Taking the key from the envelope, I approach the back door. The lock clicks open, the hinges squealing as I cautiously enter. My eyes take a moment to adjust to the dim lighting. I’m in a carpeted hallway, yellow light trickling from the far end like a beacon.
The air is thick with tangible anticipation like whatever waits for me on the other side of this hall might break and remake me.
I can taste my heart beat as I walk through the open double doors—
My lungs burn like I’ve been running for hours.
My hands shake.
My eyes blur.
Rows of velvet seats descend toward a small stage lit by a singular spotlight, highlighting the lithe figure perched on a stool in the center. An angel wrapped in darkness. The sheer black lace of his shirt shifts to tease the pale inked skin beneath as he rises and smooths out his tailored black slacks. In one hand, he clutches the neck of his violin, the other loosely dangles the bow. smoky eyes lined in coal round with relieved elation.
Win.
My beautiful Win.
“You made it,” he breathes; it sounds as if he’s whispering in my ear. Shivers descend over my scalp. Down my spine.
Words are lost to me, so I nod.
Pink tints his cheeks as he gestures at the empty rows.
“Take a seat.”
I drift down the aisle in a trance, sinking into a space in the middle to maintain the full view. Biting his bottom lip, he resumes his place on the stool and clears his throat.
“Music has always been the easiest way for me to communicate,” he murmurs. “Maybe you were aware when you sent me songs that reminded you of us. Or maybe you weren’t, but either way, you were the only one who spoke my language. Those songs were more than lyrics and melodies— they were conversations. Windows to our souls. So when I left, I couldn’t listen. I couldn’t create. I couldn’t allow myself to feel because I didn’tdeserveto. I spent years in forced silence, drowning out the music. Muted and misunderstood. Until I saw you again…”
He shakes his head. “It’s like you turned the volume back on. After so long locked away, you set it free. At first, it was so loud and overpowering that ithurt. But as my ears adjusted, I allowed that secret language to pour out of me until the harsh notes of pain became harmonies. The more I immersed myself in it, the braver I got. So even though I’m struggling to open up about… everything, I thought I’d try speaking to you this way.”
The ache is a noose, strangling me. I can do nothing but watch as he tucks V under his chin, his entire demeanor transforming. Nervousness vanishes; calm, confidence straightens his spine, eyes focused on a fixed point somewhere in the distance.
The moment the bow touches V’s strings, I know I’m done for. It takes less than three notes for me to know exactly which song he’s playing.
The last one I dedicated to him.
To us.
Hot tears carve down my cheeks as my lips soundlessly mouth the lyrics. The mournful, delicate melody is a needle piercing the tattered muscles of my heart, stitching it back together. It’s excruciating. It’s cathartic. It’s healing.
And I can’t look away. His eyes remain closed while every emotion of the music plays across his face. When the song comes to a close, he doesn’t stop as I expect. Instead, he effortlessly moves into another. One after the next after the next, alternating between songs I sent him and others I don’t recognize but understand all the same. They’re full of longing. Remorse. Fear. Loneliness. Pain. But slowly, they veer toward hopeful. They become sweeter. Softer. Pleading.
When the final note fades out, he sets V down.
Wet grey eyes meet mine.
I’m on my feet and moving in an instant; the need to get to him is so all-consuming that I completely foregothe stairs. He chokes on a laugh as I climb onto the stage and barrel into him. His entire body trembles; I hold him tighter. It’s not enough. I kiss his temple, cradling the back of his head, breathing him in.
“I hear you,” I whisper into his hair. “I’ll always hear you."
44
Remy
Iwas ready to lay Win out in the middle of the theater and take him apart one kiss at a time for being so brave and vulnerable with me. But then, in the sexiest whispered rasp against my lips, he asked, “Wanna get out of here?”
he doesn't need to ask twice.
