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The one you run to when you cry
Let me be your star to wish upon
Let me be the beat within your heart
Let me be more
More than just a comforting embrace
More than just a smiling face
Let me be your safe place to land
When the final notes faded, Brahms’s gaze turned to me, watching with an intensity that stirred my soul. We hadn’t spoken much since the night we kissed—four long days. I’d avoided him, terrified of what was growing between us. This wasn’t some youthful infatuation anymore. At twenty-two, I knew my heart loved him, my body desired him.
Brahms set his guitar aside and crossed the room toward me, never breaking eye contact. My pulse raced wildly as he approached. He sat on the bench next to me. I shivered at his touch, knowing I should pull away. But captivated by the tenderness in his eyes, I found myself leaning closer instead.
“You’re so beautiful when you play,” he murmured, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.
“B,” I whispered, the sound almost lost.
“You’ve been avoiding me, Sephie. Why?” He searched my face, brows drawn together.
“We, us . . .” I didn’t know what to say or how to continue.
The raw truth was that I was running from the undeniable force that drew me to him, but I couldn’t find the words, paralyzed by fear of wrecking our friendship. Ever since that night, that unexpected kiss, my senses had become acutely attuned to his presence. Every brush of his fingers felt electric, a jolt to my system that I couldn’t—didn’t want to—ignore.
Brahms trailed his fingers down my cheek, watching me intently. My pulse raced wildly at his touch. He leaned in slowly until our lips met again.
The kiss was soft at first, then rapidly deepened, fueled by months of repressed longing. I sank into it helplessly, anchored only by Brahms’s strong arms enveloping me. His mouth moved urgently over mine, stealing my breath.
I lost myself in his mint and woodsy sage scent, the scratch of his stubbled jaw, his hammering heart echoing my own frantic rhythm. Each sensation magnified a thousandfold.
When we finally broke for air, Brahms rested his forehead against mine, both of us shaking.
“Don’t run from this, from us,” he whispered roughly. “I love you, Sephie. I’ve loved you for a long time but now . . . now I’m madly and irrevocably in love with you.”
“Brahms,” I whispered, my emotions swirling wildly.
I trusted him, but didn’t trust myself. What if I lost him the way his dad lost his mom, or Ellington lost Zane? His confession felt more terrifying than exhilarating. But what was the alternative? Staying away seemed equally impossible.
Touching my swollen lips, I had my answer. Not loving him fully would be the real mistake. My heart had already made its choice, even if my head lagged behind.
His blue eyes bore into mine, full of love and devotion. Waiting for me to take the leap with him. I took a shuddering breath and made my decision.
“I love you too.” Reaching up, I drew his mouth back down to mine in a long, sensual kiss. No more holding back. My heart was his. We would write our own story, chart our own course. Together.
Chapter Eighteen
Brahms
(Now)
There’s a lot of noise in the house until eight. Then everything goes eerily silent. I wish I could go downstairs, but the elevator is still locked. I wish I could ask the nurse on duty for a painkiller, but everyone has strict orders to give me nothing more than ibuprofen if the pain gets to be too much to bear.
So far I haven’t asked for anything besides water. I’m riding this pain while waiting for Sephie to give me a smidge of her time. I wish she would tell me about this so-called emergency. Earlier I wanted to go downstairs and offer my help but she fucking blocked my access. That can’t be legal, right?
“Can you try the elevator again?” I ask the nurse impatiently.
