by Staci Hart
They both stilled at the word.
“If you love her, if you’ve given her your heart, then you have to tell her. If not for her, then for you. This…this is the first time, isn’t it?” Her eyes were soft, deep and dark.
“Yes,” I said against the pain in my chest. “And I hope it’s the last.”
“Because you don’t want to love again?” Dad asked.
I met his eyes. “No. Because I only want to love her.”
A long pause. “Then you must tell her,” he said definitively.
“But I’ve failed her,” I argued. “I’ve hurt her. What if I do it again? What if my love isn’t enough? What if I can’t give her what she needs?”
“If you don’t try, you’ll never know the answer,” he said. “Love isn’t guaranteed. But you have to follow the song of your heart. Where will it lead you? Where will you find yourself if you shrug off the comfort of mediocrity and complacency and jump? Just jump, Samhir. You might fail, yes. But what do you gain if you succeed? What happiness will you know if you triumph? What joy if you thrive?”
I took a shaky breath and let it out.
“That is your choice, son. Will you risk your heart or deny it?”
When I searched for the answer, it was there waiting, a fact as simple and true as it always was.
That answer lit in my heart like a brazier, the flame licking the stars.
33
Every Song, Every Note
Sam
“Come on in,” Jason said, moving a stack of papers from his desk.
The office in the theater was shared by half a dozen people, crammed with desks and shelves and chaos. It was maybe big enough for three people to stand comfortably, four if they were friends, five and things would get real familiar.
That night, it was just the two of us. I closed the door, brushing my sweaty palm on the thigh of my jeans.
“It’s good to see you, Sam. Glad you’re ready to come back. Your sub is playing with unattractive desperation for your spot. Like I’d ever can you,” he said on a laugh. “What can I do for you?”
I reached into my bag, my plan on my lips, riding every heartbeat. “Well, I have something I want to show you—”
The door burst open, and Ian filled the doorframe. His eyes were hot coals in their sockets, and when they landed on me, they flared.
“I should have fucking known I’d find you here. This is your doing, isn’t it?”
Jason glared at him. “Are you accusing me of nepotism, Jackson?”
Ian swiveled his head to laser on Jason. “What if I am?”
“Well, I wouldn’t think that’d be any way to go about getting your job back.” Ian opened his mouth to speak, but Jason headed him off. “I fired you because I found someone better.”
“You’re fucking kidding me. Branson is a reject, a can’t-hack-it wannabe from Des Moines. You’re not seriously giving him my seat, are you?”
Jason’s face hardened. “It’s already done. Part of the problem here is your bad attitude. Case in point.” He gestured to Ian. “But the bottom line is that Branson is better than you.”
“Bullshit,” he shot. “This is bullshit. This is all because of some stupid fucking bet, and now Sam’s got his panties in a twist. I can’t believe you got me fired, you son of a bitch.”
“That’s enough, Jackson. You’ve got two options—you can leave quietly, or I can call security. It’ll be real tough to find a gig once everybody hears about your exit. But grace has never been your thing, has it?”
“Fuck you,” he said, chest heaving with his rage. “Fuck both of you. I hope you’re happy, Sam.”
“Nothing about this makes me happy,” I said, the truth of it hitting me deep.
But he was already turning for the door, passing the threshold, disappearing into the hallway.
Disappearing from my life.
The rubber band around my lungs let go, and I took my first full breath since he’d walked in. “I’m sorry, Jason.”
“Don’t be. I wouldn’t have hired him in the first place if it wasn’t for you—I’ve been wanting to fire him for a year.” He took a seat. “Now, tell me how else I can help.”
And with an unbidden smile, I pulled the papers out of my bag and explained.
Val
I’d told myself I was prepared to see Sam. He’d come back to work eventually, and there I’d be, head high, back firmly to him, and feelings locked neatly in my heart.
I’d had a whole week. An entire week, which was more than triple the time we had actually been together. I mean, together-together.
