by Lindsey Hart
He cursed under his breath as he stared at the composition book laid out on the piano in front of him. He’d been there all damn night. Or was it two? Three? He couldn’t remember. He just knew that he hadn’t seen Leena in a while. Days. At least. He was sure it was three.
There was a time when he just wished she’d leave well enough alone. After Hannah… all he wanted to do was not exist. Not die really, just- not feel anything at all. She’d refused to leave him to it and he hated her for it. Or rather, he hated the fact that she brought him more pain than he was already in.
Now, after years, the pain was still there, the sting of loss, the burn of the one chance at happiness that he might have had, but he was used to Leena now. He was used to her popping in and out, trying to force him to eat or sleep. He actually missed the beauty of her voice when she sang for him.
All the while he was teaching Hannah, giving her everything, every single part of himself including his soul, Leena was listening. And after years, when she finally opened her mouth, he was stunned at the gift he’d given her through his teaching. He missed her voice and he missed her input. She’d stab a finger at the composition book and ask for his pen. He’d give it blindly, trusting her implicitly.
As though his thoughts finally had the power to summon her, the door behind him creaked open. He’d chosen to work in the main room, the studio room they shared, a room where musicals and operas and love songs were born.
Annoyance rose in his chest. Dallas turned slightly on the bench, his hand gripping the edge to stave off the swarm of black spots that suddenly swarmed in front of his eyes.
“Leena,” he breathed. Her visage swam in the doorway. Why did it suddenly appear that there was two of her? “Did you finally run out of work? Finally come to see if I was still breathing in here?”
“I… what? I’m sorry. You know that we have a production underway. I was doing my best to try and remember my parts, relearning it and trying to find another male lead. I was told that you fired the last one.” She closed the door behind her softly, eyes shining with light and life. She looked better than when he’d seen her the last time. Her bruises were fading to a yellow that was hardly there at all. The cuts had healed. Her long, honey hair flowed unbound over her shoulder in a radiant mass of silk that he found his fingers actually ached to touch. The response baffled and annoyed him, and he turned back to the piano. He gripped his composition book and held it out, jabbing a finger at the part he saved for her.
“Sing this,” he commanded gruffly, ignoring her statement about Howard. He didn’t want to talk about the very object of the fight that had caused her to be hurt in the first place. His stomach swam with nausea and bile crawled into the back of his throat when his mind flashed through the images. He’d almost lost her, and he had no one to blame but himself and his own damn cruelty. And then where would he be? Left alone? Alone to rot or go truly insane? He wished he could be gentle, wished he could control the anger choking his throat, the damn black sea closing in on the corners of his eyes. I won’t let it win. I have to keep working.
“What?” She crept closer, her footsteps soft. She wore black leggings and a flowy emerald green blouse that fell almost to her knees. It was more of a dress and though it was loose it defined her narrow waist and lush breasts. She wore knee-high boots, a faded grey leather pair which were her favorite. Funny how even with no memory, she gravitated towards her old favorites.
“Sing. This.”
He passed over the notebook and watched as Leena’s flawless pale forehead creased into a frown. Her eyes swept over the pages, the notes, the notations, the scrawl and scratch of his work. He waited, breath locked in his lungs. Waited for her to finally sing.
“No.”
“What? What do you mean, no?” His fingers curled into the pant leg of his jeans in annoyance. “I need you to sing it, Leena. Now.”
She shook her head, gossamer strands of hair floating around her face. The room was dark, but annoying tendrils of late afternoon sunshine crept through behind the drawn shades. The highlights in the mass of her hair shone brightly even in those dull beams.
“No.” The book was closed softly and placed, with the utmost care, back on the piano.
Fury rose in his chest so swiftly it felt as though he might burst open with the pressure of it. Rage and- and panic. He needed the music out. Out of his head. Out of his body.
“I need you to sing it,” he growled, trying to keep his temper in check. He knew that she wouldn’t do anything for him if he was unkind. Another fight wasn’t going to get him any closer to relief.
