Living Out Loud (The Austen Series Book 3)

by Staci Hart

  “I’m ready. I need to get home so I can practice.” I watched his face for a reaction, smiling.

  First was confusion. “Practice? Practice wha—” His eyes shot open. “Juilliard?” he breathed. “You got the audition?”

  I nodded, my smile breaking into a grin as he whooped, leaning into me to kiss me again, his hands on my face, fingers in my hair.

  He tried to pull me into him, but I was attached to too many damned machines. He settled for an arm under my shoulders and my head in the crook of his neck, forcing him to bend at the most awkward angle, but he didn’t seem to mind, and neither did I.

  “You did it. I knew you would.” He kissed my temple and pulled away, reaching for my hand. He played with my fingers as he spoke, “I’ve never felt so helpless as I have the last few days. Seeing you in this bed, finding you in the park…” He took a breath. “I’m just so happy to see you like you are today. For a minute, I wondered if you’d ever come around again.”

  “So did I.” I watched him watching my hands, asking the question I would have asked a hundred times if there hadn’t been a forever multiplying number of people around. “What happened that day?”

  “I…” His lips came together, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “When Elle texted me, I took off from Wasted Words and rode into the park. It was your jacket; that was how I found you. I saw this streak of sunshine in the grass, and I just ran. I…I’ve never been so scared in my life as I was when I rolled you into my lap and saw your face, waxy and gray. You were barely breathing, but your heart was going crazy.”

  “I remember but just a flash—your arm around me, the look on your face…” I paused, collecting myself as emotion rose through me, starting in my stomach, ending at the corners of my eyes. “I don’t think I’ll ever forget that look.”

  “I thought you were gone. I thought I’d lost you.” His voice broke, his eyes cast down to our hands.

  “I’m here,” I soothed, my heart aching beyond the sutures and cuts. “I’m here.”

  “Will came to the hospital, did they tell you?”

  I nodded, swallowed, ached at the thought of what had happened, thankful I hadn’t been there.

  “I knew he would hurt you, but I never imagined this. If I’d had any idea, I never…”

  “I know.”

  He shook his head. “No, there’s more you don’t know.”

  “What?” My brows quirked.

  “That day, when you were with him, my sister told me the truth. Annie, he didn’t just start rumors. He…” He said nothing for a long stretch, then straightened up, meeting my eyes. “He drugged her and left her at a party. Someone assaulted her.”

  I sat, stunned, in the hospital bed, my hands tingling. “What?” I whispered.

  He nodded, the weight of the confession heavy on his brow.

  My mind raced, pieces clicking together, disgust and shock when I thought about what he’d done to Sarah. “I am so sorry.”

  “Don’t be—it’s him who should be sorry. And what’s really fucked up is that I believed him when he said he was.”

  I squeezed his hand.

  “I’m sorry I couldn’t save you from him.”

  “But you did save me. I don’t want to even think about what would have happened if you hadn’t.”

  “I’ve already thought about it, obsessed over it, dreamed of it. The vision of you lying in that grass will haunt me until I die, Annie.” And he looked tortured and tired, dark smudges under his eyes, cheeks hollow, the change in him so slight, I hadn’t noticed it until that very moment.

  There was nothing to do but reach for him, and though I couldn’t rise to meet him, he knew what I wanted and filled my arms, filled my lungs, filled my heart, kissing me with gratitude and adoration that was met with my own.

  I didn’t realize I was crying until he pulled away and thumbed a tear on my cheek.

  “Don’t cry,” he whispered.

  “I can’t help it,” I said. “I should have seen you from the beginning.”

  “I should have told you from the beginning. But I don’t want to look back. I want to start now, right now. I want you, Annie, and I’ve wanted you since the first time I laid eyes on you. And now, you’re mine.”

  “Now, I’m yours,” I echoed.

  25

  Beholden

  Greg

  A week later, George greeted me at the door and buzzed me up to the Jennings’ apartment, and I was grateful for his help with the doors, as my hands were full of gifts for Annie.

