Saylor passed her dorm… She passed mine… and parked in front of the music building.
She turned off the car. “Come on.”
Sighing, I followed her into the building and up the stairs, down the hall, to our private room. I walked into the room and waited for her to sit on the bench, but instead of sitting, she went behind me, pushed me toward the piano, then pulled down on my arms, forcing me to sit in front of it.
“Today we’re going to trade,” she whispered in my ear.
“Oh yeah?” I stared at the keys. “How so?”
“You said you’d make up for the second tear today, but instead, I’m going to make up for yours.”
“But I haven’t cried.”
“Just because we aren’t crying on the outside doesn’t mean we aren’t completely wrecked on the inside.” Saylor’s hands rested on my shoulders. “I figure you have more than one tear I can make up for, and even though I’m not the cause of them, I know exactly what you need to feel better.”
“What?” My voice was a hollow whisper as I swallowed the lump in my throat.
“Play.” She lifted my hands on the piano. “Let it go, Gabe.”
And just like that. I played.
For two hours straight.
While Saylor sat silently in the corner and waited.
And she was right, damn but she was right, because I did have tears. I had gashes and scars that were so horrendous I sometimes felt like the monster I’m sure Princess’s parents saw me as.
When I hit the last note, a weight lifted. “How’d you know?”
“Musicians.” Saylor got up off the floor and approached me, laying her hand on my shoulder. “We share the same soul.”
Slowly, I raised my head to look at her. “When I look… I see you. Beyond the music, beyond your smile, your touch, your laugh.” My voice caught. “I see you.”
“I see you too.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
Baring your soul to someone is like purposefully stabbing yourself in the heart and waiting for the person you love to stop the bleeding —Wes M.
Saylor
My hands shook as I held on to him. As if he was leaving me — because that’s exactly the look he had on his face. Like he wanted to run, like he was going to run.
I didn’t know how to help. All I knew is that deep in his soul, music was his therapy — his everything.
So I brought him home.
To his real home — at the piano.
“We were super young.” Gabe licked his lips and stared at the piano, his voice low and gravelly. “I proposed when I was seventeen — I was a kid, but I was in love, you know? Not the type of love most people at that age feel. It was huge — epic — like I’d finally found the person I was supposed to partner up with. And then she was just gone.”
“The accident…” I asked, sitting next to him on the piano bench. “What happened?”
“A tree.” He swore and started tapping the middle C key. “We’d been out partying — nothing crazy, but we’d had a few drinks…”
Drinking at seventeen? I mean, I wasn’t perfect. I’d done my fair share of wild high school parties. But it just didn’t fit him, not when he seemed so controlled.
His rhythm faltered for a couple of beats before he continued, “I wanted to go for one more run down the mountain. We were both skiing. I thought it would be fun before we met up with our friends. She said no.” His fingers moved to the piano, he played softly as he spoke. “I finally convinced her to go with me — only she was complaining about forgetting her helmet, and me being slightly buzzed and not thinking about the ramifications of a human hitting a tree at breakneck speed, blew her off — said not to worry. I discounted her fears when she had an actual reason to be afraid.”
Gabe’s voice shook. “We went down the hill. I heard her scream.” His voice cracked again as his left hand joined his right, playing across the piano. “And then silence.” He closed his eyes. “Sometimes I wonder what’s worse… the scream or the silence afterwards.”
He sighed, his shoulders hunching over as if someone had physically put weights on his body.
His left hand stopped moving.
And when I went to grab it, to offer some comfort, I noticed the tattoo on his ring finger.
It was the letter K, wrapped around like bow, with a tiny music note on top.
And I realized whatever Gabe and I had? It stopped at music — because I would never be able to replace what he’d lost — not while he still held on for dear life.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered.
“Me too.” Gabe paused. “Do you hate me now?”
“No.”
“You should.” He sagged heavier against the piano. “I do.”
My phone buzzing interrupted the silence. I wasn’t going to answer it but the buzzing was persistent.
“Hello?”
“Hurry up!” Kiersten shrieked in my ear. “Lisa’s going to be here any minute, and we have to surprise her!”
“Oh, crap. Okay, we’re on our way.”
“We? Is Gabe with you?”
“Oh, yeah.”
“Thank God!” She sighed. “Okay, just hurry. Do you need directions or are you good?”
I eyed Gabe’s hunched form and wondered how he was going to be ready to party when he looked suicidal. “Yeah, we’re good.”
If good was finding out he was engaged to a paraplegic who was coughing up blood and was hiding his identity for no reason other than it seemed he hated the guy he used to be and wanted to be different.
Just. Peachy.
Gabe’s eyes searched mine once I ended the call. “Party?”
“Yeah, I totally forgot.”
“I never forget.” He rose from the bench, his eyes darkened as he stared right through me. “Maybe that’s my damn problem.” He turned off the light to the practice room and offered a small smile. “Let’s go.”
And just like that, I watched him pull on the mask again and pretend like the sun was still shining, like he wasn’t taking care of his paralyzed fiancée and blaming himself for the reason she was in a wheelchair.
Huh. And I was complaining to him about having performance anxiety. Yeah. He should have probably told me to go to hell.
My problems? Nothing compared to the load he was carrying.
I followed him out of the building and unlocked the doors to my car. It was weird, seeing the other side of him and knowing he was choosing to still wear his mask.