Leena bent beside him. She knelt, coming down to his level. She dared to reach out and touch the edge of his jaw. He started at the contact, the heat of her hand burning into him. She would never have dared touch him before in anything that was not a purely utilitarian manner. Her fingers scraped over the fresh growth of a beard he didn’t even realize was there.
Her beautiful green eyes burned into his. She had no damn memory and she still looked at him as though she’d known him for years, cared for him for years. I should never have said she was in this for the money. That was never it.
“Dallas… it’s not that I don’t want to sing it for you. I just think you’ve had enough for today. You look- uh-you don’t look well. You have black smudges under your eyes. When was the last time you ate? Slept? Showered?” She moved her hand along his jaw, so very slowly, the heat of her body melting into his. His eyes burned, and his sinuses inflamed and he had no idea why. “Why am I always asking you these questions?” She sighed. “Please, can you just let me make you something to eat and can you lie down? We had this conversation the last time I was here.”
“Days ago,” he ground out, condescendingly.
“Yes. I’m sorry. Like I said, I’ve been busy. Minnie can’t understand why you’d fire a talented lead like Howard when his voice was perfect for the role. It’s not easy trying to find a replacement. And I’ve been dealing with- everything else. You have no idea how frustrating-” she caught herself and sighed, as though she didn’t want to burden him with her problems.
“Howard wasn’t right for that role,” Dallas ground out, surprised that he even answered her at all considering how he wanted to skirt around the conversation.
“No? Well, then why don’t you play it then? I read through the entire thing today.” Her voice dropped, gentled. “It’s the piece I wrote for you, isn’t it? The piece we finished? How long have we waited to let the world have it?”
Don’t answer her. “Almost ten years.”
“Ten years?” Disbelief bled into her words. “Why? Why so long?”
He leaned back so that her hand dropped away. He didn’t like what her touch was doing to him, burning right through him. His head swam, the blackness closing in. She reached out again, but he pulled away. He stood sharply and pushed back the piano bench, which screamed in protest.
The words he’d meant to hurl at her died in his throat as the room shifted violently. The threatening blackness closed in. He put his hand out as he pitched forward, unable to keep himself from falling, falling…
He thought maybe he’d get lucky and hit the floor and that would be that. He’d pick himself up and get on with it. He realized how hopeless that thought was when his chin and jaw connected with the edge of the piano, followed by the sharp crack of his forehead. He rebounded off of it, a screen of black over his eyes. He hit the floor hard. He landed on his side and rolled to his back, clutching at his head. Pain bloomed everywhere. It was so strong, so violent, it made him want to retch. His stomach heaved, and he gagged, but nothing came up. His mouth was filled with saliva and that was about it, reminding him he didn’t even have enough calories in him to vomit.
“Dallas! Oh my god!” Leena’s hands were on his face again, warm and tender. The blackness slowly dissipated, the spots and dots dancing, smudging until at last his vision swam back into focus. Leena’s worried face peered down at him. She was on her kne
es next to him. She shifted around, lifting and cradling his head in her lap. She brushed back his hair, ran her hands over the massive welt he could already feel forming. His jaw ached like someone had given up the uppercut of a lifetime. “Are you alright? I don’t see any blood. Jesus, Dallas! You have nothing left! You’ve probably been out here since I last told you to eat and get some rest. You didn’t do it did you? How many days has it been? How many?”
He shook his head then winced at the sharp sting of pain grinding through his brain. “I don’t know.”
“You’re going to kill yourself in here. Is that what you want?” Leena’s voice was growing shrill, uncontrolled, her fear evident in every single word.”
“No,” he ground out. “I- just want the music out. It’s always in my head. Always. I can’t make it stop. It needs to get out and then I can rest.”
