I hesitate then pick up my own guitar. The melody comes easier the second time.
Dom listens for a few bars, then joins in. He doesn’t try to overpower, his playing just complements. His fingers find harmonies I hadn't thought of, countermelodies that make the whole thing richer.
We play together, and something in my chest loosens making my shoulders relax.
This should feel strange or at least awkward or forced or weighted with all the years we didn't have.
But it doesn't. It feels natural, like our hands know how tospeak the same language even if our mouths haven't figured it out yet.
Music has a way of filling in all the gaps that words can't reach.
He plays clean, steady, with a style that's clearly influenced mine without me ever knowing it. Echoes of myself in his phrasing are visible, or maybe it's the other way around. Maybe I've been carrying pieces of him in my playing all along without realizing it.
We finish together, the final chord hanging in the air between us.
"That's beautiful," Dom says quietly. "Really beautiful. The girl you wrote it for, has she heard it yet?"
I don't ask how he knows it's about someone. I guess the song makes it obvious.
"She doesn't know it exists," I say.
"You going to tell her?"
"I don't know."
He nods, understanding in a way that doesn't require explanation then sets the guitar down carefully.
"Thank you," he says. "For letting me do that. Play with you."
"You're good," I say, and I mean it. "Really good."
"Had a lot of years to practice." He picks up his coffee. "A lot of years alone with a guitar and too much time to think."
"I'm sorry," he says after a moment. "For all of it. For not fighting harder to be in your life. For letting Scott and his family intimidate me into staying away. For?—"
"You don't have to keep apologizing," I interrupt gently. "I get it. I understand why you made the choices you made."
"Do you?" He looks at me properly now, and there's rawness in his expression. Desperate to be understood but terrified he doesn't deserve it. "Because I'm not sure I do anymore. I tell myself it was to protect you. To keep you safe from Scott. But maybe I was just protecting myself from the risk of trying and failing."
The honesty lands heavy and I recognize it immediately because I've told myself the exact same thing.
Different circumstances, different person, same justification.
"I do," I say quietly.
Dom's eyebrows raise slightly.
"The girl the song's about," I continue. "I spent seven years telling myself I was protecting her. That staying away, staying silent, letting her move on without me—that was love. That was me being noble."
"And was it?"
"I don't know," I admit. "Maybe some of it was. But a lot of it was also me protecting myself from the risk of her saying no. From the possibility that even knowing the truth, she still wouldn't choose me. So I made the choice for her. Decided what she could handle, what she needed, what was best for her—all without ever asking her what she actually wanted."
Dom nods slowly, understanding flickering in his eyes.
"It's easier, isn't it?" I say. "To tell yourself you're being selfless. That you're making the hard choice to protect someone you love. Because the alternative—admitting you're just scared—that's harder to live with."
"You sound like you've thought about this a lot."