So seeing him will be a piece of cake, I’d told myself. Easy-peasy. No prob, Bob. Nothing but a G thang, baby.
Lies, lies, lies.
I felt him before I saw him, the air in the room tightening, electric. I turned to look—I had no choice, the reaction autonomous. And there he was, his eyes dark with regret and hope. But he didn’t approach, didn’t speak. He only nodded once, as if to say, I’m sorry, I won’t, I miss you.
And all the bits of my broken heart that I’d collected, all the pieces I’d thought I’d put back together came apart like a house of cards in a breeze.
He moved to the back of the pit. I had to quit watching. I had to stop. I couldn’t see him, couldn’t think. So I turned to my music and flipped through it in a grand show of apathy that didn’t fool anyone, least of all myself.
“Did you hear?” one French horn player to my left said to the other. “Jason fired Ian Jackson.”
“You’re kidding me,” French horn two said.
“Nope. Jenny said she overheard the whole thing. Ian’s pissed. He said something about Sam getting him fired and something about a bet. Have you heard anything?”
Tingling awareness slipped over me.
“No, but I’d pay good money to find out. Anyway, good riddance. If I had to put up with him hitting on me much longer, I would have complained to the union.”
French horn one chuffed. “At least you didn’t make the mistake of sleeping with him. That asshole is on my short list of regrets.”
I couldn’t imagine it was possible that Sam had the power to get Ian fired.
I couldn’t believe he’d gotten Ian fired over me.
I chanced a look over my shoulder. Sam’s eyes were down, his bass between his legs and hands moving as he played a tune that struck me with familiarity. But before I could place it, the conductor tapped her stand, bringing our attention to her.
And the show went on, as it always did.
It took all my energy to stay focused, especially during the music breaks and intermission. Intermission was torture. He didn’t leave his seat and I didn’t leave mine, but I could feel both of us wishing we could. I could feel his questions, feel the things he wanted to say. I could feel his apologies and his explanations.
The worst was that I wanted him. I wanted to hear every word, wanted to fall into his arms and tell him how I felt. I wanted to get up right then and beg him to tell me he wanted what I wanted, that he felt what I felt.
But I didn’t. I stayed in my seat, wishing for things I couldn’t have.
Somehow, I made it through the show and the curtain call. My plan after that was simple—grab all my stuff and run out of the theater like the devil was chasing me.
We held the last note until it was done. The conductor lowered her hands, we lowered our instruments. And I reached for my case to invoke my plan.
No one else moved other than to shuffle their music around, still sitting attentively in their chairs. I glanced around, confused, as the conductor’s baton lifted and ticked off a beat.
Music rose around me as I sat, blinking stupidly in my chair, trying to figure out what was happening and why I wasn’t in on it. The tune was familiar, the same Sam had been playing earlier.
The same he’d played that night, the night he’d played for me.
In my stupor, I didn’t see Sam until he was in front of me. My body locked, my stomach swapping places with m
y heart as my eyes followed him. He moved my stand out of the way. Took my trumpet from my hands and set it next to my chair. Dropped to his knees at my feet.
And he took my hands in his, met my eyes and held them.
“I know I promised you I’d stay away, and I swore to your brother I’d leave you alone. And I will, Val. But before I can walk away, I need you to know that I love you.”
Shock, a crack of lightning down my spine.
He loves you, he loves you, he said the words, he said them.
He didn’t stop speaking. “I was wrong about so much. I should have told you about Ian from the start, but I thought I knew better. I thought I could save you, thought you needed me to. But I was wrong. It was me who needed you. It’s me who needs you. I thought I knew what happiness was, but I was wrong about that, too. Because my life was empty until I met you, and it’s been empty since I lost you.”
“Sam,” I breathed. My throat closed with emotion.