  Elle greeted me with the pack of dogs at her feet, but when I got a good look at her, her face was drawn. My optimism slipped out of me like air from an untied balloon.

  “How is she?” I asked, already knowing the answer.

  “It’s a bad day,” she answered simply.

  “Okay. Well, let me see what I can do.”

  “She’s just in her room.”

  I nodded. “Thanks, Elle.”

  Past the kitchen and living room, beyond the music room and study I went, down the hallway to her room. I placed my haul just outside the door and rapped softly.

  “Come in,” she said, her voice muffled by more than the door between us.

  I opened it with a quiet creak. The room was dark even though it was the middle of the day, the shades drawn and lights off. And Annie was lying in bed on her side, only the very top of her blonde crown visible under the fluff of her blankets.

  “Heya, sunshine,” I said jovially, making my way to the empty side of the bed.

  She didn’t move, just uttered a hello that sounded like a sigh.

  I kicked off my shoes and climbed in, scooting toward her until her back was nestled into my chest and my knees rested in the bend of hers.

  For a minute, I didn’t say anything, and neither did she. And I gladly let her be, let her breathe.

  “I’m sorry,” she said after a bit.

  I frowned. “What for?”

  A sigh was her answer.

  “Tell me, Annie,” I said gently, a command in name only.

  She drew another breath and shifted to roll over in my arms, and I moved to allow her room.

  She didn’t speak until we were settled in, her voice small and quavering. “I’m helpless. I’m helpless and hurting, and I just can’t. I can’t keep lying in this bed. I can’t keep letting everyone fuss over me, but I need their help, too. I’m a burden.” She was crying, her breath shuddering, ribs shuddering with it in the cage of my arms. “I’m a mess. And my audition is happening whether I’m well enough for it or not. I can’t practice, can’t work, can’t do anything, and I think I’m going crazy.”

  She stopped there and tried to calm herself, succeeding at least in schooling her breath. And I waited for her before speaking.

  “I know it doesn’t change anything,” I said, my hand tracking a slow path up her back, then down again, “but we’re all here because we want to be. You’re not a burden. In fact, the highlight of my day is coming here and taking you for our walks.”

  She chuckled sadly, her nose stuffy when she said, “Our shuffles, you mean.”

  “Yes, our nursing-home shuffles up Fifth Avenue. And I have a feeling you’ll be able to practice again soon. It’s just a bad day, Annie. A fresh one’s around the corner.”

  “It doesn’t feel like it.”

  “It never does, but that’s just how life works. Ups and downs, good days and bad, sunshine after the rain.”

  She didn’t speak for a second. “I don’t know why you put up with me.”

  I kissed her forehead. “Oh, I think you do.”

  Annie leaned back to look at me, her eyes so green, the honey-gold burst warm and luminescent. “I mean it, Greg. If it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t even get out of bed. I just want to give up.” The words broke, but she kept going, “It’s too tempting to just slip into the sadness and let it take me away.”

  “I know it is. And you know what? I’ll even cosign some constructive wallowing. Whateve
r you want to do. Carte blanche. Want to curl up here in the dark and sleep all day? I’m in. Want to watch Nicholas Sparks movies and eat ice cream all day? I’m down.”

  Her smile was soft and amused.

  “But then we’re going to get out of bed and go for a walk. Or open the curtains and let the sun in. I’m going to remind you that things will get better, even if it’s inch by inch. You’re allowed to feel just how you feel for as long as you feel it. But I’m here to remind you that there’s hope, and I’ll be with you every day, every step of the way.”

  “I don’t deserve you,” she whispered, resting her hand on my jaw.

  “The feeling’s mutual,” I whispered back.

  And I kissed her so she knew it was true.

  I broke away, smiling. “I brought you something.”

  She brightened. “You did?”

  “I did.” I kissed her nose and climbed out of bed, opening her door to bring in the gifts as she brought herself up to sit.