“You’re making it worse. If you don’t eat and you don’t take care of yourself, you’re only going to get more anxious. Your thoughts are going to get away from you.” Leena blinked rapidly, and he didn’t understand why until the first tears trickled out from honeyed thick lashes and ran down her cheeks. His stomach cramped again, but this time for an entirely different reason. Seeing her cry did something to him, something he couldn’t express.
“You shouldn’t be wasting your time here, with me.”
“No? Where should I be wasting it then? I’m here for a reason. I… I just can’t- I don’t- I… I don’t know what it is yet.”
He didn’t laugh at her. Not with the way she was looking at him. It must really be bad this time.
“Do you have- do you have some medication you’re supposed to be taking? Pills that help with- help you manage whatever this is?”
He blinked. “No.”
Leena’s cheeks reddened. “I’m sorry, I just… I can’t stand to see you like this. You have no idea how bad you look. God, Dallas, I don’t want something to happen to you. I want to help you, but I don’t know how and that makes me feel completely useless. You have a gift-”
“A curse.”
“It’s a gift, to create beauty like you do.”
“I would give anything for it to stop.” Fresh tears coursed down her cheeks in silvery streaks. They hurt something inside his chest almost as badly as his head throbbed.
“Like I said,” Leena whispered, not at all sure. Her voice was tiny and small. “Since you got rid of Howard, you’re going to take his place.”
“You’re insane?” His mouth gaped open, reminding him just how badly his jaw was wounded.
“Maybe.” She laughed softly, a pretty sound that didn’t hurt his pounding skull. “No one has ever heard you sing, have they? They sing your music, play it, pay you for it, but no one has heard you sing.”
“No,” he admitted. He wished he could just go from there straight into his bed and close his eyes. They felt gritty. His mouth tasted sour and his head pulsed with agony. “Only you.”
“And it’s incredible.”
“Are you sure? Maybe you’re not remembering correctly.” She frowned again, but she shook her head. Her hand moved over his cheek, so very gently that the throbbing in his chest started again.
“You need to get out of here. Out of this room.”
“I do. I watch. From above. From a box in the empty seats. I do watch.”
“And that’s why you fired Howard?”
“I wouldn’t have done it if I hadn’t seen him.”
“You gave him the scare of his life, seeing you like that. He said you looked like a man possessed.”
Because he dared lay a finger on you. It wasn’t that Howard had done it out of character. He was playing a role which was quite… intimate with Leena’s character. It was the gentleness behind his touch, the look in his eyes. He meant it, he meant it out of character, which drove Dallas mad with a sensation he hadn’t experienced before. Jealousy. He didn’t understand it, didn’t know what possessed him to find Howard backstage, grab the front of his shirt and tell him to get out.
“No. You know I could never do anything like that.”
Leena shrugged. “I don’t know it. I don’t remember anything, remember?” Her brow arched sardonically. She was throwing back the sarcasm and disbelief he’d used with her earlier, days ago. “Anyway, I’m done talking about that. You need to sleep. And eat something. What do I even give to you if you haven’t had food for days? You’ll go into shock…”
“I don’t want anything. Just rest,” he admitted, ashamed of his own weakness.
“I’m going to be beside you, to make sure you stay there.”
“What?” Everything inside of him was instantly aware.
“That’s right. I can’t trust you not to get up and work yourself to death so I’m going to be there. For the rest of the night. I’ve been up since four this morning and I’m tired anyway.”
“What time is it now?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe six. It doesn’t matter. I’m tired and so are you. Can you get up?”
He was even more ashamed to try and find no strength in his limbs. He was a tall man, impressively built. He stayed fit, had an exercise regime he put himself through in the morning and the evening, on better days. It helped center his mind, ground him, still the endless racing thoughts. At the moment, none of his height or muscle helped. It was all slack, dead weight.
“I’ll take that as a no.” Somehow, though Leena was a good half a foot shorter than him at least, and slender, she managed to get him into a sitting position. It was all he could do to keep the blackness at bay. She wrapped her arm around his waist and pulled him up, up to standing. She didn’t let him go. He leaned heavily on her and she supported him. She was stronger than she looked.