“I’m so sorry. I’m sorry I hurt you, and I’m sorry I didn’t see this coming. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.” He lowered his head, shook it gently. “I don’t expect your forgiveness. I don’t deserve your forgiveness. But you’re the first girl I’ve ever loved, and I couldn’t walk away without telling you. I love you, Val.”
The music flowed around us, brilliant and sweet. It was the song of his heart. And the only truth that mattered in mine sat in the hollow of my mouth, on the tip of my tongue. It passed my lips without fear. “I’ve loved you for longer than I knew. I just didn’t believe you’d ever love me. I didn’t think you could.”
He rose until we were eye to eye, his hands holding my face with adoration. “How could I not? It’s like I said once before—you and I have become a fact. But I didn’t know if I could give you what you needed, what you deserved. What I didn’t realize was that I wouldn’t have to try. Loving you is easy. Giving you everything I am is my joy, my privilege. Making you happy is all I want, Val. Love is music. You are music, and I want to learn every song, every note.”
“Then kiss me and make me sing.”
A twitch of a smile. A sigh he breathed that I breathed in. The tilt of my face.
His lips brushed mine with reverent disbelief, with the awe and grace of a man absolved. And with that kiss, I knew I would have always forgiven him. I would always forgive him. Because no matter what he had done, he’d done it for me. I knew this somehow, knew it in my marrow. In the threads of my veins, I knew.
With that kiss, that exchange of breath, the sharing of heartbeats, I gave him my heart.
It’d always been his.
34
Treasure
Sam
She loved me.
I held her in my arms, felt the weight of her, smelled the sweetness of her, tasted the honey of her lips as I kissed her with my heart and soul.
When our lips slowed and closed, when we opened our eyes, the things I wanted and the things I needed clicked into place before me, beginning and ending with her.
“It’s your symphony,” she said, smiling.
“No, it’s yours.”
Her brow quirked.
“A Dance with Valentina.”
Her face went soft, her eyes velvety and filling with tears as she listened. “You…you named it after me?”
“I wrote it because of you. It was always you, every note, every phrase. It was you in my mind, your face in my thoughts when I heard every measure. I finished it and named it. And then I sent it to my agent.”
Her eyes widened. “Did you?”
I nodded, smiling. “We’ll see what happens. I didn’t want to put this one in a drawer with the others. Because I’ve learned that if I’m afraid to jump, it’s because what I want is worth the risk. It’s worth falling for. It’s worth failing for. Worth fighting for. Now my only fear is of not jumping.”
“Just jump,” she said. “Like you taught me.”
I leaned in for another kiss, saying against her lips, “Like you taught me.”
The brush of our lips was brief and sweet. The music around us came to a close, and the orchestra stood, clapping and whistling. And when the ruckus died down, the crew finally began to pack up. Val did the same, and when her instrument was in its case, I hooked it on my shoulder and pulled her into my side.
We strode out of the theater with her fitted under my arm, greeted by the crisp night.
“I’ve missed you,” she said.
I kissed the top of her head. “You have no idea. I didn’t leave my apartment but once since that night. I didn’t shower for an unspeakable portion of that week either.”
She chuckled. “What were you doing?”
“Writing. Contemplating my life choices. Missing you.”
Val’s free hand wrapped around my middle to join the one already curled behind my back. “I’m so sorry.”
“Why are you sorry? You didn’t do anything wrong—that was all me.”
“I’m sorry that you were upset. I know it wasn’t my fault.”
“I lied to you.”
“You did,” she said. “By omission, but you lied. And you misled me. But you were being noble. A noble, lying asshole.”
I chuckled against the ache in my chest. “He said he was going after you, and I knew he wouldn’t stop. He wouldn’t give up. But he did it because he knew I wanted you for myself. He did it because he wanted to hurt me. I don’t think he even considered what it would do to you.”
“Why were you friends with him, Sam? He’s so…God, he’s fucking awful.”