  “First, this.” I handed her the big one.

  She smiled, her long fingers making quick work of the paper. And when she saw what it was, she gasped, her big green eyes meeting mine.

  “Greg!”

  I smirked. “Now you can practice. I mean, sorta.”

  Annie looked over the small piano. “You bought me a Casio!”

  “I really just wanted to hear Mendelssohn in a sweet ’80s synth. I swear, my intentions were selfish.”

  She laughed. “Seriously, this is amazing. I can play with it in my lap.”

  “I know it only has half of the keys you need, but I figured it would give you something to do.”

  She flung herself at me as best she could from half under her covers and with a piano between us. “God, you’re amazing.”

  “Please, hold your applause until the end.” I handed her a flat, floppy package.

  Her eyes were curious as she unwrapped it, and when she breathed my name, I felt like a king.

  I’d do anything to make her happy. Anything.

  She ran her fingers over the top page of the Victorian sheet music, the heading of Mendelssohn’s Songs Without Words illustrated with a beautiful scene around the title.

  “Where did you find this?”

  “The internet. I found a lady in California who collects vintage sheet music. She didn’t have the entire thing—I guess some weren’t printed until later—but I took everything she had.”

  She was still looking through the pages, each song illustrated with a new image. “They’re beautiful. I can’t believe you did this.”

  “Really?”

  With a laugh, she said, “No.”

  “Feel a little better?”

  She sighed again, but this time, the sound was light and airy. “Much. How do you do that?”

  I twiddled my fingers in the air. “Magic.”

  As she giggled, I reached for the book I’d brought, holding it up.

  “If you want to be sad for a little longer, I brought Byron.”

  She brightened up and made to pick up the piano box. “Oh, will you read to me?”

  “Of course.” I took the box from her before she had the chance to lift it. “And then I think we should fool around a little.”

  “Hmm,” she buzzed, her face sparking with devilry. “I think I could be persuaded.”

  “And then we’ll go on our walk.”

  “Shuffle,” she corrected.

  I chuckled, climbing back under the covers. “Shuffle. And then the world is our oyster—”

  “Shuck it!”

  She nestled into my side, and I opened up Lord Byron, turned to The Giaour, and read her the long tale of the infidel who fell in love with a girl in a harem, drowned by her master when the affair was discovered. When the infidel professed his regret in the end of the poem—once exacting revenge, of course—Annie cried silent tears, tears from the girl who felt everything, those feelings vibrating through her like a tuning fork.

  It was a wonder to behold.

  I hoped I would behold it forever.

  I kissed the cool track of tears, kissed the sweetness of her lips. Those lips opened up just as her heart had, granting me passage. Her body molded to mine, our legs twined and hips flush, breaths heavy and hands eager.

  But I practiced restraint without second thought. I let Annie lead, gave her what I could without working her up even more than she already was. Hidden away in her bedroom with her heart still mending was the last place I wanted to take her, the last way I wanted her to experience the thing we both wanted so desperately.

  I wanted every sigh. I wanted my skin against hers. I wanted to touch her.

  Eventually, that time would come, and I’d wait for it patiently and gladly. Because the truth was that I loved her. I loved her, and someday, I would say those words written on my heart.

  And in the meantime, I would show her with every action, every kiss, every touch that I was hers.

  26

  First and Last

  Annie

  A river of sound spilled from the piano at my fingertips as the Rachmaninoff sonata came to a close, echoing from the walls, filling the room with its ebb and flow until it drifted away, note by precious note.

  I smiled and stood, bowed to the audition committee with wobbly knees as they thanked me for the hour-long performance, their faces unreadable though pleasant. I made my way down the line of them and shook their hands through a fog of adrenaline. And, having nothing to gather but myself, I left the audition room.

  Greg jumped to his feet and swept me into his arms, spinning me around in the hallway. “God, Annie, that was beautiful.”

