Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 69610 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 348(@200wpm)___ 278(@250wpm)___ 232(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69610 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 348(@200wpm)___ 278(@250wpm)___ 232(@300wpm)
“Then quit fuckin’ runnin’ away from me.”
She looks away, and before I can ask more, changes the subject. Smooth. Quick. Effortless.
“Have you ever been married?”
I shake my head, and her cheeks go pink. Can she feel that? Does she know how fucking sweet it makes her look?
“What about love? Have you ever been in love?”
I shake my head again, this time her eyes get wide.
“What’s so shockin’ about that?” I ask her, then give her a wolfish grin. “I know it’s surprisin’ with a man as fuckin’ good lookin’ as me, but it’s the truth.”
She giggles, and it fucking hits me right in the gut.
Perfection.
“There’s that,” she says softly, her voice happy and light. “And there’s the fact that you’re a man, and I figured most people had been in love at least once in their lives. Isn’t it how we learn?”
“Depends how you look at it. I figure if I haven’t been in love, it means I’m savin’ it all up for the right woman, for the woman who will own all of my heart, not just pieces of it.”
She smiles.
And it touches her eyes.
And it’s the prettiest damn thing I’ve ever seen in my life.
She doesn’t know it yet, but she’s the woman I’m saving it for.
And she will get all of it.
Every, single, inch.
-9-
THEN – AMALIE
I scream in frustration, slamming my hands down over the keys of my piano, kicking my legs out until they hit the back of it. I can’t play. It’s been four weeks since my ear operation, and since I left the hospital, and I can’t play. No matter what I do. I try, god do I try, but I can’t hear the pitch, I can’t hear the music, I can’t hear a damn thing.
Caiden has moved in with his parents and hates me. He hates me so much. So to add to the fact that I can’t hear, and I can’t play, I also have ruined someone’s life. No matter how hard I try to go and see him, they kick me back out again. But I still go, every single day, because I need him to know I won’t abandon him.
I will stand by him because he deserves that much respect.
But my music is a whole other pain. It was everything. It was the only thing I lived and breathed. I had the opportunity to join a band after I auditioned for a spot. They’re going on tour next year with Scarlett Belle. Scarlett. Belle. It was the chance of a lifetime. When I played for them, they loved my music.
They wanted me.
They still do.
Only I can’t play.
I can’t god damned play.
My eyes clench shut in frustration and I try again, running my fingers over the keys, trying to get the pitch right. I can hear it, faintly enough, but I can’t hear how loud, or how high, or anything but this incessant ringing in my ears. I want to throw the towel in and give it up, but without my music, I simply am not me.
A tap to my shoulder has me spinning around to see my mother standing behind me. She’s staring at me, disappointed no doubt. She doesn’t support my music. She doesn’t support my choice of career paths, and she wants me to stop. But I come in here, every single day, and I practice. I practice, and I practice. I get angry. I cry. I yell. But I do not give up.
“You need to find something else to do.”
It’s amazing how quickly you can learn to read someone’s lips when you can no longer hear their words. It took me a few weeks, and now people have to speak really slowly, which they all do, even my stubborn mother, so it makes it easier for me to read what they’re saying. Even then, I still often ask them to repeat their words.
“This is my life. I’m not giving up on it.”
“You need to heal,” she tells me, and I can read the frustration in her face. “Caiden needs you more than you need this music.”
“Caiden hates me.”
“He has every right to, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t need you.”
Her words hit me like a thump to the chest.
I open my mouth to say something, but my father walks into the room and says something to her. She argues back a little, and then shakes her head and storms out. I look up and meet his eyes, thankful that he is around to have my back, because if he wasn’t, I don’t know what I’d do.
“How are you doing, sweetheart?”
I shrug. “I can’t play, and Mom keeps making me feel so bad about Caiden. Like I don’t already live with that intense guilt.”
He nods. “She’s just confused, don’t let her get to you. Caiden will get better. It’s just going to take time. Right now he’s hurt and probably very lost, just keep doing what you’re doing. It’s all you can do.”