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He hummed, delving his arms under me to lift me off the mattress and pull me into his chest. My arms circled his waist, and I buried my cheek into his chest. He hugged tight, resting his chin on the top of my head.
“Don’t be sorry, sweetness. You’ve just been through a lot.”
Is that why he never kissed me?
“Please tell me, Ben. Wondering is torture.”
“You called me the other night—”
“Where was I?” I interrupted immediately.
“At the theater building. You had orchestra practice.”
“I play the piano,” I echoed, thankful I at least remembered basic details about myself.
“Oh, baby, you don’t play. You are the piano. I’ve never seen anything like it. You are so fucking talented. A musical genius.”
“I doubt I’m that good.”
He made a rude noise. “That’s how we met, you know?”
I pulled back enough to look up at him. “Really?”
He smiled. “You got a scholarship to the school I went to,” he said, pride shining in his eyes. “I didn’t even know they gave kids scholarships in middle school. But they did for you. You were so talented even then that it blew everyone away.”
“We met in middle school?”
“Mm-hmm,” he hummed. “Went to the same high school too. And now Westbrook.”
“I got a scholarship to all of them?”
“I told you you’re the best ivory-tickler to ever exist.”
I ducked my face closer into him and smiled.
“Anyway,” he said as if his over-the-top assessment of my piano skills was not over the top at all but merely a fact. “You were at rehearsal. And you probably gave a lesson or two after.”
“I give lessons…”
“Mm, to those less gifted than you.” He agreed. “Which is everyone.”
“Do you know how to play piano?”
He laughed. “These webbed things?” he mused, pulling his arms back to hold up his hands. “They’re good at cutting through water but terrible at the keys.”
“Can you hug me more?” I asked, averting my gaze.
He made a sound, sort of like a groan, and pulled me back in. I sighed against him, rubbing my cheek against his shoulder.
“What did I say when I called you?” I asked. I was nervous to ask even if I wanted to know.
“You said you were in trouble. Someone was chasing you.” His arms held tighter, his posture growing stiff. “I told you to hide.”
“I didn’t listen?”
“I think you tried.”
“Then what?” I whispered, feeling like I was being told a story instead of something I’d actually lived.