  I laughed and kissed him. When I pulled away, I gazed up into his adoring face. “Thank you.”

  “I couldn’t tell if you messed up. It went too fast.”

  “I did but nothing major. I don’t think it will crush my chances. At least, I hope not. Anyone who could perform for that long and not mess up would have to be superhuman, and if they’ve got mutants at Juilliard, I’m probably better off elsewhere.”

  Greg hadn’t let me go yet, and I stood there in the halls of Juilliard with his arms around me and mine around him.

  “You did it.”

  I smiled. “I did it.”

  “You tired?”

  “A little bit. But I’ve done nothing for the last week but practice the whole run-through. It’s like training for a marathon but for my fingers.”

  “Are you still up for today?” There was trepidation in his voice, behind his eyes. He was giving me an out.

  I smirked. “Why? Trying to back out on me?”

  A little laugh puffed out of him. “Never in a million years. I just want to make sure you’re ready,” he added with sincerity.

  “I’m ready,” I answered without hesitation.

  His hands moved from my waist to my cheeks, which he held with reverence as he kissed me gently, sweetly. “Then let’s go.”

  He took my hand, and I followed him out. I’d follow him anywhere.

  The sky was blue and cloudless and as high as my hope as we walked toward the park. My chin lifted, eyes up, admiring the shade of blue, and when I sighed, Greg pulled me closer.

  “I’m trying to decide just what color the sky is,” I said, slipping my arm around his waist with my gaze still up. “It’s like Caribbean ocean on white sand or the color of rock candy. Or spun sugar, soft but…electric, layers and layers of color so deep that it almost seems endless.”

  “I don’t know how you do that, Annie.”

  “Do what?” I asked, meeting his eyes.

  “Make the ordinary extraordinary.”

  My heart sang, my face angling for his. He took the signal, pressing a swift kiss to my lips.

  “You live out loud,” he said when we settled back into our pace. “It’s just like your list says. Just like your dad would have wanted.”

  “I wish you could have met him.”

  “So do I,” he said quietly.

 
; “You would have been friends. He would have approved of you. He might have tried to scare the shit out of you first, but once you understood murder was on the table in exchange for my virtue and honor, you would have been thick as thieves.”

  Greg chuckled.

  “Anyway, I think I’m going to retire my list.”

  “Oh?” The single-syllabled question was laden with curiosity.

  “I started the list as a girl who wanted to start over, move on, live a life that was full of intention, and I am. Its purpose is fulfilled. In fact, I think its purpose was to lead me to you.”

  He pulled me to a stop on the sidewalk, his eyes bright with love and adoration, his heart shining behind them as he held my face as he so often did, as if I were precious and fragile and priceless. And when he kissed me, I knew he loved me. The words had never been uttered, but I knew it all the same.

  Once I was safely tucked under his arm again, we headed into the park. I didn’t have to stop once to rest, never had to catch my breath, didn’t break out into a sweat or need to down a gallon of water. That was still a marvelous thing in itself.

  Over the last week, I’d felt so good that Greg and I had even gone for a jog just to see if I could.

  I could. I also discovered that running was the actual worst and vowed never to do it again unless someone was after me with a weapon.

  But through it all, through good days and bad, Greg was there with warm hands and deep eyes and lips that I needed and wanted and dreamed of.

  Today was a day to celebrate, and we had big plans.

  A wild, late season flurry had dropped nearly two inches of snow the day before, blanketing the city in a colorless layer of magic. Of course, today it was a sooty, filthy shade of slate, pushed off to the gutters and clinging to the feet of the buildings. But the park was untouched by a thousand boots and tires and exhaust pipes.

  In the park, that sparkling magic remained, so in we went, looking for a knoll where we could build a snowman. Greg had even brought charcoal briquettes, a moth-eaten old scarf for his neck, and a carrot for his nose. It didn’t even matter that he was a little lopsided and his middle briquette button wouldn’t stay on. He was one of the most perfect things I’d ever seen.