can do that.

Hell, a lot of artists don’t even write their own music, but you can do it all because you truly love what you do and I love to watch you lose yourself in it.

On top of being the best damn drummer and the best pianist I’ve ever seen, your voice is out of this world,” he tucks a stray strand of hair behind my ear as he continues, “Your voice is sirenic, when you sing, you captivate everyone with just your voice because it’s so beautiful and God only knows when you’re gonna lure me to my death,” he jokes and I breathe a laugh.

My eyes practically glisten as I look at him, as I listen to his words.

Nobody has ever said anything like this to me before.

I never imagined someone saying these words would feel so good but it does.

My heart swells with emotions for him and he only prods it more as he adds, “So back to your concern about me just saying nice things about your song to make you feel good, no. I didn’t lie to you to make you feel good.

I told you the truth so that you would see yourself the way I see you. ”

“And how do you see me?” I ask, curious.

He leans in closer to my face and whispers, “Unmasked and fucking perfect,” before I can respond he closes the distance between our lips and kisses me.

This feels different than all of our other kisses.

Those kisses were wrapped in hunger and lust. This kiss is sweet and pure, intimate in a way that Harvey and I haven’t yet been together even though we’ve had sex many times.

No, this feels completely different, like it means something different for us both, but whether it’s the start or the end, I’m not sure.

I know I don’t want us to end but the ticking clock that is the end of the tour looms over us like a dark cloud.

Besides, even if it was possible for us to continue past our time, Harvey is set on us going our separate ways when the time comes.

He pulls away after a few minutes of us getting lost in each other and gives me a small smile.

He looks forward and raises his fingers, bringing them down slowly to press a few keys on the piano.

The sound comes out so out of tune, I’d rather chew on the sole of my fucking shoe than hear it again, but I can’t help the fit of giggles that overtakes me.

“Okay, don’t ever do that again,” I laugh.

“Why?” He raises a playful, challenging brow.

“Because it sounded horrible. If you want to learn a few notes, I can teach you,” I offer, wiggling my brows.

He rolls his eyes, “I just pressed them to hear the sound they would make, that’s all. I have no interest in listening to any music aside from yours, nor do I have interest in playing music.”

I give him a thumbs down, “Booo.”

He gives me a look of feigned annoyance and I smile at him, knowing his stiff expression won’t hold well against my dimpled smile. As expected, it falters. “Do you want to hear real piano playing?” I ask.

He nods, “Of course.”

“Give me a song you like,” I demand.

“I don’t listen to music, remember?”

I give him a look that says you’re full of shit. “I mean before you didn’t listen to music. When you were fun to be around. Maybe when you were a kid or an angry teen.”

Harvey scoffs, his eyes lowering to the keys and my fingers where they rest on them.

He pauses to think for a few seconds and I let him.

I don’t know much about his past but I get the vibe he doesn’t like to talk about it or think about it.

Maybe asking him a question like that wasn’t the best idea.

He inhales, “‘Mad World’ by Michael Andrews,” his expression closes off and his body tenses as he makes the admission.

I frown. “That song is sad,” is all I say.

Why was Harvey listening to sad music when he was a kid?

Why was that the first thing his mind goes to when he thinks of his childhood?

That song came out in 2001 and Harvey would’ve been six.

I feel an invisible hand reach into my chest and squeeze my heart.

I open my mouth to…what? Comfort him? Reassure him?

Judging by the hard set of his jaw, that’s the last thing he wants from me right now so instead, I do the only thing I know how to do, play the piano.

I play the song, my fingers moving slowly from key to key.

After the first few notes, I start to sing the lyrics to him.

I keep my voice low, hoping it comes out soothing but judging from the pained expression on his face when I look at him and find him staring at the keys like they just kicked his dog, I stop playing. “Don’t stop,” he whispers.

I hesitantly start playing again. I’m not sure when the energy between us became jaded or so dark, and I wholeheartedly don’t like it.

I play as requested and when I finish the song, I fold my hands in my lap, removing them from the keys.

I wait for him to speak and the silence between us feels louder than any concert I’ve ever performed at.

I don’t dare speak, not sure how he’d react.

I’ve never seen him this way. He seems like he went somewhere else and the last thing I want to do is say anything that could throw him over the edge.

He finally breaks the silence by blurting, “My mother used to play that on a loop when my father left.”

My eyebrows rise so high they practically shoot off my face in surprise.

Is he…opening up to me and willingly sharing information he usually keeps so guarded?

I jump on the opportunity to learn more about the man before me, more about the boy he was and how he ended up the way he is.

What made Harvey Taylor so cold and dedicated to his job? “How old were you when he left?” I ask.

He still refuses to meet my eyes. “Six. It was right before this song came out,” he smiles in a far-off way, almost detached.

“I remember the night he left. They got into a huge fight, one of many they had at the time, but surely the worst. It was over money. He packed up all his shit and left that night and I waited by the window every day for months, hoping he would come back and he never did. I never saw him again.”

I feel my heart tearing in two for him. “I’m so sorry,” I whisper, reaching out hesitantly to grab his hand. He lets me, squeezing my hand gently. “I can’t imagine what that must’ve felt like,” I say, compassionately.

“I didn’t miss him . I missed having a father.

I didn’t want to be alone with my mother.

It was just me and her after that, struggling to manage to get food on the table.

” He takes a deep breath. “My mom isn’t a bad person, she’s just misguided and too dependent on men.

When my father left, in a way she started to depend on me for everything.

Of course, I wasn’t making any money because I was a kid, but she relied on me to take care of her and when she started bringing home new boyfriends every week, she and I grew apart.

She needed them more than she needed me,” he finally looks up to meet my eyes.

“You never wanted to find your father? To reconnect?” I ask, hoping I don’t come across like I’m sticking my nose where it doesn’t belong.

He shakes his head, a crease forming between his brows. “Never. He was a deadbeat and the only thing he ever did for me was upset my mother and leave me to clean up the mess he left behind when he had outbursts and broke things in the house.”

I rest my head on his shoulder, “I’m sorry,” is all I can manage.

“The day I realized he was never coming back was the day I realized I would have to be better than he ever was and I would have to leave behind more than he could’ve ever imagined,” he explains.

He rests his head against mine, “I pushed myself to do so well in school, to be the best in the class, the best on my sports teams, the best at everything. Lucy was born when I was fifteen. My mom got knocked up by one of her boyfriends and just like everyone before him, he split, leaving my pregnant mother alone to fend for herself,” he caresses the back of my hand with his thumb as he continues, “I started working to help her pay the bills and by the time Lucy was born, all it took was one look at her and I knew I was gone. I had closed myself off so much already at that point that when I saw my baby sister, the ice around my heart melted. I knew immediately I would give anything for her, be anything for her, and do anything for her. I also knew my mom would make Lucy my responsibility in only a matter of time so she could get back out and find a new temporary boyfriend and I was right. I practically raised her on my own.”

I reassure him, “You did an amazing job with her. She’s an amazing kid.”

He sighs, “Thank you.”

I look up at him, gripping his jaw in my hands, his short beard scratching against my palms. “I mean it, Harvey. She knows how much you love her, I can see it in her eyes when she looks at you and I can also see how much she loves you . You are the center of her entire world.”