“Loyalty, I guess. I’ve seen every side of him, and I thought I knew all his faces. He’s thrown me under the bus before, but usually it’s to save his own ass. This time, he just wanted to watch me fail. He got his wish.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“Stop apologizing, Val. Please. I can’t take it.”
She sighed. “At least you got to hit him. How’d it feel?”
“Who told you?”
“Dante.”
“Ah,” I said with a nod. “It hurt like a motherfucker and was simultaneously the most satisfying moment of my life, besides tonight.”
Another sigh. This time, I could hear her smiling. “You wrote me a symphony.”
“And you love me.”
“And you love me, too. It’s a night of firsts.”
I didn't speak for a moment as we trotted down the stairs to the train. “Did you open your birthday present?”
She looked up at me, her face soft and open. “I did. I cried for half an hour afterward, but I opened it. Sam…they’re beautiful.”
We passed the turnstile. I was thankful for a second to process her crying for a half hour over me. It made me even sicker to consider that half hour had probably only been the tip of the iceberg.
“I used to watch my mom put on her makeup, and I’d dig through her big jewelry box that sat on her vanity. It was full of so many baubles, shiny gems, milky pearls. I used to imagine I was a pirate, and that was my treasure, piles of jewelry and gems I’d collected from the corners of the world. She has dozens of hair combs—beautiful, elaborate pieces. Some were my grandmother’s, some older. But she would always tell me one day, I’d meet a girl and give her a hair comb, and she’d be mine. When she wore it, I’d think of how she belonged to me and how I would belong to her.”
We stopped at the edge of the empty platform, the trough for the train dark and rough, metal and rock and oil. I turned to face her, pulled her flush to me, looked into the depths of her eyes.
“I thought of it like a fairy tale, as real as the possibility of my actually becoming a pirate. And then I met you.”
Her cheek was warm against my palm, her skin soft beneath my fingertips.
“You’re my fairy tale.” I brought my lips to hers as the train flew into the station, the current of air twisting around us as we twisted around each other, lifting her hair, licking the edges of my coat, lifting us with force we couldn’t see.
We felt i
t all the same.
The train stopped, the doors opened. And only then did I let her go, towing her behind me, then pulling her into me. We didn’t speak. She held on to me, her face pressed against my chest, and I held on to her as the train took off, clacking down the track. Two stops, and we were moving again. Not a second had passed that we weren’t touching other than our passage of the turnstiles. It was too much, the relief. The deliverance. I felt like I was breathing for the first time in a week.
Maybe ever.
In silence, we walked to my apartment, our pace picking up with every block. And then we climbed the stairs, crossed my threshold, closed the door, stood still in the quiet, dark room, face to face.
I traced the line of her jaw, held it in my hands. “I love you, Val. I love every angle, every curve. Every freckle and every curl. Every smile, every laugh, every tear. I love you, all of you.”
Forever, my heart whispered.
And I kissed her to seal the silent promise.
Our bodies wound together, my arms wrapped around her, her body melding into mine, the impression of every curve set into me where it belonged. Her hands slipped into my jacket, pushed it over my shoulders. I shrugged it off as she did the same, the kiss never breaking.
We were a blur of motion, of fluttering hands and hearts, of sighs and noisy breaths as we moved for the bedroom, shedding clothes all the way.
I broke away when we reached the foot of the bed, spent a long moment appreciating everything before me—her body, her heart, our future. Years later, I’d look back and realize this was the moment I knew without knowing that I’d love her forever. Until the day that I died, I would love Val.
And my greatest wish was that she’d love me in equal measure.
I kissed her sweetly until the kiss turned hot, deep and deliberate. Until it was desperate, delving and dark with desire. And then I laid her down. Kissed down her body. Held her breasts in my hands, kissed the tight tip with eyes closed, mouth warm. Felt her fingers in my hair, heard her sigh, smelled her heat as I kissed lower, lower. And when I reached the place where her thighs met, I cupped her sweetness, tasted her, kissed every ridge, licked every valley.