He should have known she would be. She’d done this for him before. Picked him off the damn floor. Put him in bed. God, he was ashamed to admit she’d helped him into the damn shower before, washed his hair for him, shaved him when he couldn’t even do that.
“I don’t want to be like this forever…” he whispered brokenly. “I don’t want to be lost…”
The blackness closed in and when Dallas was again able to open his eyes he blinked into the darkness of his room. He hit the bed hard, the stiff mattress supporting his weight in the most bittersweet way.
He felt himself being arranged, like a child, limbs laid out. His shoes were removed, one by one and then the covers were pulled up, up to his chin. Like his mother used to do before she died. Everyone died. That was the curse of life. That those he loved always left him behind.
The bed dipped beside him and he sensed, more than he felt Leena’s presence. His eyes remained closed and though the music was still there, pounding through his brain, ripping him to shreds, pulling, pulling, summoning him upright, he had nothing left to give. He surrendered at last, to the blackness that shrouded him in its welcoming arms.
CHAPTER 8
Leena
Next to Dallas. It was where she truly wanted to be. It was where she always wanted to be. She wasn’t sure where the realization came from. It stole into her brain as her body relaxed on the king size mattress that was far too hard. The quilt was white. The resemblance it bore to a hotel line of linens was stark. The sheets matched.
She didn’t dare crawl beneath that thin comforter. She didn’t dare even so much as touch Dallas. Her hand, her arm, her entire body, still burned with the contact she’d made at the piano. His scent lingered with her, swimming through her blood. Her heart hammered wildly. She stared up at the ceiling until Dallas’ breaths were long and even. It was only a matter of minutes until she knew he was asleep.
I shouldn’t be here. He doesn’t want me here. That might have been true, but he hadn’t told her to leave either. Because he was in no shape to. She knew she was kidding herself. If Dallas had truly wanted her gone, he would have expressed his desire in no uncertain terms.
Tenderness, now as familiar as her own heartbeat, rose in her chest. Her stomach turned over, f
lopping painfully the same way it had when she’d walked back on stage for the first time since the accident. She felt it, the rush, the born ability within herself, the years of experience and training and natural talent. It was a gift like her voice and she was able to fall back on it though she couldn’t remember how she’d come to have it.
Because she knew he was out cold, Leena turned on her side to study Dallas’ face. Her hand ached and her fingers itched. She carefully rotated so that she was on top of her arm, trapping it below her. The other hand she tucked under the too flat pillow.
In the darkness, when the shadows of fatigue and utter exhaustion were hidden, the bruised blackness under his eyes softened, his lips pulled into a relaxed line, his body at ease, he was utterly beautiful.
He was an incredible man. Tall, broad, muscular. He had that powerful build that made her feel so very small next to him. His long blonde lashes rested on his cheek. His breaths were deep and even, his chest rising and falling with every gentle inhale and exhale. His cheekbones were prominent, the shadow of a beard covered the lower half of his face. It was longer than before, betraying the fact he hadn’t bothered to shave even after their last meeting, but not long enough to indicate that he wanted to grow a beard or wore one regularly.
It took every ounce of her willpower not to roll closer. Dallas was on his back and she longed to press herself into his side, to throw an arm over his chest, to hold him as he slept, to give him the elusive peace that he obviously so desperately sought. Half of her urge was to care for him, the other half something that she couldn’t even fully consider at the moment when she was so close. She longed to inhale, to breathe in the scent of his skin once more, to run her fingers over the bruised spot on his forehead and jaw, to trail her hand lower, down his neck, over his chest, below the buttons of his rumpled plaid shirt.
Lord, she longed to touch his skin. She wanted to trace the pattern of him- crisp hair, warm, velvet skin over rock hard, rigid muscle. She wanted it so badly that her body trembled. It was a violent shiver, one that started at her toes and ripped up her back. Her stomach curled in on itself, the air trapped in her chest, burning in her lungs.